Another Log From History

I'm not sure how it ended up on-line, but there's a fascinating short-entry log by a B-17 navigator in World War II posted as a PDF file.

The log covers 1943 and 1944. The writer is stationed in England and taking part in missions over Holland, France and Germany. It runs from the flight crew's journey to England and includes more than 20 missions before the narrator's B-17 is shot down over Holland.

The log ends with a recollection, written later, of the navigator's experiences "escaping and evading" in Holland and France after he bailed-out of the crippled B-17.

I found this fascinating, both as a student of history (mostly I enjoy the stories from history rather than catalogs of fact) and as the nephew of a B-17 navigator. My Uncle, Robert Farrar, was a navigator on B-17s in World War II. He never told us much about his wartime experience. If the scenes described here are some of what Robert saw during his tour of duty, then I guess I'm not surprised.

Historic Geospatial Data

Two hundred years ago today, John Quincy Adams (a future US President) was on a ship called The Horace, captained by Benjamin Beckford, outward bound from Charlestown, just north of Boston in Massachusetts, to St. Petersburg in Russia. There was a heavy swell and a "gale of wind" out of the west-northwest.

Mr. Adams, who was sailing to Russia to serve as President James Madison's minister plenipotentiary to that nation, spent his time that day reading about Timoleon and Paulus Aemilius (in Plutarch, I think), according to his personal one-line-a-day log.

He gave the ship's position as 52 degrees, 46 minutes north latitude and 34 degrees, 30 minutes west longitude, which put them almost exactly halfway between Newfoundland and Ireland, in the north Atlantic.

Now, two centuries later, the folks at the Massachusetts Historical Society have started a project to publish Adams' log in the closest thing to a modern "line-a-day" log -- twitter. They've begun posting each day's entry to a John Quincy Adams twitter account: JQAdams_MHS.


View John Quincy Adams in a larger map

And they have geo-published those entries, using Adams' recording of the ship's position. Now we have both a regular text update of Adams' days, and we have a daily chart showing his location and basic log entries.

That is in addition to his full diaries from the journey, which are also available, and which contain more detail and thoughts. In fact, the Massachusetts Historical Society has 51 volumes of diaries that President Adams kept throughout his life; he was one of those diarists who left a rich legacy for historians and biographers.

Of course I could draw the comparison between the 19th centuries diarists and 21st century bloggers. But I think that, more than any one technique or technology, it is the practice of daily recording of data, location, thoughts, and activities, that is of value here.

Not every diarist or blogger who writes down their thoughts each day will turn out to be a leader that future generations will want to study. But we do hope that every leader will keep such a record for the future. And we don't know ahead of time who those folks will be. So, it is, I think, a good thing to have at least some part of the population in the habit, just in case one of them turns out to be someone special some day.

At Pearl Harbor

We didn't want to be in Honolulu and not visit Pearl Harbor. So we joined a small bus full of tourists that left very early one morning. The goal was to get there first thing; the USS Arizona Memorial features long lines and waits.

While we waited our turn, the girls had their picture taken with a Pearl Harbor survivor. A number of these gentlemen volunteer at the memorial and are eager to sign autographs, pose for pictures and share their stories. That morning, the man signing autographs was Alfred Benjamin Kame'eiamoku Rodrigues, a Pearl Harbor survivor. he was born and raised in Hawaii and in the Navy at the time of the Pearl Harbor attack in 1941.

There's a museum, a museum shop, and an introductory film before the boat takes you out to the site of the Arizona Memorial. The Memorial itself is small and intense and moving. There's not much to say except that it touches you.

Afterwards, we toured the USS Missouri, now anchored next to the Memorial as a Museum. This is a fascinating ship to visit. She served in both World War II and the first Gulf War and includes examples of naval warfare technology and living from several generations.

I was in picture-taking heaven. There were red phones, alarms, compasses, and lots of other cool things.

Pearl Harbor is well worth a visit. It is an important part of our history and fascinating to a history buff. But get there early.

Age is Different in Different Ages

I spotted this interesting photo on the old-photo blog Shorpy the other day and it has stayed in the back of my mind. I realized why today, during a meeting of the Delaware Population Consortium.

The picture was posted by a reader called Dana and it includes some of his or her forbears. It is from 1902 and includes four generations of a family. From the left, Great-grandmother at 65 years, Grandmother at 47 years, baby at six months, and Mom at age 19 years.

It has stayed in my mind because I am 47 years old this year. But That Grandmother looks more elderly than I do or than any of my contemporaries. and Great-grandma looks much older than folks I know who are now in their 70s and 80s.

At the meeting of the Delaware Population Consortium today, we were reviewing population projections for the state out to the year 2040, when we predict a much older population. We talked about how many people will be around 100 years old and speculated that at some point the age of retirement -- the age that we think of as "old" -- will have to go up.

Looking back at this picture, I realize that at different times in history, the stages of life -- youth, middle age, old age -- come at different ages.

Blast from The Past: Lunar Landing Edition

It was 40 years ago today that Apollo 11 lifted off to begin the mission that would put the first humans on the Moon. Today began a week-long celebration, of sorts, that has at least two newspapers here in Delaware asking for reminisces from readers about the Moon Landing.

And NASA has released newly restored footage of the first moonwalk. That restored material is included in the video below.


I found this, by the way, as part of an interesting report on the release on the NY Times blog The Lede.

I was seven years old in July of 1969 and my memory of the Moon Landing has me, for some reason, in a classroom at Woodacres Elementary School, in Bethesda, Maryland. I would have been a first or second-grade student that year, but I would think that school would be out in July.

Perhaps it was a summer school session; I have a memory of one summer when I was quite small when we did some sort of summer school, or perhaps a summer program at the school. I remember brown-bag packed lunches eaten under a tree outside.

If it was in Woodacres Elementary that I watched the Moon Landing, then I think it was the case that I was suffering from a scratched cornea that day and was shortly taken off to the eye-doctor, who applied a temporary eye-patch.

I had been struck in the eye by a thorn-bush branch that whipped back into place as we walked through the woods near our home. There would probably have been a line of us -- I was one of seven kids -- and I think whoever was ahead of me brushed past that branch causing it to spring back at little me.

I think I remember not being able to see what the hell Niel Armstrong was doing when I watched the Moon Landing. In fact, looking back at even restored footage, I'm amazed at what we were impressed with on our television screens back then.

Anyway, that's what I think is my memory of the Apollo 11 mission. I hope my Mother and Father can correct or corroborate my recollection. I have found lately that my memories of childhood are at least partly productions of my imagination.

What happened 40 years ago, in my memory, is recreated from the scraps that remain in memory from the little I saw and heard from down below the big people. The right side of my brain is playing with those scraps and creating new dramas, comedies, and mockumentories for me.

At the Chautauqua Tent Show

I'm spending most of my evenings this weekend in downtown Lewes serving as master of ceremonies for the 11th Annual Chautauqua Tent Show. The Chautauqua is a project of the state's Division of Historical and Cultural Affairs and the Lewes Historical Society and is focused on major historical figures. Actors portraying PT Barnum, Frederick Douglas, William Shakespeare, David Douglas, The Lone Ranger, and Annie Oakley present lectures throughout the week under a smallish big-top tent. There are also afternoon family activities each day. The evenings start with music groups each evening at 6, followed by the main act at 7. The photo at right is the group Slyte of Hand, from Sunday evening.

My job is fairly simple. I thank the Delaware Humanities forum and other sponsors and funding agencies. I tout the door-prize drawing. I thank the organizing committee. I point out the restrooms. And I introduce the performers. While they are on-stage, I can wander around with my camera (as I tend to do). I have started a photo set, but so far have only posted shots from Sunday.

Monday night's show was interrupted by a heavy downpour that suggested one of the windy, heavy, thunderstorms we've been getting late. It was nasty-looking enough that organizers stopped the opening band and moved everyone into the Zwaanendael Museum (we were in a tent just outside). We split the audience into two groups; the band played acoustically upstairs while Frederick Douglas spoke to a group on the main floor. After a while, Mr. Douglas moved upstairs and the band moved back to the tent, as the storm had moved on. It was a little crazy, but I think it worked.

Tonight, there's a concert by the US Navy Commodores, part of the 2009 Lewes Summer Concert Series. so, while there will be the usual afternoon family activities, there won't be an evening show. But I'll be back before the mic on Wednesday with my notes, my smile, and my camera.

Floating History

I spent a pleasant hour today visiting the Nina and the Pinta, reproductions of two of the ships that Christopher Columbus sailed from Spain to the Americas. The ships are in Lewes for the weekend and the volunteer crews are offering tours.

I love boats of all kinds and am a voracious reader of maritime stories, so I was in heaven. I took about a hundred pictures, some of which I liked well enough to post on-line.

While I was aboard, a small group of volunteers from the Kalmar Nyckel were wandering around and playing compare and contrast. The Kalmar Nyckel is a reproduction of the ship that brought the first permanent European settlers to Delaware, in 1638. There are almost 150 years between the two voyages; it was fun to listen to them compare notes with the Nina and Pinta crews. The Kalmar Nyckel was a much more technologically advanced ship, yet all three are but small cockle shells in which to cross a stormy sea.

One of the perks of living in Lewes is the town's close connection to the sea. We were historically a port, and a fishing town. Now we haul in tourists and retirees, but the water still plays a key role.

Remembering a Grandparent's Adventures

There was an undersea volcanic eruption in the western Pacific, near Tonga, this week. The Boston Globe's The Big Picture offered a set of fascinating photographs of an island being born from the eruption. The image at right is from that collection.

Scrolling through these pictures brought my mind back to a series of letters written by my Grandmother in which she described a similar eruption that sprang up in the Galapagos Islands, in the eastern Pacific, off the coast of South America, in the spring of 1925.

My grandmother, Isabel Cooper, was an artist. Starting in 1917, she made seven voyages with the naturalist William Beebe to Central and South America, and surrounding equatorial seas, to study animals and plants.

This was in the days before color photography. My grandmother, as the expeditions' “scientific artist,” produced detailed color paintings of the flora and fauna of the Amazonian jungle, the Galapagos Islands, and the open ocean. The image at left is from The Arcturus adventure: an account of the New York Zoological Society's first oceanographic expedition (1926, Putnum). It shows my grandmother at work on the Arcturus, painting a live fish.

During the 1925 voyage, she wrote a series of letters to my grandfather, Charles Mahaffie, who she had met the previous winter and with whom she would carry on a nearly three and a half year courtship – mostly by letter. We are lucky to have these letters in a collection edited by my father.

On Easter Sunday (April 12) of 1925, she wrote from the Arcturus:

I have put in some peculiar Easters: fire at sea five years ago; shooting rapids of the Mazaruni River last year; etc. But this time is the prize. What do you suppose has gone and happened out here in this “ash heap of the world?” Blooming volcano has broken loose, erupting all over the place. Rather decent of it to pick just this time to do it, as we are probably the only people anywhere around for a few hundred miles to observe it.

They had been anchored in Darwin Bay, at Tower Island (now Isla Genovesa), when “the night watch noticed a faint glow in the direction of Albemarle Island [Isla Isabela], about sixty miles away.” When morning came they began a voyage of a day and night, across the span of the Galapagos Islands, to reach the volcano.

We got to the scene of the eruption early this morning, after the wildest possible night. You couldn't sleep. It was too exciting, steaming slowly toward the first active volcano that any of us had seen.

They watched the eruption from off-shore. I think it differed from this week's eruption in that it was on an existing island and featured less explosive activity, but perhaps more lava flow. A small group went ashore and trekked close to the crater. That was probably a foolish thing to do, as she describes their return “in very bad shape.”

Legs full of cramps, from walking on hot lava, I suppose. And all symptoms of bad thirst, tongues swollen, etc. They finished their canteens in the first mile. They ran into some pretty poisonous gases, which they couldn't smell, but which made them sick.

In spite of this, she had wanted to go ashore, if only at the edge of the island, but was not allowed. And she wanted to try to capture what she was seeing:

I tried to make a sketch of the thing: memory sketch of the red clouds and generally hellish aspect at night, as well as the really beautiful colors of the craters by daylight, but have arrived at the conclusion that it can't be painted. Usually takes a good whang on the head to convince me that I can't accomplish something that appeals to me to do, but this time I give up.

They watched the volcano through Easter night and into the following Monday morning before returning to their work. At midnight she wrote:

We have spent the whole evening looking at the crater – flames popping up here and there and most incredible clouds rising out of it and turning all kinds of red. The moon is just about two days past the full, but enormously bright, and adds to the general strange effect.

It's a large world we live on. We in the internet age are used to seeing images instantly from around the globe. We have become used to what in earlier generations would have been strange, fascinating, and special.

My grandmother's time was modern, of course; the voyages of the Arcturus were transmitted by radio (The “wireless”) and reported in the newspapers in New York. But these were just the “when” and “where” details and brief descriptions. The bright colors and fantastic shapes of alien plants, animals and fish needed the work of artists to be brought back to the home-bound public.

So as we page through yet another collection of photos from the other side of the world, or watch a YouTube video from some far frontier, we should try to remember that, at one time, even the other end of our nation was an expedition away.

What we see as “a small world, after all” is really a vast place deserving of respect and wonder. We should not let the ease of access we have inherited blind us to the size and diversity of our planet.

That was One Hell of a Speech

I've watched Barack Obama's inaugural address twice today and listened to it on the radio once and I'm still digging it. It is a hell of a speech and well worth reading as well.

This is the part that keeps sticking in my mind:

For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness.

We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus, and nonbelievers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth.

And because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.

I watched the speech as it happened on a television in a Dover restaurant this noon. I was with several work friends and we were all thrilled. I will always remember the tracks of tears down cheeks when I remember this day.

On my drive home this evening, NPR played the whole speech again. I listened as I drove south through the Delaware countryside.

Karen and I watched the whole ceremony this evening on Tivo. I had set it to record C-Span from 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.; we were able to scroll ahead through the introductions of varied VIPs and stop for the cute things, like the Obama girls. We both wanted to hear the speech again and to hear the performance by Yo-Yo Ma, Itzhak Perlman, Gabriela Montero, and Anthony McGill.

We also wanted to hear the Rev. Joseph Lowery's inauguration benediction. We loved this part:

Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around ... when yellow will be mellow ... when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen.

This has been a good day.

Happy Hanukkah!

Today begins the Festival of Lights, an eight-day celebration that commemorates the rededication of the Second Temple in Jerusalem in the Second Century during a revolt against Greek rule by a Hebrew commander called Judah Maccabee. (Hat tip to wikipedia).

Matt Haughey has posted a link to a fun song for the holiday. One that places it nicely in a modern context.



I grew up in an area that had a healthy mix of faiths. I was raised a Catholic but a great many of my friends were Jewish (and some were Hindu and some Muslim, but that is a post for other holidays). We were aware of and took pleasure in each other's holidays. There was no "War on Christmas." There a universal respect for our various cultures. And there was occasional jealousy over gift-getting traditions, but that was minor.

For a full primer on Hanukkah, I strongly recommend "A Rugrats Chanukah," which tells the story of the Maccabean revolt through the imaginations of Tommy, Chucky, Angelica, and Phil'n'Lil. Watching The Rugrats was an added bonus for me during the time of small children, and this retelling of the Hanukkah story contains one of my favorite Rugrats moments: when Tommy emerges from a cave, dressed as one of the Maccabees, and declares, "A macca-baby's gotta do what a macca-baby's gotta do!"

Mo Dowd Muses on The Changes to Come

New York Times Columnist Maureen Dowd has a sobering take on the Obama presidency this morning. In her column, Bring on the Puppy and the Rookie, she starts with the scene outside the White House Tuesday night and considers the nation's history, our recent past, and the challenges that lie ahead.

She suggests that Obama has already taken on the needed mantle of leadership; that his Tuesday night speech was the start of his presidency:

His somber speech in the dark Chicago night was stark and simple and showed that he sees what he’s up against. There was a heaviness in his demeanor, as if he already had taken on the isolation and “splendid misery,” as Jefferson called it, of the office he’d won only moments before.

It is a hopeful, if thoughtful, column and stands in tonal contrast to the more usual mocking Maureen Dowd columns.

In Mahaffey, PA

We spent only about an hour in Mahaffey, Pennsylvania; we had a long drive back to Delaware. But I'm glad we stopped.

We found our way (with thanks to directions from my cousin Don Mahaffey Weaver) to the Borough of Mahaffey graveyard. There's a monument to Robert Mahaffey in the center of the graveyard. It is surrounded by several sets of Mahaffey family plots. There's a lot of history here.

The town of Mahaffey, the Borough, is quite small. The downtown, such as it is, is next to a bridge across the upper reaches of the West Branch of the Susquehanna River. There is a restaurant, a gun shop, a funeral home and a few churches.

There is a town park, Scout Community Park, according to Google, though I saw references to a Mahaffey Park which was to host a fireworks show that evening. Scout Park includes a ball field, always a good sign in a small town.

I'm glad we had a chance to visit Mahaffey. It's a part of the history of a distant branch of my family, but I've been studying family history for a while now and I was excited to see the place.

Looking Out Over Johnstown

We made a flying visit to central Pennsylvania this past weekend. We were there for a family event in Karen's family and took the opportunity for just a small amount of looking around.

We drove out on Friday. Interstate 70 in western Maryland was packed and reduced to a crawl. After ghosting over one mountain at 10 mph behind a truck, we abandoned the interstate system and hooked up with the old National highway -- US 40. We took that through Hagarstown and then took back-roads out to Breezewood and on to Johnstown.

On Saturday, we had a family lunch at the City View Restaurant, overlooking Johnstown. The restaurant is next to the Incline Plane which carries people and cars up and down a substantial hill. We took the ride down; then back up. For a flat-lander, like me, this sort of elevation play is great fun.

Sunday, we took a quick ride up north from Johnstown to visit Mahaffey, the Borough founded by a second cousin of my great-great-grandfather. It's a visit I've been thinking about. I'll have a few photos from there later.

I will say that it was very interesting, and it was fun. And it was a great excuse to do more driving on two-lane highways in the hill country.

A Hot Day in Boston

I took a long, hot walk through Boston on the Saturday of my stay in Massachusetts. I wanted to see a bit of the Freedom Trail and wander around Boston Common.

I was staying in a hotel that straddled the Mass Pike (I-90) in Newton. The nearest T (subway) station was about 2.5 miles away in Newton Center. The hotel staff recommended a $10 cab ride, but I had a whole day to kill, so I decided to hoof-it. I had a nice walk up through a very respectable residential area, past a private school or two, and into a nifty little downtown area.

The T is comfortable and fast and takes you right into the center or Boston. I got off at the municipal building (featuring a big "Beat LA"
banner in support of the Celtics) and walked along parts of the Freedom Trail. This winds through Boston, old and new, past many of the places where the United States of America was born. There are historic taverns, and statues, and several very old graveyards hosting American heroes and ancient enigmas.

I followed trail to Boston Common, a 50-acre park in the center of the city that dates from the 1630s. It is the oldest city park in the US and fronts the Massachusetts State House, which also proudly wore Celtics green. The Common was filled with picnickers and tourists, Tai Chi'ers and free-speech activists, and an old-format religious group singing and preaching to a crowd that included listeners and ignorers in about equal measure.

A part of Boston Common is the Public Garden, added in the 1800s and featuring a 4-acre pond with ducks and swans. The pond is bridged by what is said to be the world's smallest suspension bridge. On this day, it was host to an accordionist busker. At the far end is an equestrian statue of George Washington.

There was a watercolor painting workshop under way in the Garden. I kept wandering past painters hard at work and wise enough to stay in the shade.

The loveliest thing I saw was a pair of swans nesting next to the pond. I'd never seen swans nesting before. The nest was carefully fenced-off and folks watched from a respectful distance.

Leaving the Public Garden, I headed down Boylston Street to Copley Square where an older building was admiring its reflection in a newer neighbor. And there was a fountain in which families were cooling themselves and a group on a self-advertised field trip provided the music.

I caught the T back out to Newton Center and strolled back down the hill to my hotel, a float in the hotel's tiny pool, a light supper and so to bed.

Purple Prose Enlivens a Tale of the Emerald Diamond

I've been checking through old newspapers at the Library of Congress' Chronicling America site. I'm searching for references to my various forebears; it is a low-return fishing expedition, but great fun.

For example, a search for references to any Mahaffies in California in newspapers from around the turn of the 20th Century has turned up several sports-page notes about a baseball umpire named Mahaffy. I doubt that he is a direct relative, though he may be a very distant cousin. What's great about this, though, is the prose in which I find him.

Here are two paragraphs from Page 42 of the September 30, 1906, edition of the San Francisco Call. William J. Slattery writes about a game between the Portland Beavers and the San Francisco Seals (in first and second in the standings at the time).

Neither team played anything that looked like high art. Errors happened frequently and did a deal of damage. Neither pitcher was there any too strong and and both of them delayed the game as much as possible by indulging in a series of senseless winding ups and warming ups between the rounds.

Maybe it was because of the banishment of Cousin Park Wilson that San Francisco did not perform according to the tips of the wise brigade. Cousin Park assayed to engage in an oratorial contest with Umpire Mahaffy in the eighth spasm and before he realized that the worst was yet to come, the indicator man had already made a mysterious high sign and given Park notice to skidoo. He also informed the leader of the Seals that his pay envelope will be shy five dollars when the next day of reckoning with Cal Ewing is at hand.

The Seals were not doing well in their season series with the Beavers in 1906. The Beavers won this game, 3 to 1, moving to a record of 98-47 and a won/lost percentage of .697. The cellar-dwelling Fresno team, by contrast, was at .335 percent at 51-101.

Morning, Noon and Evening

I had limited time to wander around the French Quarter when I was in New Orleans this week. But I did get out for quick walks first thing, at noon and in the evening. On each walk, I took a shot of the St. Louis Cathedral from the Mississippi levee across Jackson Square.

At around 7:48 a.m., Tuesday, things were quiet along Decatur Street. A street-cleaner machine had been along recently and left parts of the street glistening wet. There were just a few people wandering past. Those of us who were out were focused on beignet with cafe-o-lait.

At 12:54 p.m., the road was dry and there were more people and cars around. Though not too many. New Orleans is somewhat quieter than I remember it from a few pre-Katrina visits. There's not much damage in the French Quarter or in the main business district, but if you know what you are looking for you can see some. What struck me most was the fact that the bustle of the city was reduced by about one third.

At about 6:15 p.m., things were quieting down again. The streets around Jackson Square were emptying even as Bourbon Street, two blocks beyond the Cathedral, was starting to fill up. Decatur Street was wet again. The shadows were creeping across the square.

Up on Bourbon Street, I was struck by a sign offering a balcony for rent for special events like Mardi Gras. And there are quiet streets just a few blocks away, where you find pocket gardens and peaceful courtyards.

New Orleans is worth a visit. Folks there will tell you that tourists and business travelers are a key part of their recovery. The French Quarter is still fascinating and beautiful. The food is great. And the music and culture have not died out.

More Delaware Boundary Monuments

I took advantage of my long drive home from Annapolis last week to visit a few more boundary monuments in western Sussex County. Inspired by finally making it out to see The Middle Point last month, I planned my drive in part by taking a look at the locations of Delaware boundary monuments using the Delaware DataMIL (zoom-in a bit on the border and select "Boundary Monuments" in the layer list).

I drove through Federalsburg and entered Delaware on Route 20 at Reliance, where one finds (what's left of) Boundary Monument 12. There's just a broken stub left and, according to the recovery information maintained by the Delaware Geological Survey, it has been moved 134 meters north of its original location (a road now covers the original spot).

From there, I worked my way north a bit to find the Oak Grove Crownstone (seen at right). This is one of the larger boundary markers placed every five miles by Mason and Dixon in the 1760s; the smaller ones they placed every mile. The crownstones have the coats of arms of the Penn family on the side that is now Delaware (but was Pennsylvania at the time) and the Calvert family on the Maryland side. This one is known technically as Boundary Monument 15.

Some years back, an Eagle Scout trimmed the brush from around the Oak Grove stone and erected a small fence. A historical marker has been added as well.

I plan to try to visit as many of these as I can. There are 179 of them, but not all are very accessible. Some are buried and some are deep into private (and protected) property. I can use the DataMIL, though, to find those that are close to public rights of way. I'll try to visit, and photograph, those.

A Walk Around the Capitol

I had a few hours to wander around Capitol Hill on Wednesday; after a breakfast meeting and before boarding a bus back to Annapolis. A colleague and I played "tourists in ties" as we walked around the Capitol, past the Supreme Court and Library of Congress, and down the Mall a short way.

We walked around the new National Museum of the American Indian. It's a very cool-looking building, with a front designed to look like the sort of southwestern cliff areas where the Anasazi might have lived. Out front, there is a created wetland that mimics the look and feel of the Chesapeake region.

Looking at the American Indian Museum from the new outdoor garden at the US Botanic Garden, you almost lose the sense that you are in a city. It looks like a pretty cool place. I was curious, but we were too early for most of the public buildings to be open. A colleague from Arizona, who visits DC fairly often, has been inside and says it is very nice. I'll try to get back some time when I have more time.

We walked up the Mall to the old Smithsonian Castle, which was open that early. It features a very nice garden, between the Castle and the entrances to the African American Museum and an art gallery. We took a turn through the sculpture garden and walked briefly through the Botanic Garden, but found too many groups of small, scattering students.

We finished with a visit to the several statues that sit down the hill from the Capitol Building, facing the Mall. There's an equestrian statue of General US Grant, staring west towards the Washington Monument. There is a wide, shallow pool, steps and a terrace. There are lions on either side of the general, lying regally. There is also a group of bronze Civil-War soldiers in the midst of battle. One has fallen, another leads the charge.

The Mall and the Capitol are a wonderful center for our nation. There s a great deal of history just sitting there; it can be easy to take it for granted. I grew up in the suburbs outside of Washington DC and we used to wander around down there fairly often. As a small child, we went with our folks. In school, there were field trips. As a teen, there was the bus and later the Metro keeping us within easy reach of the Mall and the museums.

I feel like I know the place, and always have, but it is constantly changing and being updated. It's important to re-visit from time to time.

Down on the Corner...

I had an opportunity this week-end to go visit a spot I've wanted to visit for some time: Boundary Monument 0, the Middle Point. This is the southwest corner of the state of Delaware, where the boundary between Delaware and Maryland turns north.

My older daughter had plans Saturday evening for a sleep-over at a class-mate's house. Because she attends the county-wide technical high school, and has since middle-school gone once a week to Academic Challenge classes at the local community college, my daughter has very good friends in all corners of Sussex County. Her sleep-over this weekend was at a farmhouse west of Seaford, almost at the state line near Woodland Ferry.

After I dropped her off, I took advantage of the sunlight and did a bit of exploring. I wanted to see the Woodland Ferry, which has recently shut down and will be replaced with a larger boat. The ferry crosses the Nanticoke River at a small old settlement called Woodland, south of Seaford.

From there, I followed a small road along the west bank of the Nanticoke River, heading downstream towards Maryland. The road got smaller and smaller, following the edges of farm fields until it turned abruptly west, crossed a marshy creek, and entered Maryland. I had planned to use the smaller roads to cut through Galestown, cross the Nanticoke at Sharptown, and head south to pick up Route 54 at Mardela Springs, and so head back into Delaware at the Corner.

I came around a sharp bend in the road to Galestown, however, and came upon a pile of dirt, a parked crane and a clear denial of entry into town. Apparently, the Spillway at Galestown Millpond was washed out, blocking several routes through town. I had to backtrack north to Reliance and head west and then south the long way around.

A pleasant surprise of this detour was a visit to Eldorado, Maryland. It included this noble church. That part of Delmarva has great wide-open fields and a slight roll to the landscape. Very impressive on a clear winter afternoon.

Eventually, I found myself rolling east on Route 54. Up ahead I spotted a small half-circle pull-off and the pavillion that protects the monument that marks the boundary. The Monument was placed by Mason and Dixon, to mark the start of the line they surveyed north and then west. They started their line at the Middle Point of a line surveyed across the center of the Delmarva peninsula by an earlier team. Their stone, inscribed with the coats of arms of Lord Baltimore and William Penn, joined several other boundary stones placed by earlier surveyors. In modern times, a Benchmark was added and officially recorded.

This is a part of Delaware 's history, and geography, that fascinates me. Part of my job is to work with the digital version of the boundaries and data that were started by Mason and Dixon, and folks like them, hundreds of years ago. Their chain of stones marking a north-south line up the peninsula is a part of the geospatial data that we rely on today and that I help to make available to Delaware's citizens.

So it was very cool to finally get a chance to go visit the first one.

Some Things Never Change (At Least Not In Their Essential Nature)

I've been searching through the archives of the New York Times lately, looking for references I can use in building-out my family tree. I came, by chance, across the following item in "City and Suburban News" for September 11 of 1879:

Yesterday a spurious Custom-house agent swindled Mrs. James Brooks, of 44 East Twenty-fifth-street, of $9 98 by the old ruse of pretending that that amount was due for duties on a package that had arrived from Europe and was lying in the Custom-house. Such swindles are common.

Replace "Custom-house agent" with "exiled government official;" replace "duties on a package" with "bank fees for a transfer of funds;" and replace "Europe" with "Nigeria" and the whole thing looks like something we (hopefully) now routinely mark as spam and delete from our in-boxes.