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Showing posts with label Eastern USA Road Trip 2016. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eastern USA Road Trip 2016. Show all posts
NA Confidential has evolved in several unexpected directions over the years, but it still functions as my own damn personal blog -- so there.
In this cantankerous spirit, here are the paired links from my recent series, loosely titled Eastern USA Road Trip 2016.
My current preference in documenting our travels is to publish the overall daily narrative at NAC, while reserving beer and food explorations for Potable Curmudgeon. All these are back-dated to the day in question, and completed once I'm back home and have had time to think about it.
Strictly speaking, there was a 10th day, which amounted to tad more than eight hours spent driving home through Western Maryland, West Virginia and Kentucky. The scenery was stunning, and I wish there would have been time to properly appreciate it.
It should be obvious that the American Civil War is far too vast a topic to distill into a handful of bromides, and what's more, battles like the one in Antietam have been the topic of numerous books and research studies.
My own thoughts on the occasion of visiting Antietam National Battlefield have remained a inchoate jumble since the morning we toured it. To say that the experience was profoundly moving is an understatement. Perhaps the way these hours are rendering a verbose character like me speechless says as much as the absent words ever could.
As time has passed, what happened at Antietam in September of 1862 has been the subject of a reassessment. Antietam was very important, indeed, and History Dot Comoffers a good summary of why.
1. Antietam enabled the Union to repel the first Confederate invasion of the North. 2. The battle allowed Abraham Lincoln to issue the Emancipation Proclamation. 3. Antietam kept Britain and France on the sidelines. 4. The battle lifted sagging Union morale. 5. Photographs from Antietam brought the horror of war to Americans for the first time. 6. The battle may have saved Lincoln from a resounding defeat in midterm elections. 7. Antietam marked the beginning of the end for General George McClellan.
There are many videos on YouTube, but this one captures the essence without delving into military strategy and tactics.
Perhaps the real reason for my own emotional reaction to Antietam stems from the many observations about the battle's wider psychological ramifications, specifically the recognition that there is nothing glorious or noble about war.
It's about visiting the battlefield as an adult, as opposed to a child (which I did with my parents, roughly 45 years ago). Back then, I transformed my bicycle into a shine to the Confederacy, complete with rebel flags and a gray sling for my BB gun.
Kids swallow the bilge, because that's what being a kid is all about. Excuses dwindle as one ages. None of the other reasons for "growing up" come close to the imperative to dispense with childlike reasoning in favor of more rational processes. That so many don't manage to do so might explain the persistence of war as a human practice.
We're left with the Dunker Church and the North, East and West Woods.
The Corn Field and Bloody Lane.
Burnside Bridge, and the site of the final attack, when Confederate troops marching all day from Harpers Ferry arrived just in time to extend the war another two and a half years.
A few photos are below, at the end of this narrative.
There's a lot to learn from the Civil War, and the place to start is scrubbing one's noggin clean of the flawed judgments we've made about the conflict in the 150 years separating lost orders wrapped around cigars from the ubiquity of the iPhone.
Follow in the footsteps of soldiers and surgeons to discover the harsh conditions, personal sacrifices, and brilliant innovations of Civil War medicine, innovations that continue to save lives today.
To understand how important doctors, nurses and medical innovation were in the Civil War, consider the numbers.
Roughly 1,264,000 American soldiers have died in the nation's wars -- 620,000 in the Civil War and 644,000 in all other conflicts. It was only as recently as the Vietnam War that the amount of American deaths in foreign wars eclipsed the number who died in the Civil War.
Roughly a third of them died on the battlefield, or from their wounds and injuries. The others were killed by disease. The war began absent any substantive preparation for casualties of this magnitude, hence the medicine museum's importance.
I was born in 1960, so the American Civil War Centennial passed without my direct participation. However, it may have given me an area buzz, if inadvertently. By the age of 10 or so, I was hooked on the topic. No library book was safe, even those with big adult words.
How do you think I learned those big adult words, anyway?
Consequently, the ancestral stirrings began as we drove south/southwest straight through from Massachusetts to Frederick, Maryland, an historic route that took us past Gettysburg. Unfortunately, there'd be time for only one battlefield, Antietam. It lies twenty or so miles west of Frederick.
When I was a wee lad, the town of Frederick was known to Civil War buffs as the home of Barbara Fritchie, an elderly woman born before the American Revolution. According to legend, she proudly defended her American flag to passing rebel troops: "Shoot if you must this old gray head, but spare your country's flag."
The flag incident as described in the poem likely never occurred at the Barbara Fritchie house, although Barbara Fritchie was a Unionist and did have a Union flag. Friends of Barbara Fritchie stated that she shook a Union flag at and insulted Confederate troops, but other neighbors said Barbara Fritchie, over 90 years old, was ill at the time.
How very unsurprising. Think of Fritchie as a pre-urban legend. Other Frederick legends of more recent vintage are Vikings running back Chuck Foreman, who was born in Frederick, and singer Patsy Cline, who lived there in the 1950s.
Much later in life, I became aware of Frederick as the site of a big brewery plant constructed during the first period of expansion for "microbrewing" during the 1990s, a site now occupied by Flying Dog of Colorado, in an early East Coast brewing expansion that anticipated more famous cross-country shifts like Sierra Nevada and New Belgium's production breweries in North Carolina.
New Albany readers will note that downtown Frederick is enjoying a rebirth much like our own, with a problem that will be familiar to you: The one-way street grid there makes navigation maddening for a visitor.
The city itself is only an hour away from Washington D.C. and Baltimore, and appears to be big, prosperous and sprawling. Once we were able to find the bed and breakfast after wide loops traversing hostile one-way terrain, the car was parked and we took to our feet.
Our first evening in town began at Summitra Thai Cuisine. The web site doesn't dispense the usual superlatives. It doesn't have to, because the food speaks for itself. Simply yummy.
We learned that a central feature of downtown Frederick is Carroll Creek Park. If you've ever wondered what the reclamation model for New Albany's Falling Run Creek looks like, this is a good place to start -- that is, as soon as Padgett leaves town.
Carroll Creek Park began as a flood control project in late 1970s - an effort to remove downtown Frederick from the 100-year floodplain and restore economic vitality to the historic commercial district. Today, more than $150 million in private investing is underway or planned in new construction, infill development or historic renovation along the Park.
The first evening ended with beers at Brewer's Alley (link above). Since I took very few photos, I'll crib some from the tourist folks, who won't mind a bit.
As an addendum, words of truth from Frederick's Döner Bistro -- and the sign does not lie.
On Wednesday: The pilgrimage to Antietam National Battlefield.
Don't ask me why my subconscious elected to disgorge this number on Labor Day.
It took a while to sink in, and when it did, Northampton boggled the mind, this city in Massachusetts that seemingly wears "leftist" on its sleeve -- owns it, admits to it, and probably has Democrats who really are Democrats, without the "Dixie" and "Disney" qualifiers so prevalent in my own antebellum milieu.
Northampton is known as an academic, artistic, musical, and countercultural hub. It features a large politically liberal community along with numerous alternative health and intellectual organizations. Based on U.S. Census demographics, election returns, and other criteria, the website Epodunk rates Northampton as the most politically liberal medium-size city (population 25,000–99,000) in the United States. The city has a high proportion of residents who identify as gay and lesbian a high number of same-sex households, and is a popular destination for the LGBTQ community.
Concurrently, Northampton's Smith College bills itself as "Individual, Global Exceptional," although not necessarily implying Maoist, as alumnae like Barbara Bush and Nancy Reagan might attest, though Gloria Steinem graduated from there, too.
As did Julia Child, and by virtue of free association, the food at the venerable Northampton Brewery was excellent, as were the beers. In fact, any brewery selling t-shirts adorned with the 1960s "peace" sign is okay by me, even if I promptly spilled chowder on mine. More about the brewery here:
LINK SOON
Northampton is very near South Hadley, headquarters for our Massachusetts stay. Jen and Ben both thought it would be a good place to have lunch and stroll on a sunny, humid Labor Day Monday, and they were absolutely right. Once again little Ruby was packed into car and we made the short drive.
The Botanic Garden of Smith College was founded over one hundred years ago by L. Clarke Seelye, the College's first president, who expressed his hope that the whole campus could be developed as a botanic garden so that it might be of scientific as well as aesthetic value. The landscape architecture firm of Frederick Law Olmsted, of Central Park fame, was enlisted to create that plan.
Eventually we grabbed a sidewalk table at a pizza joint and had a drink. Ruby maintained admirable composure throughout, and this photo is my favorite of the trip.
That evening, we were back at the Yarde Tavern in South Hadley. Jen was going back to work, and the following day would be Ruby's first in daycare. We planned to hit the road early, with along drive the Frederick, Maryland on the itinerary.
I miss New England already. Something tells me that as Ruby grows up, we'll be going back there often.
The musical duo at Fort Hill Brewery performed this classic tune just as I was tearing into a Rauchbier. Life on a Sunday gets no better. As a side note, there are no original photos for this segment, as they were lost when my iPhone expired.
When the gals wanted time to themselves on a lazy Sunday in Massachusetts, the only sensible course of action for the guys was to find a comfy tavern.
Preferably in Rhode Island.
Ben was openly amused on Saturday when I explained the constantly evolving rules and regulations governing my quest to visit all fifty states. Having concluded that our drive through Connecticut on Tuesday would qualify for the list so long as we stopped somewhere for coffee on the way through, it left me in need of a good reason to go to Rhode Island.
Laughing, Ben assured me this reason does not exist - well, unless we drove to the coast, and there wasn't time for that. However, being a good sport, he agreed to take me to Rhode Island for lunch on Sunday.
Diana promptly did a Google search and discovered a sports bar called Gator's in North Smithfield (says the website) or Slatersville (says the logo). In either case, it required only that we dip across the state line into the northwestern tip of Rhode Island.
Gator's really was a fun joint. It's a locally-owned hometown sports bar with a sand volleyball court, good pub food (my choice was a clam roll, rather like a Po Boy) and craft beers alongside the inevitable mass-market lights and ultra lights. I drank a golden-colored "craft" ale from Rhode Island which was served with a scoop of blueberries (yes, when in Rome) and followed it with a pint of Guinness, just because I hadn't had one in a while.
Having conquered Rhode Island, we phoned the ladies for itinerary updates before navigating a course to Fort Hill Brewery, which is in greater detail at Potable Curmudgeon:
Reunited in South Hadley, the five of us again piled into one vehicle for the short drive to Mission Cantina in Amherst; burritos and tacos were superlative, and my choice of beverage purely metaphorical: A Ruby Coyote margarita, made with tequila and grapefruit juice, in honor of the baby in the house.
The whole point of the eastern road trip was for my wife Diana to visit Ruby, the five-month-old daughter of her niece Jen. Ben is Jen's husband, and they're wonderful folks, indeed.
The Confidentials rented another excellent Airbnb, this time the basement apartment of a house in a rural area a mile away from Jen's and Ben's house. It is so "country" that the owner recently saw a mama bear and cubs in the back yard, and garbage left too long in the outside can is in danger of being disrupted by critters.
However, within a 50-mile radius of our lodging, there are ample human populations as well as 51 colleges and universities, including UMass (Amherst), Smith and Mount Holyoke, the latter located in South Hadley, our base of operations for three days.
The next three days were destined to be about family, babies and the sort of domesticity that I've seldom experienced in my life. Perhaps for this reason, it was enjoyable in ways that I wouldn't have expected prior to arrival. I let go of my walking obsession and relaxed. It was high time for such. We hung out a lot, and took a few excursions.
There were beers and food, as at the fine Yarde Tavern in the center of South Hadley, where my Saturday lunchtime Reuben sandwich was delicious with a chaser of Allagash (Maine) Witbier.
Our visit to the Montague Bookmill is described at the Potable Curmudgeon blog:
For musical accompaniment to driving hours and hours eastward in 2016, there was no rock and roll in the car. Instead, I brought along a couple dozen swing era compilation discs, many of which I'd recorded on cassettes way back in the day, even before my parents had a car with a cassette deck in it. In 1972, I'd air them on my battery-operated player. They kept my father calm during those long treks out west, and I liked the songs, too. Listening to them again dislodged memories, some good and some bad. Billie Holiday's singing is never bad, and her only recording with Artie Shaw was one of several ear worms as we neared Massachusetts.
Like any red-blooded American, it once occurred to me that setting foot in all 50 states would be something fun to say I'd done.
But what constitutes "being there"? Do airports count? Must one spend the night? Can exceptions be declared for extenuating circumstances?
I'd answer no, no and yes. At a bare minimum, one must drink a beer and/or eat some food AND take a leak. After all, dogs mark territory by urinating, so why not humans? Most dogs don't drink beer, but all of them eat.
Why not humans?
To quote Groucho Marx, these are my principles, and if you don't like them ... well, I have others.
In any event, the state count had climbed to 41 coming into our Eastern USA Road Trip 2016, and Vermont was #42. New Hampshire was just across the Connecticut River, and we elected to make the scenic drive on Friday morning, past Pisgah State Park, to claim state #43 with lunch in Keene at the Elm City Brewing Company.
Keene is a city in Cheshire County, New Hampshire, United States. The population was 23,409 at the 2010 census. It is the county seat of Cheshire County. Keene is home to Keene State College and Antioch University New England, and formerly hosted the state's annual Pumpkin Festival.
Too bad about the pumpkin festival. Had there been one in session, it would have counted in lieu of food, drink or pit stops.
There is an excellent coffee shop in downtown Keene (Prime Roast), and a Soldiers' Monument, which was built in 1871.
Elm City Brewing Company (founded 1994) is part of a shopping mall in a renovated former factory called Colony Mill Marketplace. Read more about it in my accompanying beer narrative:
Back in Brattleboro by mid-afternoon, it was time to walk and graze among the regional delicacies. Have I mentioned the alarming weight gain amassed during this road trip?
The car had been strategically placed in the public lot off High Street, mere yards from the Hermit Thrush brewery, this outpost having been saved until last because I strongly suspected there'd be a buying spree.
As a final look at Brattleboro, kindly note the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Confidential agree with the color scheme on this house, and we believe this combination would look wonderful on Spring Street in New Albany.
Bob Dylan's classic song from 1975 has absolutely nothing to do with Brattleboro, Vermont on September 1, 2016, except when I heard it in the morning that day while browsing the goods at Sam's Outdoor Outfitters, it bored deeply into my cranium, perhaps because it is one of two songs (with "Hurricane") bringing me belatedly in the mid-seventies to Dylan's oeuvre. Now, by sheer coincidence, "Tangled Up in Blue" always will remind me of Brattleboro, and this is why I love music's serendipitous meandering.
We had rented a spacious Airbnb apartment in a house on the ridge above town, just behind a row of strange lookalike old factory buildings. Further down the hill is Whetstone Brook, which empties into the Connecticut River.
Our morning walk began by crossing this creek to Elliot Street for breakfast at the Restless Rooster. The omelettes were substantial and the coffee suitably black. As we ate, an itinerary for the day was devised. Next stop was Sam's Outdoor Outfitters.
Sam's dates to 1932 and began as an Army and Navy surplus stores.
SAM'S was and is, today still, a family owned business in its third generation. The business has thrived and expanded to a total of 3 Department Stores in operation today. The other 2 stores are in Keene, NH and Hadley, MA.
It was unfolding as a normal shopping experience in an oddly configured old-school warren of urban retail spaces, several components of which have been connected to each other, when suddenly came a double whammy.
First Dylan's narrative, then the sight of an unobtrusive yet compelling "memorial" to the store's founder, Sam Borofsky. This article from 2011 provides background.
... Like so many families in Brattleboro, the Borofsky story is one of hardscrabble immigrants and their children, the first generation Americans who made good.
Stanley “Pal” Borofsky recounted his family’s history with the satisfaction of a son proud of his father’s success.
The mini-shrine was nothing more than old photos and a plaque of sorts, explaining Mr. and Mrs. Borofsky's lives, but it touched me deeply, perhaps because of my own small business tenure.
84 years later, the business climate has changed, and while Sam's remains ensconced in downtown Brattleboro, the founder's grandson isn't sure how much longer this will continue.
A landmark building in downtown Brattleboro is up for sale. The Barber Building, which has been in the Borofsky family for more than seven decades, houses Sam's Outdoor Outfitters and about 50 apartments. On Friday, Brad Borofsky told the Reformer that the family was getting out of the landlord business and had listed the property with Ranger Curran of RE/MAX Town & Country.
Much luck to the family as they chart their future course. After coffee, there was a walk to the Prospect Hill Cemetery on a hill to the south of the center ...
... then an examination of the buildings of the former Estey Organ Company, but not before one of the oddest sights of the trip.
It's an auto body shop with solar panels and flower beds. Just to the east on Birge Street is what remains of the Estey Organ Company.
By the late 1800s, more than 500 workers occupied these buildings, tasked with the construction of reed (and later pipe) organs.
The former Estey Organ Company factory comprises a nineteenth century industrial complex of eleven principal buildings together with several outbuildings and related structures The complex occupies a narrow terrace on a hillside above Whetstone Brook, bounded on the east by Birge Street and on the north by Estey Street.
These remaining buildings appear to be in the process of gradual restoration and adaptive reuse. There are several businesses therein, and a day care center. There's also a museum.
... After a devastating flood in 1869, the company purchased a large tract of land in Brattleboro to re-build the factory. The new factory buildings were designed with fire prevention and fire fighting in mind. On the land behind the factory, workers were offered lots on which to build homes. This area, known as Esteyville, became a village in which Estey employees and their families lived, worked, attended school, recreated, and worshiped.
The Estey complex being a literal stone's throw from our room, there was a brief period of rest and recuperation, followed by an early dinner.
The day's final stop was at the Brattleboro Food Co-op. I found it incredible, and the beer section alone sufficed to blow my mind, but not everyone likes what the co-op has become:
"What we have now is indistinguishable from a Whole Foods Market or a Trader Joes, except our prices are a little higher."
And, through little fault of its own, the co-op made the headlines in 2011, when a longtime employee murdered his immediate supervisor on the co-op's premises. 2011 sounds like it was a bad year in Brattleboro.
Now, about that beer.
A Whole Foods clone? Perhaps. Can there be affordable food co-ops in the present age? I'd like to think so.
In the end, being owned collectively by more than 6,000 persons strikes me as preferable to chain-think.
There were times during the drive across the Green Mountains to Brattleboro from the New York state line when I wasn't sure if our 4-cylinder Ford Fusion would make it up another steep grade.
My father famously avoided New England because he viewed the region as having too many people and not enough mountains, but in southern Vermont -- and in neighboring New Hampshire and Massachusetts, and even in western Connecticut -- there are hills aplenty.
What it comes down to is my dad's fervent embrace of the Old West's mythology, all that rugged individualism, snow-capped peaks and men being men. I respect him for this, though he missed out on some first-rate scenery in the eastern states.
On our first evening in Brattleboro (population 12,000), we took possession of our Airbnb apartment and made a brief orientation drive through downtown.
The city has parking meters and public parking lots (short and long term). Prices are reasonable; the long-term lot we entered costs 30 cents an hour, and is free after 6:00 p.m. and on weekends. Metered spaces seemed to constantly open, which of course is the whole point.
Every town in New England situated by a watercourse is a former mill town. Sawmills and gristmills were first in Brattleboro, which lies on the Connecticut River. Later came industries of all stripes, including an church organ factory.
I kept looking for these pills in the pharmacies. They sound useful in a small city with three breweries.
"Bungle in the Jungle"? We heard it while enjoying pre-game drinks, prompting a rumination on "classic rock" and the way it has become the Muzak of our age, which is a shame. Of course, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is in Cleveland, so perhaps it's all part of the municipal contract.
Our eastward swing began with the easy drive to Cleveland, and a baseball game at Progressive Field. With the hotel just blocks away, downtown Cleveland walkable and perfect weather, it was a memorable evening.
The woebegone Twins were competitive, but the Indians staged a comeback and remained in first place in the AL Central. Coverage the following day centered on the dismal Tuesday evening attendance. Why only 14,000 paid attendance for a division-leading team?
It's a question I can't answer, although as modern ballparks go, this one's a beauty. Our $40 seats were down the third base line, coincidentally (yeah, sure) located only seconds away from the best beer selection I've ever seen at a major league game, albeit at $12 for a 19-oz pour.
The food was good, too. The Italian sandwich dispensed by Fat Head's was ridiculously large. It could have fed three adults at $13.75, though as a trained professional, I ate the whole damned thing.
I apologize for the absence of ballpark photos of the missus. As we departed for vacation, my iPhone lapsed into terminal illness. It was being held together by rubber bands, and it died before I could shift the trip photos to the cloud. Not much was lost, but a couple of husband-and-wife selfies were among them. Meanwhile, you already know I'm a baseball fan. Here's the rundown of 56 years watching games. I've seen a game in these major league parks currently in use: Baltimore, Boston, Chicago Cubs, Chicago White Sox, Cincinnati, Cleveland, Kansas City, Milwaukee, Minnesota, Seattle I saw games in these major league parks, now demolished: Atlanta Fulton County Stadium, Chicago Comiskey Park, Cincinnati Crosley Field and Riverfront Stadium, Detroit Tiger Stadium, Minnesota Metropolitan Stadium, Pittsburgh Three Rivers Stadium, St. Louis Busch Stadium I looked through the locked gate but couldn't enter because it was the off-season: Denver and Oakland (both currently in use) and San Francisco Candlestick Park.
Next: Brattleboro, Vermont and feeling the Bern during three Green Mountain days.
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