Inventing Nature at Acadia National Park

Posted on June 1, 2014 by Dianne Fallon

I love the barren open summits of Acadia National Park on Mount Desert Island, Maine.  On Memorial Day, we set out from the Jordan Pond House and completed the 6-mile-ish out-and-back hike to Penobscot and Sargent Mountains.

We started hiking beneath gray skies, just after a shower, but by the time we climbed out of the trees onto the ridge of Penobscot Mountain, the clouds were clearing and the view expanding with each upward step. When we reached the 1,373-foot summit of Sargent Mountain, we breathed in 360-views of a vast panorama:  Frenchman’s Bay, the Cranberry Islands, Cadillac Mountain, Eagle Lake, Somes Sound.  Black files buzzed around our heads, but couldn’t detract from the awesome experience of these natural vistas. (Below, the view of Jordan Pond on our ascent down Penobscot).

Samuel de Champlain made this map of the northeastern coast of American on his 1604 voyage.

Mount Desert Island, in this cropped version of Samuel de Champlain’s 1604 map of the northeastern coast of America. (See link at bottom of post to access view of entire map).

However, when explorer Samuel de Champlain “discovered” Mount Desert Island in 1604, he both saw and didn’t see what we see today.

The mountains he described still dominate the view from the bay, but de Champlain was exploring a dark wilderness, full of hidden rock ledges, unknown beasts, and potentially dangerous people.  His ship ran aground on a rock that ripped a hole in the keel.  Where we see beautiful open summits, de Champlain saw lots of rock, a barren inhospitable desert.

In his description of the island, he wrote, “It is very high, and notched in places, so that there is the appearance to one at sea, as of seven or eight mountains extending along near each other. The summit of the most of them is destitute of trees, as there are only rocks on them. The woods consist of pines, firs, and birches only. I named it Isle des Monts Déserts.”

For the first 18th century European settlers, Mount Desert Island was a desert, an isolated place where hardy families eked out a living from fishing and small farms.  But at some point, perspectives changed.  The rocky desert became an Arcadia, a version of the ancient Greek district whose name contains layers of meaning, including “idyllic place” and “refuge.”

Mount Desert Island did not change.  But our ideas about nature did, largely due to the work of artists who transformed the island from a rocky outpost to a place of inspiration and wonder in which mind, body, and soul could be rejuvenated.

The first to arrive was artist Thomas Cole, the founder of the Hudson River School of landscape painting, who came to Mount Desert Island in 1844, and created several paintings that were widely exhibited in the years to follow.  Cole’s pupil Frederic Church followed in his footsteps, making his first trip to the island in 1850, where he sketched and made notes for future paintings.  Other artists followed.

Thomas Cole's "View Across Frenchman's Bay after a Squall" (1845). Cincinnati Art Museum.

Thomas Cole’s “View Across Frenchman’s Bay after a Squall” (1845). Cincinnati Art Museum.

Collectively, at Mount Desert and in other places in the northeastern United States, the Hudson River School of artists invented a new and more romantic concept of nature as a place of beauty, a source of mental sustenance and renewal in the industrial age.

The skies might darken with clouds or twilight, but no longer was the dark a source of uncertainty and fear  Instead, the interplay of darkness and light offered another way to view the world’s grandeur.  Dangerous surf and forbidding rocks became a source of “the sublime” — that combination of beauty and terror generated by the sight, sound, and feel of a massive wall of water crashing against a cliff.

"Sunset, Bar Harbor," by Frederic Church (1854)

“Sunset, Bar Harbor,” by Frederic Church (1854). Possibly influenced by writer Henry Thoreau’s essays about travels in the Maine woods, Church returned to Maine to visit the North Woods. He eventually bought property in the Millinocket area, where he painted Mount Katahdin and other landscapes. But that’s a blog post for another day.

Although marketing was not their intention, in reinventing “Nature,” the Hudson River painters who visited Mount Desert created a place that many wanted to visit. In the mid-19th century, newly middle-class “rusticators” began to come to the island. They boarded in locals’ homes, took long walks and hikes, and breathed in the smell of the Atlantic.

Then, during the Gilded Age, the super-wealthy discovered the island, built massive summer homes, and transformed the rocky desert to a high society destination.  Eventually, some of those people, led by George Dorr and John D. Rockefeller, Jr., donated large chunks of land so that this natural wonderland could be enjoyed by all Americans and not just a wealthy few.  The Park was established in 1919, thanks in large part to Dorr, Rockefeller, and others. But the idea of nature as being worthy of preservation was the creation of 19th century artistic visionaries–the painters, but also writers like Henry Thoreau and John Muir, and photographers like Yellowstone’s William Henry Jackson—who transformed the way we think about nature.

Noted maritime artist Fitz Henry Lane, of Gloucester, Massachusetts, travelled to Mount Desert and to paint this scene, titled "Off Mount Desert," in 1856. (Brooklyn Museum).

Noted maritime artist Fitz Henry Lane, of Gloucester, Massachusetts, travelled to Mount Desert and to paint this scene, titled “Off Mount Desert,” in 1856. (Brooklyn Museum).

Today students who study the arts (in all of its forms) often have to endure questions about the value of what they are doing.  How they will support themselves?  When will they stop dreaming and get a real job?  After all, the arts are “decoration,” nice if you have the time to dabble, but not essential.

These questions about the value of art are not a new phenomenon.  And of course, it is difficult to make a living an artist.  But artists and writers, as much or more so than scientists and engineers, are inventing the future as they shape and create ideas.

What ideas are artists, writers, and musicians transforming today?

Note: Take a peek below for examples of how artists continue to follow in the footsteps of Cole, Church, Lane and others today. For more information on another great hike in Acadia, see my paragraph about Mount Dorr via the Homans Path in Five Great Family Hikes in Maine.

Mount Desert III, 1996, by Richard Estes. The Portland Museum of Art is exhibiting a major retrospective collection of Estes' work this summer (2014).

Mount Desert III, 1996, by photorealist painter Richard Estes. The Portland Museum of Art, in partnership with the Smithsonian Museum of American Art, is exhibiting a major retrospective collection of Estes’ work this summer (2014).

For more on the Estes exhibit, see the Portland Museum of Art website.

Contemporary artist Philip Koch pays tribute to Thomas Cole and other 19th century landscape painters in his painting, "Frenchman's Bay." (See resources below for links to Koch's website).

Artist Philip Koch pays tribute to Thomas Cole and other 19th century landscape painters in his painting, “Frenchman’s Bay.”

To learn more about Philip Koch, see his blog.

Head of Somes Sound, by Ernest McMullen.

Head of Somes Sound, by Ernest McMullen.

For more on artist Ernest McMullen, see The Gallery at Somes Sound.

Additional sources and resources:

Entire de Champlain map of northeastern coast of America, from his 1604 voyage. Champlain quote from Memoir of Samuel de Champlain, Volume II, 1604-1610, Chapter 5.

For more on Frederic Turner’s paintings in Maine (including many in the Millinocket region), see John Wilmerding’s Maine Sublime: Frederic Edwin Church’s Landscapes of Mount Desert and Mount Katahdin. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2012.

“Mount Desert Island and Isle au Haut (Modern Acadia National Park, ME)”.  National Park Service Archeology Programs.

Mount Desert Island: Shaped by Nature.  Maine Memory Network.

 

Posted in Art, Hiking, Maine places, Mountains | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Snow babies, seals, and maniacal Arctic travelers: A visit to Eagle Island

Posted on May 23, 2014 by Dianne Fallon
Adventurer Josephine D Peary lived on Eagle Island for more than 50 summers.

Adventurer-author-mother-wife Josephine D. Peary lived on Casco Bay’s Eagle Island for more than 50 summers.  (Photo from Josephine Diebitsch Peary Collection, Maine Women Writers Collection, University of New England, Portland, Maine).

Even maniacal travelers need a respite once in a while, if only to plan their next adventures.  Eagle Island, in Maine’s Casco Bay, was such a haven for big adventurers Admiral Robert and Josephine Peary.

Admiral Peary, as many know, was credited with being the first person, along with Matthew Henson and other expedition members, to reach the North Pole on April 6, 1909.

Long before reaching the Pole, however, Peary set sail for Eagle Island, which he bought for $100 in 1877, just a few years after graduating from Bowdoin College. There, in the early 1900s, the Pearys built a two-room cottage that eventually evolved into a larger home (but not a mansion).  The family spent many summers on the island, which is now a State Historic Site.

In the 1890s, Admiral Peary often was in the news, celebrated (and sometimes maligned) as the great explorer. I do like his motto, “Find a way, or make one” (Inveniam viam aut faciam). But Josephine is my hero, living proof that female maniacal travelers are not a recent phenomenon but have always existed.

Josephine's 19ss memoir described her first year in Greenland, from June of 1891 to August of 1892, when she explored northern Greenland with her husband and his expedition.

Josephine’s 1893 memoir described her first year in Greenland (June, 1891 to August, 1892).

Three years into her marriage, Josephine bucked popular criticism to travel with her husband on his first trip to Greenland.  There, living in a cobbled-together house with Peary and five other men, Josephine threw herself into Arctic living:  She explored, trapped, hunted, cooked, tanned skins, and created outfits from fur and feature.  She also nursed her husband, who had shattered his leg en route to Greenland.  Later, Josephine chronicled her adventures in her first book, An Arctic Journal.

On her next stay in Greenland, in 1893, Josephine gave birth to her daughter Marie, soon-dubbed the “Snow Baby” by the Inuit locals and the international press. I have yet to find an account of Marie’s birth, but I  imagine that Josephine labored in that cobbled-together shack, probably with with no midwife nearby (although it’s likely that the expedition included a doctor with some basic obstetrical training).

Snow Baby Marie Peary.

Snow Baby Marie Peary (Library of Congress photo).

Of course, Inuit women had been having babies in the Arctic for centuries. However, childbirth remained a dangerous affair in 1893,  and even more terrifying when you didn’t know what to expect because you were living in an isolated foreign land.  For Josephine, however, it almost seems as if Marie’s birth was a blessed non-event, just something she did between prepping furs and cooking ptarmigan stew. She later wrote a book about Marie’s first years, The Snow Baby (1901).

All told, Josephine made a half-dozen trips to the Arctic, including one miserable winter spent, with young Marie, on board the Windward, a ship that had become bound in the ice (although not far from shore), in 1901.  There, Josephine met llakasingwah, Peary’s pregnant Inuit mistress.  Some sources report that Ilakasingwah also was living on board the ship (although that’s not certain).  Peary himself was 300 miles away, at a winter camp in Fort Conger.  It must have been an especially chilly winter for Josephine.

Back on Eagle Island, Josephine presided over what her son later called the island’s most “momentous event,” the September day in  1909 when the South Harpswell postmaster arrived with a telegram from Peary announcing that he had reached the Pole.  Soon a small group of reporters gathered on the island.  One reportedly said, “What do you have to say now, Mrs. Peary?”

In what I think of as true Josephine fashion, Mrs. Peary said to the group, “”I say come on boys, let’s have a drink.”

Admiral Peary, on his porch, looking out towards Harpswell Neck, a short boat ride away.

Admiral Peary, on his porch, looking out towards Harpswell Neck, a short boat ride away.

Eagle Island is located about 6 miles from Portland and about 1.5 miles from the end of Harpswell Neck. I visited with my Seal (my son), on Atlantic Seal Cruises, out of South Freeport harbor.  The island is a wonderful destination for a summer afternoon. For travelers like me who don’t own a boat, getting there requires some advance planning (see info below), but it’s a trip worth making.  The seals en route are a bonus.

First, the island offers incredible views, peaceful walking paths, and that sense of freedom I always feel  when visiting a Maine island. 

And then there is the Peary home, full of quirky Arctic artifacts and family memorabilia.  Narwhal tusks.  Various stuffed birds.  Photos of angora rabbits from the era when one family member tried to make a go of an island rabbit farm.

Peary designed his home to reflect the lines of a ship, with the library and front porch creating the illusion of a ship's prow/

Peary designed his home to reflect the lines of a ship, with the front porch creating an illusion of a ship’s pilot house. On the second floor of the house, from certain windows, the ocean seems so close that visitors almost feel as if they are on board a ship.

But what I like most about Eagle Island is  that Josephine lived there, spending more than 50 summers on the island, from 1904 until her death in 1955. (Admiral Peary died much earlier, in 1920, of pernicious anemia).  Ultimately, Eagle Island became more Josephine’s place than her husband’s.

On the island, Josephine read and wrote and rowed and entertained.  She picked berries with her grandchildren and taught them how to tie their shoes. During the winters, she lived quietly in a home on Baxter Boulevard in Portland. By the end of her life, she was known more as Grandma than as the intrepid young woman who dared to travel to the far North.

Visitors are encouraged to play Peary family's player piano, which is operated via a set of foot pedals.

Visitors to Eagle Island are encouraged to play Peary family’s player piano, operated via a set of foot pedals.

In 1955, just a few months before Josephine’s death at age 92, the National Geographic Society awarded her its highest honor, the Medal of Achievement.

I imagine it was gratifying, to finally be recognized.  On the other hand, I also imagine Josephine shrugging off the honor as “just a little medal.”  Nice to have, but not nearly so great as hiking across Greenland’s tundra, or sitting on the porch at Eagle Island, looking out at the blue expanse of Casco Bay.

Sources and Resources

The Friends of Eagle Island have established a website, Peary’s Eagle Island, that provides information about the Pearys and the Island, as well as details on how to get there.  Marie L Cruises out of the Dolphin Marina in South Harpswell also offers regularly scheduled excursions to the island.

Josephine’s books are available online (see links above) but also have been reissued in print.

Josephine’s papers and photographs can be found at the University of New England in The Maine Women Writer’s  Collection.

For additional information about Josephine, see Patricia Erikson’s articles, with several links gathered together in one place at her blog, Heritage in Maine.

HensonAfrican-American Matthew Henson wrote a memoir about his dash to the Pole with Peary, A Negro Explorer at the  North Pole (1912).  Many books have been written about Henson, but a revised version of his memoir recently published is Matthew A. Henson’s Historic Arctic Journey: The Classic Account of One of the World’s Greatest Black Explorers (2009).

Finally, I’m well aware that Peary’s claim to have reach the North Pole is disputed by many, although I didn’t get into the details above as my focus here is Josephine.  For more on the controversy, see John Tierney’s New York Times column,  “Who was first at the North Pole?”

If Eagle Island intrigues you, you might also check out the Peary-MacMillan Arctic Museum on the campus of Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine.  See the Josephine D. Peary biography page for more info on Josephine.

 

Posted in Family and Kids, Maine places | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Globalization, circa 1807, curses the Lady Pepperrell House

Posted on May 12, 2014 by Dianne Fallon
The Lady Pepperrell House, apparently released from its curse, on a recent spring afternoon.

The Lady Pepperrell House, apparently released from its curse, on a recent spring afternoon.

Lady Mary Hirst Pepperrell had impeccable taste.  So say many sources, but the best indicator is the home  she built in 1760 on Route 103 in Kittery Point.

The Lady Pepperrell House is one of Maine’s outstanding examples of 18th century Georgian-era architecture.  Its simple clean lines, graceful ionic pilasters, and large windows that flood the home with light invite house envy today.  But by the mid-19th century, many said the luxurious house was cursed.

It certainly looked cursed. Writing in the 1870s, historian Samuel Adams Drake described the house as “a somber old mansion, having, in despite of some relics of a former splendor, an unmistakable air of neglect and decay.  The massive entrance door hung by a single fastening, the fluted pilasters on either side were rotting away, window panes were shattered, chimney tops in ruins, the fences prostrate. It was nothing but a wreck ashore.  This was the house built by Lady Pepperell, after the death of Sir William.  Report said it was haunted; indeed I found it so, and by a living phantom.”

Lady Pepperrell’s house, built for her after the death of her husband Sir William, had almost become a metaphor for downfall of the Pepperrell family, except that the home’s decline began many years after the Pepperrell family’s Revolutionary War misfortune.

Besides, Loyalist William (Sparhawk) Pepperrell (who I’ve written about in another post) might have lost his property and most of what he held dear, but he lived a purposeful life in England after the war and ushered his four children successfully into adulthood.  The Lady, his grandmother, lived peacefully in her house, with no curse ever in evidence, until her death in 1789.

Such was not the case for the branch of the Cutts family that purchased Lady Pepperrell’s home in 1800 from Catherine and Daniel Humphreys, who had acquired it from Elizabeth Sparhawk (who was Catherine’s grandmother and Lady Pepperrell’s daughter).

In the 18th century, the Cutts clan, whose ancestors were among the first settlers of Kittery, established itself as one of the leading families of Kittery and Portsmouth. By 1800, Joseph Cutts was a captain and merchant wealthy enough to buy the elegant home, keeping it in the family, more or less. (Cutts was a descendent, via his mother, of the original William Pepperrell family).

But on the other side of the ocean, troubles stirred by the rise of Napoleon set in a motion a chain of events that led to the chaining of Charles Cutts, the Captain’s son, in an upstairs chamber.  He suffered from mental illness and reportedly was often chained to the floor to prevent injury to himself or others.

Drawing of Joseph Cutts (the Captain, I think, and not his son), attributed to Albert W. Fiske (Portsmouth Athenaeum collection).

Drawing of Joseph Cutts (the Captain, I think, and not his son), attributed to Albert W. Fiske (Portsmouth Athenaeum collection).

The Captain himself lost his sanity, although he lived a long life, dying at age 97 in 1861.  In 1839, another son, naval officer Joseph Cutts, killed himself in what once had been Lady Pepperrell’s bedchamber.  His death might have been the culminating blow for his sister, Sarah “Sally” Chauncey Cutts, caretaker to her father and brothers.  She too developed mental illness.

The key event in the demise of the Cutts family was Thomas Jefferson’s Embargo Act, passed in 1807 in a misguided attempt to stop British and French ships from seizing American vessels and to stop the British from impressing American merchant sailors into military service.  The Act banned all trade with Britain and France, both of which were the new nation’s biggest trading partners.

With the bill’s passage, Captain Cutts lost his livelihood. He could neither buy nor sell. His ships rotted in an anchorage behind Gerrish Island. By 1813, he was bankrupt and indebted to the government for unpaid duties.  (Some sources say the house was seized by the government for non-payment of taxes, and later redeemed by either Sally or another relative in the extended Cutts family). Although it’s likely that a genetics  played a large role in the family’s mental illness, the strain of losing his fortune probably contributed to Captain Cutts’s breakdown.

Drawing of Sally Cutts attributed to artist Albert W. Fiske (Portsmouth Atheneum Collection)

Drawing of Sally Cutts attributed to artist Albert W. Fiske (Portsmouth Athenaeum Collection)

On his undated mid-19th century visit, historian Drake described Sally as “a harmless maniac,” who was “the sole inhabitant of the old house; she and it were fallen into hopeless ruin together.” Her appearance, he wrote, “was weird and witch-like, and betokened squalid poverty. An old calash almost concealed her features from observation, except when she raised her head and glanced at us in a scared, furtive sort of way.”

She invited Drake and his companion into the house.  “Fragment of the original paper, representing ancient ruins, had peeled off the walls,” he wrote,  “and vandal hands had wrenched away the the pictured tiles from the fire-places. The upper rooms were but a repetition of the disorder and misery below stairs.”

Sally led Drake and his companion to an upstairs “apartment,” where she “relapsed into imbecility, and seemed little conscious of our presence.”  In her room, “some antiquated furniture, doubtless family heirlooms, a small stove, and a bed, constituted all her worldly goods,” wrote Drake. “As she crooned over a scanty fire of two or three wet sticks, muttering to herself, and striving to warm her weathered hands, I thought I beheld in her the impersonation of Want and Despair.”

I am a little skeptical as to whether or not Drake visited Sally Cutts in the Pepperrell House.  She died in 1874, (a year before Drake’s book was published) and spent time prior to her death living with friends who had taken her in.  Another writer, James H. Head, wrote of a similar visit to Sally Cutts in November of 1864, with his account published in the Boston Journal.  Sarah Orne Jewett presented a barely fictionalized account of a visit with “Miss Sally Chauncey” in Deephaven: Selected Stories and Sketches (1877), so presumably she visited her as well.

Captain Cutts and his family are buried in the Old Burying Ground across the street from his one-time home and the Congregational Church. A table-like memorial stone tells his story. (As you enter the cemetery, look to your left to see the Cutts memorial).

Captain Cutts and his family are buried in the Old Burying Ground across the street from his one-time home and the Congregational Church. A table-like memorial stone tells his story. (Entering via the cemetery’s maine gate, the Cutts memorial is readily visible, to the left).

Did poor Sally regularly open her door to touring writers who wanted to invade her privacy?  Or did Drake build upon and embellish the accounts of Head and Jewett? And am I the latest in a series of writers fascinated by the Cutts family history, even if it is a history that they would have preferred to keep private?

The story of the Cutts family, however, is worth remembering, because their family history is a microcosm for the economic devastation that Jefferson’s Embargo wreaked in the Seacoast region. Their pain helps us to better understand how the region suffered during this period of economic collapse.  Ships rotted in harbors. Many merchants declared bankruptcy. A ripple effect reverberated throughout the local economy. Portsmouth, once a thriving port, became a backwater instead of a rival to Boston or New York.

The Embargo Act inadvertently paved the way for the Seacoast region to become what it is today: historically rich, but economically underdeveloped compared to what it might have become.  The Seacoast region is not Boston, with its packed roadways and paved landscapes.

The losses suffered by the Cutts family and many others during the Embargo era have become our gain, in that we live in  what is now an economically vibrant but beautiful and sustainable community.  The story of the Cuttses connects with our story today.

A fire ravaged the Lady Pepperrell House on December 27, 1945 and caused extensive damage. The home was restored by X and Y. Portsmouth Herald photo from Historic New England digital collections.

Another sign of the curse? A fire ravaged the Lady Pepperrell House on December 27, 1945 and caused interior damage. John Fellows of Kittery oversaw the restoration. Historic New England (formerly the Society for the Preservation of New England Antiquities) owned the home from the 1940s until the 1980s, when the organization sold the home to a private owner. Portsmouth Herald photo from Historic New England digital collections.

The Lady Pepperrell House is protected by a preservation easement administered by Historic New England.  Other Kittery landmarks, however, such as the Pepperrell Mansion and the Bray House, are not protected. Although both homes are listed on the National Register of Historic Places, and currently are owned by good stewards, they could be torn down tomorrow if a property owner wanted to take that path.

These architectural artifacts of history remind us that we are not historical islands, despite our high tech gadgets and way of life. We live in both a global economy and an historical ecosystem where the past reverberates into the present.

Embargoes and lost fortunes lead to economic decline, paving the way for resurrection and reclamation.  Trolleys connect the city to the country, and bridges and automobiles (as I’ve written about here) swiftly change a way of life.  A grange hall becomes The Dance Hall, and a building where the Masons gathered transforms to a collection of gathering places for locals and visitors discovering the pleasures of walking across bridges.

Beware of curses– but only when we forget them.  In remembering Sally Cuts and her family, perhaps we’ll take more care as we construct our own story.

Lady Pepperrell House, undated photo (Historic New England Collection).

Lady Pepperrell House, undated photo (Historic New England Collection).

Resources and sources

For a great example of connecting the past to the present, read about Stories from The Grange and Kittery’s Foreside, a project organized by Drika Overton of The Dance Hall.

For more information the architectural details of the Lady Pepperrell House, see “Palladian Perfection, New England Style, Part 2: The Lady Pepperell House at Kittery Point Maine” at The Down East Dilettante.

To read more about Drake’s visit, see Chapter 10, “At Kittery Point, Maine,” in Nooks and Corners of the New England Coast, by Samuel Adams Drake (1875).

James Head’s Boston Journal account of his 1864 visit to Sally Cutts can be found in the Pepperrell House vertical file at the Portsmouth Athenaeum.

For some detailed photos of the exterior and interior of Lady Pepperrell’s house, see Donna Seger’s “Lady Pepperrell and Her House” at Streets of Salem.

For more on the oldest homes in Kittery Point, see Colonial Village, by John Eldridge Frost  (1947, publisher unknown)

 

 

Posted in Maine places, Seacoast (mostly) History | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Round up: Five great family hikes in Maine

Posted on May 7, 2014 by Dianne Fallon

The temperature has risen to a magical 60 degrees, the daffodils are blooming, and the forsythia are primed for an explosion of yellow.  The tulips won’t be far behind, and I’m ready to think about hiking adventures to come this spring, summer, and fall.

Hence, this round-up post on five of my favorite family hikes in Maine.  (I’ll do a separate one on New Hampshire, since there are so many great hikes to cover in both states).

We’ve been hiking as a family since my son was born, with him propelling himself on his own legs from about age three onward.  Unless you have a kid who is obsessed with hiking (not mine), I find it best to limit family hikes to five miles or less.  I also look for hikes with a good hook — boulders to conquer, fire towers to ascend, mysterious caves, and, of course, great views.

Please note that I call these “five of my favorite hikes”, and not “my five favorite hikes.”  This small distinction in syntax is necessary because there are countless wonderful hikes out there, and I can’t possibly narrow it down to just five “favorites.” You can access links to directions (and sometimes maps) by clicking the title of the hike.

1. Tumbledown Mountain in Weld, Maine

A view of Tumbledown Pond, and the mountain's summit, from the Parker Ridge Trail.

A view of Tumbledown Pond, and the mountain’s summit, from the Parker Ridge Trail, which departs from the Brook Trail not far from the road, and offers a slightly longer route to the pond, including some great rock scrambles.  Parker Ridge gets fewer hikers than other trails, but in the summer, expect lots of company at the pond, no matter what day of the week.

I’ve been hiking Tumbledown Mountain since my college days. I love this mountain and the beautiful pond nestled below the summit cone. Bring your bathing suit, or not, but this IS New England, so everyone else will be wearing suits.

The 1.9-mile Brook Trail (and 1,600 feet of elevation gain) is the most direct to the pond, from which hikers can scramble over granite and boulders on a well-marked route to the 3,090-foot summit.  The Brook Trail follows an old logging road along a brook before evolving into a fairly steep climb over rocks and roots.  We followed this trail as an out-and-back hike with a group of seven-year-olds a few years ago.

A couple of years later, we returned with a large pack of kids for the more challenging Loop Trail.  At the trailhead, someone had posted a tiny scrap of paper with a penciled note reading, “This trail is not for children.”  The note was about two square inches big, torn from a notebook, and not an official warning. I decided that the note must be aimed at parents of very young children.  Our group of 10 or so started climbing up a typical New England trail of roots and rocks, but nothing too hard.

Then, about one mile in, we arrived at The Mountain:  a nearly vertical climb up a  rocky mountain face.  (The climb wasn’t technical, just very very steep and rocky).  At one point, we lost the trail (which is easy to do) and ended up climbing around some rocks hanging over a steep slope. For this reason, the hike is recalled as  “The Death Hike.”

After finding the main trail again, we had to squeeze through a cave-like rock formation known as “Fat Man’s Misery,” a feat that involved shoving day packs through a hole and then squeezing through the narrow opening.  Then more steep climbing.  I could feel steam rising from the adults and floating towards me.

We eventually emerged onto a plateau, where an official warning sign greeted us with a warning about the Loop Trail for anyone considering hiking down.  The kids exulted in their achievement. The clouds of steam dissipated. We finished with a scamper up to the summit, a swim in the pond, and a much easier hike down the Brook Trail to the cars.

Every kid needs a legendary death-defying hike in their repertoire. They still talk about it.

2. Mount Agamenticus in York, Maine

View of the cliffs and pine trees that greets hikers as they emerge from the Witch Hazel Trail onto the summit of Mount A.

View of the cliff and pine trees that greets hikers as they emerge from the Witch Hazel Trail onto the summit of Mount A.

With its 692-feet of altitude, Mount Agamenticus is a little mountain with a big personality, with trails and slopes that sprawl out across thousands of acres of conserved forest.

During World War II, a radar tower–the first of its kind in the United States–was installed on the summit. The forest was cut to make room for barracks to house 25 soldiers of the 551st Signal Battalion. For ten years in the 1960s and 1970s, a ski area drew locals to the mountain each winter.

Today, the former ski slopes shrink a bit more each season as trees and brush take over. On weekends, hikers and casual visitors wander the summit’s open meadow, bikers careen down the rocky trails, and the mountain can feel like a busy place. But even with the people there, the blue ocean shimmers to the east. To the west, the spine of Mount Washington rises above the Ossipee Hills, a spectacular sight any day but especially on a clear spring afternoon, when the sloping ridge of Washington remains covered in snow.

A variety of trails (as well as a road) lead to the summit, and more trails lace the conservation land surrounding the mountain.  Mount A is ideal for younger children (but fun for hikers of all ages), because parents can tailor the length of a hike to the interest and abilities of their kids.

From the parking area at the base of the mountain, hikers can begin on the Ring Trail, and then hike in a loop up one of four side trails to the top, and down another to the bottom.  I like to climb up the rock slabs of the Sweet Fern Trail, where the old ski lift rusts in the woods, and then hike down the Blueberry Ridge Trail to the Ring Trail.

Variations include the Sea-to-Summit hike that I’ve written about before, and hikes out to Second Hill or Third Hill.  If attempting Third Hill with kids, I recommend driving to summit and starting there, as the hike could become a long slog through the woods.  Hikers need a map to get to Third Hill (see link above), as the route is convoluted. It is easy to get lost if not familiar with the area.

3. Dorr Mountain, via the Homans Path, in Acadia National Park

The Homans Path (about a third of a mile) offers granite steps, passages between giant boulders and other interesting features. Hikers wishing to continue up to Dorr Mountain can pick up the Schiff Trail, featuring ladeders that climb a cliff. Many choices for longer and shorter loop hikes in this area.

The Homans Path (about three-quarters of a mile) offers granite steps, passages between giant boulders and other interesting features. Hikers wishing to continue up to 1,270-foot Dorr Mountain can pick up the Schiff Path, which features ladders climb up a short cliff.  Estimated RT on our hike: about 4 miles.  However, hikes can choose from many longer and shorter loop hikes in this area. Be sure to hike with a map, as there are multiple trails and trail junctions.

Okay, so selecting one family hike at Acadia National Park is just about impossible. Acadia is packed with countless great hikes ranging from under a mile to four-to-six miles loops (and longer, of course, but probably too long for most kids).  Boulders, ladders, caves, and views abound.  I’ve hiked all over this park, my favorite in the National Park System because of its combination of wildness, human history, and long-standing traditions such as popovers at Jordan Pond House.

Here I’ll focus on the Homans Path route towards quiet Dorr Mountain, the second highest peak in the park (People climb Cadillac, the highest peak, while Dorr is happily neglected).

The stone steps of the Homans Path were meticulously crafted around 1916, but the trail stopped appearing on maps in the 1940s. Its granite steps disappeared beneath thick layers of moss beds.  Local trail enthusiasts rediscovered the trail in the 1990s, and the Park Service began restoring the path, which officially opened again in 2003.

The Homans Path can be picked up near the Wild Gardens of Acadia, at the Sieur de Monts parking area. (I couldn’t find a good link to an online map).

It’s hard to get truly lost in Acadia, but you can certainly end up a very long distance from your car, a situation that is not fun when hiking with kids.  I recommend obtaining a recent edition of  Tom St. Germain’s Acadia trail guide, A Walk in the Park, which will lead you to many other fabulous family hikes. Gorham Mountain, The Beehive, and Beech Mountain with its fire tower also are among my favorite Acadia hikes.

4. Mount Aziscohos, Lincoln Plantation, Maine

The view from Mount Azisochos.

The view from  3,192-foot Mount Azisc0hos.

Mount Aziscohos, which I’ve mentioned in a post about summer days in Rangeley, is an undiscovered gem.  A 1.75-mile hike brings hikers to an open granite summit with views of more than 25 lakes and countless mountains.  I first took my son here when he was about six and have returned several times.  I’ve never encountered another hiker on the summit with its 360-degree views.

In August, expect a feast of blueberries.  Many years ago, a large forest fire burned on the mountaintop, creating ideal conditions for the berries to flourish.

Down the road in Oquossoc, crowds flock up the muddy trail to Bald Mountain, but few venture north on Route 16 to discover Aziscohos.  I probably shouldn’t even be writing about the mountain, but I guess the 17.7 mile drive from Oquossoc Village discourages the hordes from finding it.

Aziscohos once was a popular hike for 19th and early 20th century summer visitors staying at the Aziscoos House in Wilson Mills, although “popular” is a relative term.  An information sign near at the summit tells hikers that in one summer, a total of 116 hikers signed the log book.  (The Azicoos House ceased operation many years ago, but I believe that the 1830 inn-like structure still stands, as a private residence, in the Magolloway River Valley).

A fire tower on the summit was manned until the late 1960s.  Eventually it toppled over in a hurricane and was removed from the mountain via helicopter by the Maine Forest Service in 2004.

5.  Blueberry Mountain via Stone House Trail, Evans Notch, Maine

I can't find my Blueberry Mountain photos, so I'll end with a photo of a happy hiker pasted on a rock on Mount Aziscohos.

I can’t find my Blueberry Mountain photos, so I’ll end with a photo of a happy hiker vertically pasted on the granite of Mount Aziscohos.

As with Acadia, Evans Notch, which straddles the border of Maine and New Hampshire, is packed with terrific family hikes as well as the  “challenge” hike of the Baldface Circle Trail. Here, I’ll focus on 1,781-foot Blueberry Mountain, as it offers great views, good ridge hiking over barren rocks, the possibility of a dip in Rattlesnake Pool, and an exciting descent down (or climb up) ledges (caution needed).  The hike is about 4.5 miles long.

After parking at Fire Road 16, we took the Stone House Trail to the summit and followed the Blueberry Ridge Trail to the Overlook Loop, and then followed the White Cairn Trail down steep ledges and back to FR 16.

We hiked on a cool fall day, so we didn’t stop at Rattlesnake Pool, but when I do this hike again, I plan to hike up the White Cairn Trail and finish up at the pool for a cooling dip.

The Stone House (a private residence) sits up against the mountain just past the trailhead. It’s an interesting structure, more than 200 years old, and looks out over a flat grassy meadow that once was farmed, but more recently was used as a landing area for small planes, during World War II.

The house (privately owned) dates to the first half of the 19th century, when Abel Andrews built it for his bride, Lucinda Brickett, the daughter of John Brickett, who was one of the earliest permanent settlers in the area. Around 1812, John built the brick farmhouse known as the  “Brickett House,” located a couple of miles up Route 113.

I’ve also written about the nearby Basin Trail, which is undiscovered and beautiful, like Evans Notch in general.

Happy hiking!

Additional resources:

Nature Hikes in the White Mountains, by Robert N. Buchsbaum, is an excellent guide to family hikes throughout the White Mountains of Maine and New Hampshire.

Hikes in and around Maine’s Lake Region, by Marita Wiser, is good resource for hikes in southwestern Maine (Bridgton/Fryeburg/Lovell area).

As mentioned above, Tom St. Germain’s Acadia trail guide, A Walk in the Park, is a great resource for all kinds of hikes in the park.

Posted in Family and Kids, Hiking, Maine places, Mountains | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Lost in Lost (and a little bit late to the party)

Posted on April 22, 2014 by Dianne Fallon
In Season 4, Claire followed the ghost (?) of her father Christian Shephard into the jungle and left her infant son Aaron behind. What's become of her??

In Season 4, Claire Littleton followed the ghost (?) of her father Christian Shephard into the jungle and left her infant son Aaron behind. What’s become of her??

Sometimes I wake up at 3 a.m. and  I can’t stop thinking about them.

Is Claire dead?  Who will take care of her baby?

And what about Jack?  I am sick at the thought that he has become an alcoholic and prescription drug addict.

My heart breaks for Sawyer. On the inside, he is a little boy desperate for his dead mother’s love.  On the island, he finally found a family of sorts.  And now he believes they have all perished.

I am lost in Lost.

Thanks to Netflix, I no longer watch television; I binge.  Binge watching, I’ve learned, can take over my life in the same way that a really good book can. We could eat dinner at the table and talk to each other, but doesn’t it sound like more fun to set out the picnic blanket in the family room and watch Lost?

I know that Lost is yesterday’s news.  The hit sci-fi-ish drama set on a South Pacific island debuted in 2004 and concluded with its grand finale in 2010.  (I don’t know the ending, so please don’t tell me).  I know that Lost gets increasingly convoluted and far-fetched with each season.  I know that the story line includes all kinds of loose strands that dangle and go nowhere.  Like the numbers on Hurley’s winning lottery ticket.  Those numbers keep popping up in random places and for no reason.  They may never be explained.  I know all of this, and I’m still lost in Lost.

There's definitely a connection between Sawyer and Kate, but they both seem too emotionally crippled to work as a couple.

There’s definitely a connection between Sawyer and Kate, but they both seem too emotionally crippled to work as a couple.

As with any story, the characters are to blame.  I’ve become attached to them.  Sometimes I dream about these people.  I know them well, but they remain mysterious.

Kate is strong and independent, but emotionally crippled.  Will she ever be able to sustain a relationship?  And with whom will she end up, Dr. Jack Shephard (who has his own issues), or former con artist James “Sawyer” Freeman? I can see why she has a powerful attraction to Sawyer, but I don’t see them lasting.  I hope she’ll give Jack another chance, if he conquers his demons.

Even before I knew he was the leader of the "Others," Ben made me cringe, but he's kind of grown on me; he's always got a plan and it's interesting to see what he will come up with.

Even before I knew he was the leader of the “Others,” Ben made me cringe, but he’s kind of grown on me; he’s always got a plan and it’s interesting to see what he will come up with.

Even weak-chinned Ben Linus has grown on me.  Yes, he is evil and manipulative, but he is always interesting, especially when he breaks out of his sociopath mode.

John Locke is a pendulum, unsure if he is born leader destined to for greatness, or a small-minded pathetic middle-aged man with no life.  Which way will he ultimately swing?

And how in the world did Sayyid Jarrah end up becoming Ben’s on-call assassin?

But it’s not just the people. I’m also compelled to the couch by the ready availability of the next episode.  We can stay in this world for as long as we want to.  A summer of re-runs won’t break the fictional spell.  If I had watched Lost as a “weekly” event, I would have quit watching after season 4, when only 14 episodes were made.  I know that if I had to wait weeks and months for the next episode, I would lose interest, find other things to do.  In general, I don’t watch a lot of TV, so after a while I would forget to turn the set on.

Television bingeing, I’ve realized, provides good fodder for family conversations. Sure, we could talk about politics or the Russian invasion of Crimea, but those conversations wouldn’t be as rich, or last as long. With Lost, we have this entire world to gossip about, without hurting anyone’s feelings.

We have endless conversations about the most “killable” characters, those who might die in the next season.  Sawyer, we’ve decided is killable, since he has no family and little to go back to. But I hope he survives, although I don’t know what will become of him if he leaves the island.  He’s grown so much during these months on the island.  I doubt that he wants to return to his con-man lifestyle after all he’s been through, but he only has an 8th grade education and no professional skills.  What will be he do back home?

Now, as spring calls us out of hibernation (although it did snow on April 16), we are immersed in season five.  The Oceanic Six are home.  Ben says they have to return to the island to save the others.  The plot has become more and more far-fetched.  It feels a bit like nobody expected the show to last this long and the writers were just trying to keep it going for the ratings, but I don’t care.

I think Jack Shephard will pull it together and do whatever it is the writers want him to accomplish in Season 6.

I think Jack Shephard will pull it together and do whatever it is the writers want him to accomplish in Season 6.

I want Sawyer to know that Kate is alive and well, that his large friend Hurley may live in an alternate reality but is still the same sweet Hurley.  I want somebody to find Claire and reunite her with her baby Aaron, even if doing so breaks Kate’s heart. I want Charlie to come back from the dead.

But bingeing is full of sweet sorrow.  I know it won’t last.  The series will end. Now that we are in season five, every episode feels like a small death.

From this point forward, we’re going to stretch out our viewing.  If we get a rainy Saturday, we are NOT going to watch three episodes.  Maybe just two.  After season five, The Seal (my son) wants to take a two-week break before season starting season six, so that the end doesn’t come too soon.

When we’ve finished the final episode, we’ll emerge from the family room and blink in the bright sun of May.  I’ll feel a bit wrung out, but the intensity of my relationship with these people will fade over time.  It will be a while – probably next fall – before I start something new, as I’ve learned that in bingeing, I have to let the intensity diminish before watching another series.

Next up  in our lineup is The Seal’s choice, The Walking Dead, a zombie apocalypse series now wrapping up its fourth season (about 64 episodes, with another 16 to come next year). I could be wrong, but I don’t see myself falling hard for zombies.

That’s okay, I’ll be on the rebound.  I’m looking forward to starting something serious, maybe next winter, with the 62 episodes of Breaking Bad.  I could use a fling in between.

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Tiny travel, big world at the Peabody Essex Museum

Posted on April 13, 2014 by Dianne Fallon

I call this blog The Maniacal Traveler because I have a mania for travel in all its forms.  Visiting museums, wherever they are, is a sort of super-condensed travel, or tiny travel. The Peabody Essex Museum – established by the sea captains of Salem, Massachusetts in 1799, before the notion of a museum even existed — is a tiny travel dream because of its rich history, its amazing collection, and its innovative and quirky special exhibits.

Case in point: Recently, I pulled The Seal out of school to travel to a world of guitar-playing zebra finches in the special exhibit, from here to ear, by French artist Céleste Boursier-Mougenot.

In the exhibit, 70 or so zebra finches fly and flit around a large space and land on various Gibson Les Paul and Thunderbird bass guitars set on posts about three and a half feet off the ground.  When the finches perch and peck on the guitar strings, they make music, of a sort, in a fascinating display of human-animal collaboration.

When we visited, the birds were landing on guitars in singles and the occasional pair, and not in a flock as pictured here. A museum staffer told us they are unpredictable in their behavior, but tend to be the most active when just a few people are in the room (photo from PEM website).

This museum photo shows the birds gathering on the guitar. When we visited, the finches landed in ones or twos on the various guitars, producing some interesting twangs. At one point, a bird pecked at a string, producing something akin to a song. A museum staff member explained that sometimes the birds are more interested in perching and pecking than other times, but what they choose to do is very random (photo from PEM website).

This exhibit, a perfect hook for getting a teenager into the PEM, was pure delight.  After a 30-minute wait, we were led into the aviary-like space where the zebra finches flit about, hang out in their small basket condos, or hop around on the floor.  At times I had to be careful not to step on a bird, although I’m guessing that the finches are adept at avoiding feet.

Finches flew so close to my head that I could feel the wind generated by their flight on my cheek.  At one point, a female pecked at my leather shoes and, finding them hospitable, hopped onto the top of my foot, and began to groom herself.  She hung out there for about five minutes, while a group of males clustered below and chirped for her attention.

No filming or photos of the exhibit are permitted, but this clip from a similar exhibit that Boursier-Mougenot mounted at the Barbican Centre in London shows the birds in their most active mode:

I’m sorry to say that this special exhibit ends on April 13 (and the free-but-timed tickets have been sold out on weekends for a long time), but I will look for Celeste Boursier-Mougenot  and birds in the future, wherever they may land.

I especially liked how the exhibit challenges our ideas about “art.” We often say that we want “out-of-the-box thinking” to build things and solve problems, but when we encounter  such thinking in the world of art, we often dismiss it as gimmick or nonsense. Kudos to Boursier-Mougenot  and his birds for their playful work in breaking the boundaries of artistic boxes.

A related exhibit, “Beyond Human: Artist-Animal Collaborations,” remains open through September. This exhibit features the work of photographer William Wegman, well-known for his whimsical photos of his Weimaraner dogs with costumes and props, as well as that of more obscure artists who do things like work with hissing cockroaches that “paint pictures” or play a Japanese flute in harmony with howling wolfs.  (The artists adhere to specific ethical guidelines in working with their animal collaborators).

William Wegman's "Platform Shoes", 2008, (PEM website).

William Wegman’s “Platform Shoes”, 2008 (PEM website).

My favorite here was German artist Corinna Schnitt’s short video of a floor-level view of animals mingling in the her living room: cows, goats, a donkey, ducks, a parakeet, a cockatoo, a rabbit, and the family cat.  In the background, a llama seemed to be raiding the kitchen.  The exhibition note explained the video might stimulate us to think about our own interactions in similar spaces.

I’m not sure if the film made me think more deeply about mingling at a cocktail party, but it sure was fun.  The ducks seemed like little busybodies, butting into the business of the goats and disturbing the zen of the rabbit.  The cow, frankly, seemed out of her element, especially when she tried to horn in on a conversation between two goats.  The cat calmly sat on a chair, perhaps observing the behavior of her fellow creatures, or perhaps wishing they would all go home.  Now that I think about it, I have been to a few parties like that.

The collections at the PEM originally were generated by the 18th and 19th century world travels of Salem’s sea captains, and include art and artifacts the Far East, the South Pacific, and the Alaskan coast that were preserved and cataloged long before any other Western institution recognized these items as art.

Sir William Pepperrell, painted by John Smibert (sometimes Smybert) in 1746.

Sir William Pepperrell, painted by John Smibert (sometimes Smybert) in 1746.

For me, there’s something amazing and wonderful about looking at art or objects that connect me to the distant past. (I wish I could touch them, but understand why I can’t). In the first floor American Art gallery, the massive 1746 John Smibert portrait of Sir William Pepperrell, the hero of 1745 siege of Louisbourg and  a one-time “king of Kittery,” took my breath away, even if the gallery security guards drew a blank when I asked where his portrait was located. William who?

William had stood for this portrait, had looked at it, had touched it.  At one point, the portrait had hung (I think) in his home–just down the road from my house! And now I was meeting it, in the flesh (in a manner of speaking).

The Yin Yu Tang Chinese house at the PEM deserves its own post, but I will mention it here.  Almost by happenstance, in the late 1990s, when the Museum had an unusual  opportunity to purchase, transport, and rebuild a 200-year-old traditional village merchant’s house, they grabbed it, as part of an ongoing effort to facilitate cultural understanding of China.

In the late 18th century, the house had been carefully assembled in a very complex Lego-like fashion, with each piece carefully labelled.  In 1997-98, museum staffers and their Chinese collaborators carefully disassembled the house down to the last timber, tile, and brick, then transported it in 19 containers to Japan, then to New York, and then by truck to Salem, where it was rebuilt (over several years time) on the Museum grounds. It opened to the public in 2003.

Yin Yu Tang reflects 200 turbulent years of Chinese history, right down to a circa 1960s small speaker that was installed by the government in one of the main rooms to broadcast news and propaganda to the occupants several times a day.

Two lion carvings on the front of the house, intended to ward off evil spirits, were deliberately defaced by the owners during the Cultural Revolution of the late 1960s so as not to attract the attention of authorities who had outlawed such carvings as superstitious.

A wealthy and unloved relative who had taken over certain rooms as payment for a debt was relegated to the second floor after the Communists gave his rooms to two peasant families.  This man, disliked by his relatives for his mean-spirited personality and castigated as an evil “landlord” by the Communists, died of hunger in the house during the famine of 1960.

The website devoted to Yin Yu Tang offers a great preview as well as detailed information about the house, its inhabitants, and the disassembly/reconstruction process.

Thus, in one day, I traveled to a world of esoteric music and animal art, to colonial Kittery, and to China, and even made a quick stop in California circa 1920-1965, to an exhibit on the art and influence of California design.  I spent two hours (roundtrip) in my car, and, thanks to my library pass, $10 on admission fees (kids under 16 are free).  A big world for tiny travel and a good day’s of journey for a maniacal traveler.

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Jill Kinmont, my forgotten hero

Posted on April 7, 2014 by Dianne Fallon

I remember the swishing sound of skis as she pulled up in front of the camera. Blond hair,  blue eye, a big smile.

“My name is Jill Kinmont, and I ski!” she announced, providing both an introduction and an implicit invitation to a 13-year-old girl:  “How about if you join me?”

It was 1975, and I had just met skier Jill Kinmont, as played by the actress Marilyn Hassett in the television movie, The Other Side of the Mountain.

Jill Kinmont on the January 31, 1955 cover of SI.

Jill Kinmont on the January 31, 1955 cover of SI.

In 1955, Jill Kinmont was the premier woman skier in the U.S. and almost a sure bet for the Olympics.  With her ever-present smile, good looks, and sunny personality, Jill was the darling of the ski world.  On January 31, 1955, Sports Illustrated featured her on its cover, which in itself is pretty amazing.  (Aside from its bathing suit issue, how often does SI feature a woman athlete on its cover today?)

But three days before the magazine hit newsstands, Jill’s Olympic dreams died at Alta, Utah, when she crashed into a tree during a race and broke her neck. Jill was paralyzed from the shoulders down, and would remain in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

In the mountains this spring, I’ve been thinking about Jill, almost 40 years after I “met” her through the television movie and an “as-told-to” book originally titled A Long Way Up: The Jill Kinmont Story (but later retitled The Other Side of the Mountain).

The Other side of the MountainI didn’t grow up in a skiing family. Even if we’d had the money for skiing, my parents weren’t skiers.  But after seeing and reading The Other Side of the Mountain, I knew I HAD to start skiing.

Even though Jill’s ski career ended with a terrible fall, she made skiing seem like something thrilling and liberating.  Her passion for the sport was infectious. Like her, I wanted to fly down those slopes and feel the wind rushing through my hair.  I didn’t want to lean in and become a corporate executive or president.  I wanted to lean into the snow and become Jill Kinmont.

That winter, when our church began offering ski trips to Vermont, I was the first to sign up.  Two or three times each season, forty teenagers and Father Brown packed into a rented school bus and pulled out of the parking lot at 6 a.m. for the three-hour trip to Mount Hogback, Vermont (now one of the many “Lost Ski Areas of New England”).

Very few of us knew how to ski. None had ever taken lessons. But, wearing our jeans and winter coats, we would snap into our rented skis and plummet down the trails at Hogback.

At least one kid came home from each trip wearing a cast or splint on an arm or leg.  I think Father Brown must have spent most of his ski day at the first aid station or the emergency room in Brattleboro.

At our junior high, Mr. Hannigan and Mr. LeVangie organized a ski club that provided another opportunity for sailing down mountains, at places like the now-defunct Tenney Mountain.  By high school, we were ready for the big leagues: overnight ventures to Mount Orford in Quebec and to Sugarloaf, Maine.  By then, we had learned to ski (although usually not well), so the teachers could ski rather than take kids to the emergency room.

Skiing had an almost sacred appeal to many teenagers in our mostly blue-collar section of town.  Families were large and houses small.  Skiing was freedom, wild and uncluttered.   We loved it, even when we broke our arms and legs.  A cast was a badge of honor.

Lacking the required athletic ability as well as ready access to skiing, I never did become an Olympic skier. But today, forty years after my encounter with Jill, I still can’t wait to snap into my skis.

Still, every time I go to a ski area, I continue to be amazed that this industry exists: that thousands of people are willing to spend money to go to very cold places to sail down steep mountain slopes, with no seat belt.  If skiing wasn’t already established, and you tried to sell the idea on Shark Tank, the sharks would laugh you out of the studio.

Some criticize skiing as elitist, expensive, and environmentally unfriendly. There is some truth to all of that, but anyone who skis on a regular basis knows that skiers come from all income brackets (although, admittedly, the crowds aren’t very racially or ethnically diverse). Skiers become minimum-wage ski bums to pursue their passion, or they sleuth out deals and brown-bag it.  Like travelers, skiers will spend their last dime on a lift ticket and not regret it.

Today, when I read about Jill Kinomnt’s life, I am struck by how young she was — just 17 — when she was injured.  Although she vowed to walk and ski again, it didn’t happen.  I wonder what moments of sadness The Other Side of the Mountain overlooked, and how Jill mourned the loss of that freedom.

Jill Kinmont Boothe died at age 75 in February 2012, in Carson City, Nevada.   Although she endured many losses in her life, she lived a rich full life.  She became a reading teacher and an artist.  She attended ski events at her “home” mountain, Mammoth, in southern California, and at other places. She continued to smile.

Some might view Jill’s accident as a cautionary tale of what happens to a girl when she pushes too close to the edge.  I never did.  Instead, Jill’s story was an invitation to pursue passions. Take risks.  Dare to to do things.

She is my forgotten hero.

Thinking about Jill on a recent afternoon at Bethel's Sunday River, which will probably be open with good conditions until early May. Note lack of gloves!

Thinking about Jill on a recent afternoon at Bethel’s Sunday River, which will probably be open with good conditions until early May. Note lack of gloves!

Additional information:

Read more about Jill in her 2012 obituary in the Los Angeles Times.  Also, her one-time coach, and the founder/developer of Mammoth Mountain, Dave McCoy, has a wonderful collection of photos at his website, Dave McCoy Photography.

 

Posted in Family and Kids, Mountains, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

March Madness: Torture by Thin Mint

Posted on March 30, 2014 by Dianne Fallon
It's March and that means it is Thin Mint season.

It’s March and that means Thin Mint season.

Girl Scouts are scarce back here in the woods, but last week I scored a case of Thin Mints after following a trail of crumbs on social media.  I met up with Heather in a parking lot behind the local school (not a mint-free zone), forked over the cash, and brought my stash home.

Now those Thin Mints are torturing me.  Their chocolate sugary goodness are the perfect complement to morning coffee.  The refreshing mint cleanses the palate after lunch or supper.  These small treats fit the bill for a late night dessert if I am craving something sweet.

But I will not eat them.

I have already fallen off the bandwagon on caffeine, gluten, dairy and alcohol.  I will not give in to sugar, even in Thin Mints.

I bought my Thin Mints for tradition. It’s March.  For almost fifty years, I have eaten Thin Mints in March, the peak of the Girl Scout cookie-sales season.   For most of his entire life, my son has eaten Thin Mints in March.  We have our traditions and must maintain them  –even if doing so means several weeks of torture by Thin Mint as the supply steadily diminishes.

I have sworn off Thin Mints as follow-up to a “whole foods cleanse” I recently completed.   I wanted to shake things up with my eating habits.  Maybe lose a few of the pounds that stealthily creep on year after year.  Learn some new tricks that might help me to sleep better and feel more energetic.  In doing so, I might eliminate all the fun in life, but maybe I could take up gambling.  Somebody’s got to support all those new casinos opening in New England this year.

Although my husband says the color is unappetizing, this chocolate-y protein-packed smoothie filled me up during my week long cleanse. No sugar, dairy, or other evils. And it is delicious! For the recipe, see the bottom of the post.

Although my husband says the color is unappetizing, this chocolate-y protein-packed almond-milk smoothie filled me up during my week long cleanse. No sugar, dairy, or other evils. And it is delicious!

Except for the caffeine piece, the whole foods cleanse seemed reasonable:  Follow a whole-foods diet for a week, with a focus on eating more fruits and veggies. No gluten, dairy, alcohol, sugar or caffeine.  No processed foods.  After a week, I could start adding foods back in.

The idea behind the cleanse isn’t to transform everyone into gluten-free teetotalers, but to eliminate toxins from the body and nudge participants into making small changes in diet over time.  Not necessarily to become gluten-free, but to eat less bread and pasta, and more veggies.   Not to permanently swear off Greek yogurt, but to move away from dairy as the only way to dress up coffee or cereal.

Completing the week-long cleanse was easier than I thought.  The biggest challenge was giving up coffee.  I slowly had been moving towards eating less bread and pasta anyway, and had replaced milk, for the most part, with almond milk.   And although I love a daily glass of red wine, I’d been having trouble sleeping for a long time, and my doctor suggested trying to skip the evening wine.  Instead, I’d switched to a nightly wine glass filled with tart cherry juice, which my doc said might help me sleep better.

During the week, I felt tired in the morning from lack of coffee. By evening, however, I usually felt more energetic than usual.

Although I am inclined to be a skeptic about the health claims of various programs and diets, I think I benefited from the completing the cleanse.  I am not waking up at 3 a.m. and tossing and turning until 6.  And although I’m again drinking my morning coffee, I’m now only dabbling in gluten, dairy, and alcohol (which is kind of the point).

However, after finishing the cleanse, I decided to more or less permanently give up sweets and sugar, except as a very rare treat.  No more afternoon cookies or the occasional doughnut. The Hershey Kisses in the closet would go in the trash.  The cleanse taught me that I don’t really crave sugar. I don’t need it, the way I need my coffee.

But Thin Mints–they are small.  They are a treat.  They call to me.

Each day, I pack two or three into my son’s lunch box.  If you know that middle-age means a barren existence of no Thin Mints, it’s best to make sure your child gets to eat them now.

Glaciers will melt and sea levels will rise. Wars may be fought for oil.  China may call in its loans to the U.S. government and the economy may collapse.  But at least my child will have memories of Thin Mints.

Perhaps it would be better to have no memory of Thin Mints at all, than to be tortured by the memory of their minty sweetness.

Perhaps eating Thin Mints would make a better memory than one of being tortured by the memory of eating Thin Mints.

Do I want to live in a world where my relationship with Thin Mints ends with the memory of torture by Thin Mint?

It’s the end of March.  A nor’easter is on a path to hit the coast with several inches of snow.

I’m going to make a caffeine-gluten-sugar-dairy-alcohol-free smoothie and consider my options.

Another benefit of ordering a case of Thin Mints is that your cat gets a new box to add some excitement to his dull house-bound life.

Another benefit of ordering a case of Thin Mints is that your cat gets a new box to add some excitement to his dull house-bound life.

P.S.

I completed my whole foods cleanse with the guidance of health coach Kate Kennington at GLOW Body Work.

This recipe for a Raw Banana Cacao Breakfast shake is sweet, filling, and full of protein.  The key ingredient is the cacao.  Bananas can be fresh or frozen, and you omit or add the dates as you wish.  You can also add protein powder for more protein.

Chia seeds, which apparently are full of omega 3s and other good stuff, swell up and create a sort of pudding when they are soaked, so I think including them in the smoothie contributes to a feeling of fullness.

 

 

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Heads up: The Maniacal Traveler is coming!

Posted on March 28, 2014 by Dianne Fallon
Standing on the summit of Mount Washington earlier this winter. Temps minus 20ish. Do I look maniacal?

Standing on the summit of Mount Washington earlier this winter. Temps minus 20ish. Do I look maniacal?

This winter, renaming my blog has been on my t0-do list.  “Random History and Offbeat Trivia” was always a placeholder for me, a starting point, since I firmly believe that it’s always better to begin a journey than to wait for the perfect moment, or perfect blog title.

Thus, as a preview, I now introduce “The Maniacal Traveler.” The next time you see this blog, “The Maniacal Traveler” will be the title (I think….).  It’s still me, so please don’t banish me to your junk mail.

I’ve been making lists all winter, trying to capture the “essence” of my blog and my writing.  I also wanted a title that is unique and catchy.  If you google “Random History,” at least a dozen sites will pop up, none of them mine. But I haven’t found a single site called “The Maniacal Traveler.”

I don't always have a drink in hand, but my mother, sister, and I celebrated an excellent meal together at an adventure in Boston. The drink concoction was called a "Hot Tub"and it was maniacally good.

I don’t always have a drink in hand, but my mother, sister, and I celebrated an excellent meal together at an adventure in Boston. The drink concoction was called a “Hot Tub”and it was maniacally good.

Besides being a little bit of a pun on Maine, The Maniacal Traveler can cover a lot of ground, including travel of all kinds, time travel/history, and mind travel (as in random musings).

I also like the idea of mania because sometimes I do get a bit maniacal about organizing and planning adventures.  And I think Maniacal Traveler has that “edginess” that may grab the attention of internet readers while simultaneously transforming maniacal from a sinister word (as in maniacal killer) to one that celebrates a mania for living every day to the fullest.

Plus, wouldn’t the world be a better place with more maniacal readers, writers, hikers, and travelers?

The snow is about three feet deep in the mountains, but it won't be long before I can start doing some maniacal hiking. These steep ladders climb straight up Mt. Willey.

The snow is about three feet deep in the mountains, but it won’t be long before I can start doing some maniacal hiking. These steep ladders climb straight up Mt. Willey.

Right now I feel especially manic with my writing and traveling.  My files are full of drafts about Thin Mints, Alaska, friendships, hiking, and history.  I’m also maniacally copyediting my book, Pioneer on a Mountain Bike, which will be published later this spring by Piscataqua Press.  Add in a pending visit from a Japanese exchange student, my first stress test/echocardiogram, and a good dose of spring skiing, and “The Maniacal Traveler” definitely feels right.  So does a nap.

Your thoughts and feedback on this name change are much appreciated.  The Maniacal Traveler promises she won’t come stalking.

 

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When the cold fails, try the warmth

Posted on March 24, 2014 by Dianne Fallon

Five things to do instead of skiing during New Mexico’s worst drought ever

I am probably the only person in the United States who was disappointed by snowfall totals this winter.  Specifically in New Mexico, where we made plans for a sunny ski trip in February (see here for more) .  When we arrived, the snowfall total from January to mid-February at Taos Ski Valley was a skimpy (by mountain standards) 39 inches. By contrast, average annual snowfall at TSV is 305 inches.  So we did a quick turnaround in our minds, from ski trip to road trip.  Here’s a sampler of the fun.

1. Visit Taos Pueblo

Although in a constant state of rebuilding, the pueblo at Taos Pueblo has been inhabited for more than 1000 years. Now that's history!

Although in a constant state of rebuilding, the mud brick pueblo at Taos Pueblo has been inhabited for more than 1000 years.  The Pueblo is considered the oldest continuously inhabited community in the U.S. Now that’s history!

Taos Pueblo, home of the Taos Pueblo people,  is one of the few UNESCO World Heritage historic/cultural sites that is also a living, breathing community, although the winter population drops in the Pueblo drops to about 100 people.  (Many more dwell in modern homes on the surrounding tribal land).

Although residents no longer enter and exit their homes through holes in the roofs (doors have been added), the Pueblo has neither electricity or running water. Water is hauled from the stream that runs through the Pueblo.

Residents no longer enter and exit their homes through holes in the roofs (doors have been added), but the Pueblo lacks both electricity or running water. Water is hauled from the stream that runs through the Pueblo. Living here is not for the faint of heart.

 

The church in the Pueblo was built in xxx, after the Spanish-built church was destroyed in XX.

The San Geronimo Church in the Pueblo was built in 1850, after U.S. Army destroyed the Spanish church that dated to 1706.  The Spanish built the first San Geronimo in 1619, but this original church was destroyed during the Pueblo Revolt of 1680.

Although the Pueblo welcomes visitors and everyone we met was friendly and hospitable, the Pueblo people guard their heritage. Visitors are welcome at rituals and ceremonies, but absolutely no photos are allowed during these events.  Brochures and other materials remind visitors not to interrupt ceremonies with questions or comments.

Today the Pueblo is striving for a balance between cultural tourism and community preservation, but for most of their history, what the Pueblo people most wanted was to be left alone. Although not warriors by tradition, they were definitely willing to fight for the right to self-government.

The Pueblo people were conquered by the Spanish around 1615, but revolted twice, in 1640, and then again during the 1680 Pueblo Revolt that spread through all of New Mexico’s pueblo communities. They held off the Spanish for 16 years before being defeated in 1696.  Later, in the 1770s, repeated attacks on the pueblo by the Comanche led the Pueblo people to seek Spanish protection.  The Comanches also scared the hell out of the Spanish and prevented expansion of their empire, but Spanish soldiers were able to protect Taos, a small island of Spain in a vast land ruled by the Comanche.  Lots of history happening out here in the West while the American Revolution was heating up in Boston.

The site of the 1706 San Geronimo Church. The church was destroyed during xxx by the U.S. Army during the second Pueblo revolt.

The site of the 1706 San Geronimo Church. In 1847, the U.S. Army destroyed the church, where women, children and elderly had taken shelter, in retaliation for the murder of New Mexico territorial Governor Charles Bent. Bent was killed by a group of townspeople and Native Americans during an attempted revolt against the U.S. government, which had just taken control of New Mexico during the Mexican-American War.

2. Check out the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge formerly known as New Mexico’s Bridge-to-Nowhere

View of the Gorge from the bridge.

View of the Rio Grande Gorge from the bridge, 650 feet above the river.

Just a few miles outside of Taos, the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge spans a narrow canyon carved by the river.  When the three-span steel continuous-deck-truss structure was completed in 1965, the feds ran out of funds to build a road, so until the 1970s, when U.S. Route 64 was rerouted through Taos, the bridge was called the Bridge to Nowhere.

The bridge definitely goes somewhere today–Route 64 ends at the Four Corners of New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona and Utah–but we didn’t follow that road.  We did take in the amazing views and hiked for a mile or so on the West Rim Trail that hugs the gorge for nine miles (18 miles RT).  It was great to be out hiking in the scrubland in mild temperatures.

After our visit to the Gorge Bridge, we traveled by car and foot to the bottom of the Gorge.

After our visit to the bridge, we traveled by car and foot to the bottom of the Gorge in search of hot springs.

3. Soak in natural hot springs

Not sure if I really want this photo of me in my bathing suit on the Internet, but the hot springs sure were nice. The springs are clothing-optional and most opt out, but teenagers and nude parents do not make a good match.

I’m not sure if I really want this photo of me in my bathing suit on the Internet, but Black Rock Hot Springs sure were nice. The springs are clothing-optional and most opt out, but teenagers and nude parents do not make a good match.

After our hike along the Gorge, we used a combination of local directions and iPhone GPS (never to be completely trusted in rural areas) to navigate our way on a rough dirt road to the John Dunn Bridge and the Black Rock Hot Springs.

Although not that far from the homes of Arroyo Hondo, the bottom of the Gorge felt very isolated and a little bit spooky.  I reminded myself that these hot springs are well-known to locals and likely to be populated by mellow bathers rather than Deliverance-style killers.

We did run into a few naked people, but they weren’t carrying spears, and were quite friendly and polite.  After they finished their soak (the pool was pretty full of people), we took our turn and enjoyed sitting in the 97 degree water while the Rio Grande flowed past us on its way to the Mexican-American border.  Eventually, a local mom and her four-year-old daughter joined us, thus quelling any lingering notions that a drug-addled maniac was about to burst forth from behind a rock.

Memories of Charles Manson mingled with those from the movie Easy Rider to fuel my paranoia.  The scene in which Dennis Hopper and Peter Hopper go skinny dipping with two girls from a hippie commune was filmed at nearby Stagecoach Springs Hot Springs (also called Manby Hot Springs).  Although nothing chilling occurs in that particular scene, the audience senses impending danger as the two men continue on their journey.  Fortunately, from our hot spring pool, we had a clear view of the trail to the parking spot and would at least spot the killers before they sprang upon us.

The commercial hot springs at Ojo Caliente also looked tempting and everyone recommended them, but we decided against more driving on a hot springs quest and opted for soaking in the hot tub at our rental.  Something to leave for the next visit.

4. Hike Devisadero Peak in the “off-season”

On the Deviserado Loop Trail (about five miles and fairly easy), we had great views of Wheeler Peak, New Mexico's highest at 13,159 feet. If we had been better prepared for hiking, we probably could have completed the trek up to Wheeler. Typically the mountain would be drenched in snow at this time of year.

On the Deviserado Loop Trail (about five miles and fairly easy), we had great views of Wheeler Peak, New Mexico’s highest at 13,159 feet. If we had been better prepared for hiking, we probably could have completed the trek up to Wheeler. Typically the mountain would be drenched in snow at this time of year.

Relaxing at the summit in a grove of pinon and juniper trees. Someone built these Adirondack chairs from rocks. The chairs were a bit chilly, but we didn't mind.

Relaxing at the summit in a grove of pinon and juniper trees. Someone built these Adirondack chairs from rocks. The chairs were a bit chilly, but we didn’t mind. Back in Maine, we call these temps “spring.”

“Devisadero” means “lookout point” or place. The Pueblo Indians once used the great views from the peak to stand guard against Apache raiders.

During the spring, summer, and fall, hikers and mountain bikers pack the trail, but only a few hardy hikers, bundled up in jackets, hats, and mittens, were out on the 40 degree-ish morning that we climbed the mountain. We had the 8,304-foot summit to ourselves.  It wasn’t really warm enough for shorts, but my son dons them whenever the temps top 40, hence his nickname, “The Seal.”

5. Find your way to Tent Rocks National Monument.

Some of the so-called "tent rocks." Millions of years ago, volcanic eruptions left a 1000-foot thick layer of pumice, ash and tuff deposits, which have gradually eroded to form these conical hoodoos and other formations.

Some of the so-called “tent rocks.” Millions of years ago, volcanic eruptions left a 1000-foot thick layer of pumice, ash and tuff deposits, which have gradually eroded to form these conical hoodoos and other intriguing formations.

On our last weekend in New Mexico, a late-arriving email tip sent me to the map to look for Tent Rocks National Monument.  I am soooo glad we found this surreal place, which had me looking for Hobbits and wondering if a dragon might slither around a corner.

Playing in the slot canyons of Tent Rocks. During a heavy rain, these canyons become raging streams.

Playing in the slot canyons of Tent Rocks. During a heavy rain, these canyons can become raging streams.

At Tent Rocks, we hiked along a sandy trail that led past hoodoos with rocks balanced on their points; slot canyons with walls that rose hundreds of feet; and an ancient cave where someone camped out hundreds of years ago.  Eventually we climbed to a high plateau for great views.

Tent Rocks is another “middle-of-nowhere” place, but only about 40 miles from Albuquerque, so it was quite busy with hikers of all stripes and ages when we visited.  Be sure to bring water on your trip (or fill up at the gas station/sub shop/store in the tiny town of Cochiti Lake), as no water is available at Tent Rocks.

 

Okay, my subtitle reads “five things to do,” but I need to highlight one more item for the list:  Relax.

Lounge around at the rental.  Watch sunsets.  Read books.  Surf on the internet and read more about the Southwest in Travels with The Blond Coyote, by New Mexico-based Mary Caperton Morton,who travels all over the United States living in a tiny TearDrop trailer.

Plan your next trip.  Forget the skis, remember the sunscreen.  Rinse, and repeat.

Pueblo cat, outside one of the small gift shops. Internet cats get lots of love, I've learned!

Pueblo cat, outside one of the small gift shops. Internet cats get lots of love, I’ve learned!

Sources and resources

Directions to natural hot springs in the Taos vicinity.

Trail maps for Deviserado Peak

More info on Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument (Take note: no dogs allowed).

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