"Sharp, quirky, and occasionally nettlesome", Walking the Berkshires is my personal blog, an eclectic weaving of human narrative, natural history, and other personal passions with the Berkshire and Litchfield Hills as both its backdrop and point of departure. I am interested in how land and people, past and present manifest in the broader landscape and social fabric of our communities. The opinions I express here are mine alone. Never had ads, never will.
There has been a prolonged cold snap here in the Litchfield Hills and across much of the Northeast this week. Back when I had facial hair, this kind of weather would have frozen the condensation of my breath in my beard and mustache. We have dipped below zero, into territory that is increasingly unusual in our warmer winters here in Southern New England. I've seen colder weather, and been out in it much longer, but it is mighty cold nonetheless.
I have watched the ice freeze hard and fast in the river and over the wider lakes and ponds. I wonder whether black ice will form, that sleek obsidion surface that is the finest of all for skating, and if I will have an opportunity to get out on any of it before if gets obscured by snow or marred by thaw. I remember with great fondness those chidlhood winter days with pond hockey on black ice and hope to experience that again.
The igloo my kids and I made last week was still solid but reduced by warmer weather when the big chill took hold. Now it is diamond hard, its skeleton of snow blocks distinct but strong. We made ice lanterns by freezing balloons filled with water and at night these now glow in the piercing cold.
I do not expect the low temperatures to last. We could easily swing back on a 50 degree arc, and find it suddenly Springlike. Out here on the end of the scale, it is worth pausing to fill my lungs with that sharp, cold air, remembering how it felt when facing the next heat wave, perhaps in April, as was the case several years ago.
It is a good day in my book when my professional life and my living history hobby intersect. Talya and I enjoyed a fine Saturday morning in our 18th century garb as part of my employer The Housatonic Valley Associations "Free Family Fun" event celebrating the history of the river. The rain stopped in the early morning hours and the weather was not oppressively hot, so we did not wilt in our heavy wool and linen.
We set up our tent by the riverside across from the hydropower station at Falls Village. The old iron bridge between that community and the Amesville section of Salisbury is now closed and badly needs repairs, and we were able to tell those who attended the event that the first bridge on that site was owned and managed by Charles Burrill, who at the time of the revolution was a militia Colonel. I turned out in my civilian attire representing one of Burrill's 14th CT militiamen, and Talya did her Quaker apothecary impression to the delight of one little girl in particular who had a grand time holding her woven egg basket.
I got to share a few original artifacts as well, including this 1773 Connecticut made fowler flintlock with a 60" barrel, and to read a letter written by my 5th great-aunt Hannah Ogden in 1779 containing all sorts of juicy gossip of the goings on in Elizabethtown NJ with the British just across the water at Staten Island.
There were 20-30 people who turned out for the three hour event, which featured a walk with local historian and expert on the colonial ironworks of our region Ed Kirby and a presentation on the native American cultures of our region. There was actually a spectator there who is Lakota Sioux and was in the area visiting family. He told us about attending a ceremony in Goshen, CT a few weeks ago for the naming ceremony of a rare white buffalo calf that was just born there, an event of great sacred significance to many native American people.
It has been a year in the making, but today our brand new website for the Litchfield Hills Greenprint Collaborative went live at www.litchfieldgreenprint.org.This will be the virtual home for the Collaborative and a major communications tool and resource for us and for those who care about conserving what makes our region so special. There is an interractive map portal with lots of data specific to Northwest Connecticut and additional content that will be available to Greenprint members once I provide them with passwords. We are having a soft launch during its shakedown cruise and will ramp up the publicity later next month. Overall I am very pleased with this product. Check it out and let me know what you think.
With my 18th century interests and Connecticut residence, a tag line like "Still Revolutionary" certainly ought to appeal to me, but I am not the target audience of Connecticut's newly minted $27 million promotional campaign. Watch the initial video and then we'll read the tea leaves together.
So, does this speak to you? Does it reach out to your heart and disposable income and say come to Connecticut? Whose vision is this?
Well, it is Governor Malloy's, certainly, and the professional consulting firm hired to promote our state. It seems to be directed toward at affluent professionals, vacationing families with children, cultural and heritage tourism, and particularly at successful African Americans. I'll return to this last demographic shortly, and consider the curious choice to emphasize a storyline connecting an African American man to his Connecticut roots and an ancestor who served during the Revolution, rather than hitching a ride on the Civil War Sesquicentennial which is totally absent from this video.
Actually, there is a great deal that is not emphasized in this two minute and seven second-long "Connecticut: Still Revolutionary " brand launch. Western Connecticut is missing, for one thing, with its world class trout streams and outstanding outdoor recreation opportunities including national treasures like the Appalachian Trail. Aside from someone falling backward off a bridge on a zip wire in slow motion - overwhelmingly the preferred camera speed for this promotion - the only way people in this ad seem to enjoy the outdoors is from their vehicles.
Classic New England fall foliage and white steepled village greens just didn't make the cut. One would not get the impression from this video that Connecticut has any farms at all, except for wineries. So much for Agra-tourism. So much for bucolic landscapes and covered bridges. There is plenty in the video about the Connecticut River Valley and the Southeastern part of the state. We have Mystic Seaport and Aquarium and the two big casinos on full view. It was nice to see the Essex Steam Train and Hartford Symphony featured, but this still leaves a great deal of the state and what it has to offer out of view.
The "Still Revolutionary" motto implies that The Land of Steady Habits is full of disruptive technology, a place where invention and independence are both highly valued. So where are the heirs to Samuel Colt, or P.T. Barnum, or David Bushnell (who was both a Revolutionary and an inventor)? Making wine, or making bets at Foxwoods, maybe, but they are not in evidence in this initial promotion. And why is that nice white couple that shows up in their car at 1:32 seconds into the video using a paper map to "follow the sky" like it says in the promotional song? Don't they have GPS?
If the creators of this campaign really wanted to make a strong connection between our state's Revolutionary past and our innovative present, all it required was a shot of the full-scale replica of Bushnell's American Turtle submarine at the Connecticut River Museum fading into a shot of a sub from General Dynamics putting out to sea. Stick Fort Griswold Battlefield State Park in the sequence and the African American man in the video could make a direct connection to his Revolutionary forebears by viewing its Jordan Freeman plaque commemorating the heroics of one of its black patriot defenders. It just feels like another missed opportunity.
Let's examine the story arc of the African American couple in the video who come to Connecticut. Their inspiration is apparently the discovery of an image in a book of a black soldier of the Revolution, with the inference that he is an ancestor. Given the popularity of genealogy programs like Henry Louis Gates' "Finding Your Roots", this is a pretty good hook. You can clearly see the soldier's cocked hat and hunting frock (and anachronistic mustache, too), though it is not clear whether the illustration is meant to be a photograph or a black and white reproduction of a painted or engraved portrait. Given that daguerreotypes were not available before 1839, one hopes it is not the former. Again, going with a contemporary photograph of a black soldier from the Civil War would have made the connection so much easier, but then there would be nothing in the film that directly references the American Revolution and the "Still Revolutionary" tag line.
The story continues as the couple get on their motorcycle (visually relaxing as they enjoy the freedom of Connecticut's roadways). Then the man dismounts, removes his helmet, and tries to orient himself. He glimpses a quiet stream. He sees the shade of his ancestor marching away through the forest (the only glimpse of outdoor recreation in the video that is truly Revolutionary). He then goes to dinner at a casino to toast his homecoming.
If he had had his moment of ancestral connection at Putnam Memorial Park, or Fort Griswold, I would have bought it. If the choice had been to highlight the service of African Americans in the Civil War and the State's considerable contributions to the cause of Abolition - after all, we have the birthplaces both of Harriet Beecher Stowe and John Brown right here in western CT - I would have been more satisfied. But then, it is not about me, or my interests. It is about that guy on his motorcycle and others like him and what will motivate them to come to relax and spend money in Connecticut.
I wonder whether the consultants and focus groups used for this promotion deliberately chose not to link to the Civil War for its target African American audience. Being reminded of slavery is not the same as being reminded of freedom. There were more than 300 men of color from Connecticut who fought during the Revolutionary War, the vast majority of them for long terms of service in the Continental Line. For most of the war, they were part of integrated regiments, and this is what the video shows in its brief depiction of the ancestral soldier, marching away in single file behind two fellow white soldiers. This is not part of the popular narrative of the Revolution, but neither is slavery.
The message here is; "You are successful, a self made man, and you can be proud of the part your Connecticut ancestor played in winning our freedom." It is not a Revolutionary message, though it does put people of color back into the story of our nation's founding. It does not put them in our extraordinary natural areas, but there may be a reason for that as well. I once shared a plane ride with the poet Nikky Finney, who remarked that when she was growing up in rural South Carolina, her grandparents had an intimate knowledge of their farm that stopped short at the uncultivated woods beyond their fields. Bad things could happen to you in there. There were trees with strange fruit.
I would like to think that when the African American man in the promotion gets off his motorcycle, he is struck by the stillness of the woods and the movement of the brook and something else awakens inside him when he sees the ghost of his revolutionary ancestor. A sense of belonging as well as continuity. A connection to place as well as history. An investment in what happens here going forward. That would be a great outcome, for him and for Connecticut.
I cannot tell whether the fog that hangs in the air outside will burn off later today, or continue to mist through the trees and keep everything green and damp throughout the day. My vegetable garden calls for my spade, and if I do not make the time to thoroughly work over that small patch of ground it with be thick with deep rooted weeds when I plant it in earnest a week or two from now. Another bed of perrenial herbs and wildflowers is overrun by choke cherry suckers, and it may be that this year I am forced to destroy the garden to save it. There is garlic mustard testing the boundaries of my modest backyard from beachheads it has established at the property lines. Ignore that, and the choke cherry suckers will be but a modest inconvenience in comparison.
I love gardens in spring, however, especially the one that contains ephemeral wildflowers. I have let the dog toothed violets and ramps seed and grow where they will, and watched with delight as new Jack-in-the-Pulpit plants appear in other parts of the flower bed from their parent. There are Dutchmen's britches and bloodroot and both have started to find new niches amid the ferns. There are trillium and wild geraniums and wild ginger, and even a clump of calcium-loving large yellow ladyslippers. There is a new seedling growing this year, apart from the clump of many flowered stalks nearby, and I believe it has accomplished that most unusual feat for one of these orchids and actually germinated.
Later in the season the cardinal flowers and white turtleheads will rise above the fading green leaves of these plants as the early flowers have all gone to seed. I'm not sure what blight did in my formerly vigorous stand of Giant Solomon's Seal but it has all but vanished where once it flourished. I watch, and I weed, and I wonder, and still it is this garden that helps me mark the progress of Spring to early summer better even than the uncurling maple leaves, or the nesting wrens at the back of the yard. It has taken a decade for this garden to assume its present shape, and with luck, and a bit of intervention when an invader makes a run at it, it will continue to evolve and change for many years to come.
We have some truly spectacular waterfalls here in the Berkshire and Litchfield Hills and all along the Taconic Plateau. I make a point of visiting as many of them as I can in every season. Here are a few shots taken during this past remarkably warm and snowless winter of Bash Bish Falls in Copake, NY and Campbell Falls in New Marlborough, MA .
There is no meltwater this Spring, and many of our flashy, ephemeral streams will likely run dry as the season advances. Still, something about a cleft in the rock and falling water always feels spectacular.
All this past week, my dry winter house has been bathed in the sweetest of steam. The sap began running in my backyard sugar maple at the end of January, several weeks early than is usual for any year but one with a false Spring. While it is not a heavy flow, it has persisted since then and produced enough so far that I have already sugared off nearly a pint of stove top syrup and look forward to more.
It is a delicate, intoxicating perfume. It lacks the briny tang of cold sea fog, or the maltiness of brewer's wort, but is still every bit as pungent and evocative. When mingled with woodsmoke from a larger sugaring operation than my two pail affair, it takes me back down the muddy lanes of memory to my Upstate youth. I breathe in that coiling steam and can almost feel my hair curling in the unaccustomed humidity. To stand in a sugar shack on a bright winter day is to be enveloped in nectar like a drunken bee.
I know the smell of approaching rain on a hot, dry wind. Maple steam has the same affect on me, full of expectancy, alive with the promise of life returning. I tap my maple tree because it grounds me, draws me back to my roots and turns me forward. The ringing pail fills slowly with sap that at first is one shade greener than clear. Each hour on the boil with the white steam rising transmutes it to amber gold.
When the lights went out on the backside of Irene, it helped to have a Mawrter in the house, as they come with lanterns. My writer in residence has two red glass panes and two blue ones in her Bryn Mawr lantern, because she finished in 3 1/2 years and so overlaps two difference classes.(1993 and 1994).
We came through the storm far better than the rest of our region. The trees that came down were scattered - the wind culled mostly the old and the sick - and our power came back after 18 hours. There are parts of CT, within 45 miles of us that still have no juice. My basement filled completely with water for the first time since I have owned the place, but drained just as quickly once the power came back and I put in a new sump pump. My garden was not ruined. We were spared what others were not, and that about sums it up.
There was plenty of rain, and the Housatonic and its tributaries rose in flood, but Vermont, NY and NJ had it far worse. It was impressive standing by the Great Falls of the Housatonic on Monday, the first day of school having been cancelled, and watching those chocolate waters plunge. I've seen the river this way in the winter, thick with snow melt and the trees rimed with ice from the spray, but the foliage and the sunlight were an interesting variation. The Hous is over Ramapo Rd. in Ashley Falls to a depth of 4-6 feet, flooding the oxbows and making a lake out of the floodplain by Bartholomew's Cobble. Otherwise, the tribs are where the damage was greatest, gnawing away the sides of the little state roads that connect the villages of the Litchfield Hills.
I have not been down to Windrock since the storm, but reports from family who have are that the property came through in fairly good shape. There are a couple of big trees down, most notably the grand old oak where the Orioles like to nest at the side of the house. It was rotten to the core and mercifully fell without so much as grazing the house and porch. My cousin Rob Canham stands next to the fallen giant in the image below. and also took the picture of the "Hell Cat" beach fort which did not get swept out to sea, even though the tide should have been high with a new moon and storm surge.
A naiad, a pixie and a satyr sought refuge from the flames of Tartarus in a mountain grotto yesterday. The heat followed us through the woods to the very edge of the ravine, but then the waterfalls spilling through the hemlock gorge brought cool air down to check it. We went to the third pool, the last accessible to those not blessed with goat feet, and here the pixie sat on a rock while the naiad explored the green walled pool and the saytr stood beneath the flume.
All too soon, our idyll ended, and today it is back to Hephaestus' forge with all the other Cyclopes.
