The Delaware Water Gap

A friend who owns a second home in the Poconos thoughtfully offered us the opportunity to spend a day or two at her property. We gratefully accepted her offer partly because we thought we could all benefit from a mini-break and also because we normally only take day trips to the Poconos so it meant we would have longer to explore. Furthermore, I have also wanted to visit the Delaware Water Gap since we moved here (I cannot even recollect precisely why) and having my friend’s house as a base presented us with the chance to go that bit further afield and spend an entire day poking around in that area, which is governed by the National Park Service.

On our first day, we decided to focus on relaxation and quality family time. We spent time in the house together – playing card games, watching shark documentaries – and we walked to a nearby lake to spend some time there. We had planned on going swimming but it was a little bit too chilly at that time of day even for paddling so we just enjoyed the scenery, people watching, ice cream, and playing more card games. After dinner on the shore of another lake, however, it was time to head out and go for a hike.

My husband and I visited Hawk Falls several years ago now but we have never managed to take the boys there because the parking situation has always been horrendously swamped. Because we had the ability to hike in the early evening this time, however, we found a parking spot with ease and headed to the falls. It’s a relatively easy hike to the falls – though a little steep for a stretch on the return – and I like the way the path winds through the woods and across streams. I just really like being in the woods.

There are definitely more impressive waterfalls but Hawk Falls are pleasing enough. Running water is always lovely, right? Except in relation to natural disasters or domestic pipe failures, of course. While we had met other visitors on the path, by the time we reached the falls, we had the whole place to ourselves. It was really peaceful. The boys had fun leaping around on the rocks. The 15 year old even scaled the rock wall on the opposite bank.

We had a leisurely start to the next day. We also decided to start with a big breakfast because we knew we would have few and far between (if any) opportunities to stop for a bite to eat for the rest of the day. Our 18 year old ordered a massive sandwich stacked full of any breakfast meat you can think of and slathered in sausage gravy. His digestive system is in training for that $27 a day college meal plan he had to sign up for.

I had devised an itinerary for our travels through the Delaware Water Gap and the first stop was my happy place: an old cemetery. Obviously I like to wander around in cemeteries regardless of any personal connection to the place but, on this occasion, my husband and kids actually have some relatives buried there. Only my 12 year old agreed to come and find the graves with me. Everyone else stayed in the car. You will observe from the accompanying photos that this became a common occurrence on this particular trip. My youngest son was my exploration buddy while the others opted in and mostly out of most itinerary items. Anyway, we found the two relevant Shellenberger graves with ease.

Next up on the itinerary was visiting the view points on the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware. Now I had conducted a decent amount of research on the Delaware Water Gap in order to draw up my itinerary so I was surprised and disappointed to discover that the view points were, quite frankly, totally duff. The first one we visited, we literally could not even glimpse a sliver of water through the trees and across the railroad tracks. What we could see was the interstate on the opposite side of the river and the sheer face of a small mountain. The same proved true of the other two view points we visited – though I did manage to see a patch of water from one of them. What I came to realise was that the National Park Service had taken photos of the views using either drones or cranes. Therefore, any human of normal height stood absolute zero chance of seeing the view, especially since there seemed to be no management of the foliage on the river banks.

After that failure, the kids were growing ever more cynical about the purpose and merits of the whole trip. I decided we should boost up the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware River and focus on all the bits and bobs on the New Jersey side I was hoping to see. Incidentally, all of the Visitor Centers and Ranger stations were closed and none of the historic buildings were open for visitors so it was just as well I had conducted all of my research in advance. What my research did not tell me was just how arduous navigating the roads was going to be.

The first stops were all fine as they were within the boundaries of still functioning towns. First there was the Foster-Armstrong House (usually open the public but not recently) which was a ferry-side tavern and inn for tired 19th Century travelers. Then there was the Minisink Dutch Reformed Church, the oldest church in the county and still going strong today. And there was the Nelden-Roberts Stonehouse.

After those three historic buildings, my itinerary took us onto the Old Mine Road. Well, this proved to be quite the challenge. The road dates from the 1600s but I had expected the surface to have been improved since then. I am obviously exaggerating but the surface was seriously bad. It was extremely crumbled, full of deep pot holes and eroded at the sides – and it was single track as it was for very long stretches – and just incredibly rickety. It got worse the further we ventured down the road and the more committed we were to just plunging onwards. It actually got to the point that Mr Pict and I were making mental note of routes for one of us hiking back off the road on foot and where the nearest lived in property was for phoning for help should the axel of the car break. I feel like we should have earned badges declaring “I survived the Old Mine Road”.

Anyway, first stop on the Old Mine Road was the Westbrook Bell House. While my oldest two sons trekked back along the road to a ruined barn my 15 year old wanted to photograph, my youngest son and I headed down a grass covered path through the woods in search of the house. It felt like a fairytale with maybe a witch’s house at the end of the trail. We soon reached the house, which is the oldest extant structure in the Delaware Water Gap, dating as it does from 1701. We were wandering around the exterior of the house and peering into barns that looked like they might collapse at any moment when I smelled and then spotted what looked to my non-expert eyes like pretty fresh bear poop. We, therefore, decided it might be a smart idea to skedaddle back through the woods to the car.

After another bone-jangling stretch of the Old Mine Road, we rejoined a proper road to visit what was once the village of Bevans. This rural hamlet has been transformed into the Peters Valley School of Craft so there were art and craft galleries and artisan workshops operating out of the old buildings.

Tempting as it was to stay on these proper roads, I was both determined (some might say foolishly) to see the other items on my itinerary and I was convinced (some might say foolishly) that the final stretch of Old Mine Road could not possibly be as bad as the stretch we had left behind. Yup. Foolish. If anything, it was worse because this stretch also involved uphill stretches. I swear I could hear our car wheezing. I think everyone was relieved when we reached the Van Campen Inn and could pull over the car and take a break from all the bumpy driving. I had spotted on one of the maps I had looked at that there was a cemetery for enslaved people in the vicinity of the inn so my youngest son and I set off trying to find it. We were wholly unsuccessful. I think mostly we were determined to try just to avoid getting back in the car for a while longer.

The Delaware View House was in a very sorry state. It had served as a hunting lodge and a hotel in its prime. Now it is clearly deteriorating rapidly. We very carefully walked around the wraparound porch before losing our nerve and getting ourselves back to solid ground.

The penultimate planned stop was at Millbrook Village. This is the site of a genuine settlement from the 1830s but the few remaining historic buildings have been expanded upon with reconstructed buildings that create the impression of what the village looked like in the 1870s. I think it would have been fun to visit at a time when visitors were permitted to enter buildings. This was probably the most engaged the boys were on the trip but they were fed up and jaded from all of the previous stops and from the nerve-shredding travels on that road so they were pretty resistant to finding anything of interest at that point.

The penultimate actual stop was at the request of my 15 year old. He has apparently inherited my love of dilapidated buildings so he wanted to take photographs of a barn that was falling apart at the seams. My 12 year old stood in the window of a gable end that had fallen, Buster Keaton style, while the 15 year old gave me palpitations by climbing over piles of planks in search of better camera angles.

We made one final pit stop in the Delaware Water Gap as one final attempt to see the Delaware. Kittatinny Point Overlook suggests being in an elevated position that provides a view out over the Delaware. Well nope. Not that we could find anyway. The best we could hope for was descending some stairs in order to be down on the shore. Unfortunately this spot was the end point for the scores of people who had rafted down the river so it was very busy and there were boats everywhere. Therefore, even that close to the water, it was nigh impossible to really take in let alone appreciate the view.

As you can no doubt tell, my trip to Delaware Water Gap was somewhat disappointing. I am sure it is a fantastic area to visit if one wants to interact with the water in some way but I don’t do water sports. I really wanted to engage with the history of the area and to take in the landscape. I believe, therefore, it was a case of too high expectations and a lack of delivery. The whole “view” point debacle really set the tone for the day. When Mr Pict gets hacked off on an excursion, things are really not going well. I happen to like old, abandoned, decaying buildings so I definitely got far more out of it than anyone else in the family but I cannot say that was worth the investment of time. The condition of the Old Mine Road was probably the nail in the coffin of the trip. It set our nerves on edge and meant there was too much focus on the function and mechanics of driving rather than taking in the surroundings. It also simply slowed us down and made a long day out even longer. I am glad I finally visited the Delaware Water Gap after years of wanting to do so but I don’t think I could recommend a visit there to anyone not wishing to float down the river and I don’t envisage a return visit.

Grandparents – Art Journal Page

I have been doing a lot of illustrations lately, especially drawing people.  I like to shake things up a bit so I was, therefore, looking for something creative to do in my art journal that did not involve illustration.  This week’s Art Journal Adventure prompt was about cameras and photographs so that presented me with the spark of inspiration I needed.  I thought I would create a sort of mixed media scrapbook page, a background for some photographs.

I had a page in my art journal where one of my cats had spilled ink (technically my fault for leaving the lid off the bottle for even an instant) so that became the basis of my background.  I sploshed around a bit more ink, used some found ink to direct the puddles into specific forms (the circles and discs) and then left it to dry.  The monochrome background seemed like it would be best for some monochrome photographs so – thinking vintage – I printed out some photos of my grandparents.  It was then a case of positioning those on the page and, once I was happy with the placement, adding some washi tape and some little mark-making doodles.  I probably went way over the top and made things too busy for a background.  One of the washi tapes has cameras on it so that was an apt find in my stash.

I never knew my biological paternal grandfather (lower right) as he was killed at the end of the Second World War.  That left my grandmother (lower left) as a war widow in her early 30s with three sons to raise.  She supported them by working long hours in the local steamie while her mother, who also worked in the steamie, and a neighbour helped out with childcare.  I admired her strength and fortitude.  My Dad, incidentally, is the toddler in that photo.  The photo at the top of the page is the wedding of my maternal grandparents.  They were both a huge influence on who I am as a person.  I inherited a lot of my interests and passion and feistiness from my Gran.  My Granddad, meanwhile, was just one of the best human beings I ever knew and I feel blessed that I got to have him as my Granddad.  He was full of laughter and fun, was always nurturing and encouraging and endlessly supportive.  He is also responsible for my love of spicy food and my sweet tooth.

Meeting the Ancestors in Prison

The second and final leg of my birthday trip involved a cemetery.  This will come as no surprise to those who have known me a long time or who have been following this blog for a while.  I love cemeteries of any kind, from poky wee family plots to provincial church graveyards to massive municipal burial grounds.  I am also a family history nerd and this trip combined both of these passions.

Mr Pict is a dual US/UK national (well, we all are now but he has been one from birth) and he has branches of his family that go all the way back to early colonial times, including Mayflower passengers, and a branch that goes back to 16th Century Switzerland.  This latter family, the Stricklers, were Mennonites who were forced to flee Switzerland because of their religious beliefs (Mr Pict’s 10x Great-Grandfather is known as “Conrad the Persecuted”) and they eventually found their way to Pennsylvania in the early 18th Century.  Back in August, I had used a family trip to Buffalo as an excuse to drag the extended family around three cemeteries to “meet” direct line Strickler ancestors.  This time, however, we were seeking to meet ancestors from two generations even further back, including the first Strickler – another Conrad – to emigrate to America.

The weird thing about this cemetery – which is named the Strickler-Miller Cemetery – is that it stands in the grounds of the York County Prison.  It is outside the walls and the barbed wire but is nevertheless plonked so adjacent to the prison facility that we were always in sight of guard towers in what presumably is an exercise yard.  The prison stands on land that my husband’s ancestors once owned and farmed in centuries past so it makes sense that the burial plot is where it is but nevertheless it was a very peculiar feeling to be pootling around a cemetery in the shadow of a prison.

While we had experienced so much success in locating graves in Buffalo, we were much less successful in our explorations in this cemetery – despite it being vastly smaller than those cemeteries.  The issue was the age of the graves we were looking for.  My husband’s 6x Great-Grandfather died in 1771.  I was looking for a small and worn field stone and saw a couple that might be right but could also be entirely wrong.  We did, however, find several collateral ancestors and finally – after much viewing of the eroded transcription from different angles – we found the grave of Mr Pict’s 5x Great-Grandfather, Johannes Strickler, who died in 1795.  We were in pursuit of his wife Elizabeth’s grave when we were thwarted in an unexpected way.

We were methodically wandering up and down the rows of wonky grave markers when a corrections officer drove down the road from the prison to the cemetery, rolled down his window, and ordered us to leave.  We tried to explain why we were in the cemetery but he was having absolutely none of it.  I could have either argued the toss or asked if we could speak to the governor to ask permission, as nothing I had read indicated that we were not allowed to be there.  However, I was not about to argue with an armed man in any circumstances.  Furthermore, the kids were complaining of being cold (the wind chill had picked up), one had accidentally whacked another in the face with his sleeve, and I had twisted my ankle by falling down a grass covered groundhog hole.  It was time to accept defeat and depart of our own accord before we were escorted back to the main road.

It, therefore, was not a wholly successful cemetery trip but the kids were happy to have the prison guard anecdote to share with their classmates on Monday morning.  It’s a risky business being a nerd sometimes.

 

 

Family history in Buffalo cemeteries

Something I am certain you know about me is that I love cemeteries.  Even when I don’t have any sort of connection or personal interest in a cemetery, I love to wander around and explore cemeteries and graveyards.  I enjoy the restful tranquility and appreciate the memorial symbolism and funerary sculpture.  Something you may know about me is that I am a total family history nerd and, therefore, when a cemetery has personal significance to my genealogy then it is all the better.  When we were visiting family in update New York, therefore, it was the perfect opportunity to have some family history fun while exploring cemeteries.  I do not have to have a DNA connection in order to be absorbed in a family’s history.  I have researched the genealogy of my step-grandfather, for instance, and when Mr Pict and I became parents, I decided to take on his family history as the custodian of that information for our children – whether they like it or not.  The dead folks I was pursuing in Buffalo, therefore, were not my own but were indeed the ancestors of Mr Pict, specifically his Strickler ancestors.

The Stricklers had arrived in America from Germany at the turn of the 18th Century, fleeing persecution and discrimination for their Mennonite beliefs.  They settled in Pennsylvania (so I have lots of Strickler adventuring to do in future) but, two generations later, Mr Pict’s 4x great-grandfather, Ulrich Strickler, set out with his family north, first to the Niagara River area before settling in Clarence, in New York’s Erie County.  It was in Clarence that we found Ulrich.  Finding the cemetery was a challenge.  It doesn’t appear in GPS listings because it is disused, was never a public cemetery, and now sits on private land.  My research had narrowed the search area and happily my 12 year old caught a glimpse of a distant sign flashing white in the sunlight as we drove a circuit of the relevant streets for the second time.  We disembarked from our cars – as there were 10 of us on this mission – and in no time at all we were in the shady spot where Ulrich Strickler (1767-1838), his wife Magdalena, and various of their relatives are interred.  We had three generations of Stricklers gathered at the grave of their direct ancestor.  That was pretty cool for me as a family history nerd.  The name of the cemetery incidentally is the Strickler Pioneer Cemetery and we also stopped off on Strickler Street for a quick photo of my husband, his mother, and her cousin.

Next up was Forest Lawn Cemetery.  When I got the other family members on board with the idea of my cemetery trip, my mother-in-law and her cousin had thought they were signing up to visit two cemeteries.  Forest Lawn was the one they had not anticipated and they seemed stricken at the thought of a visit there.  That is because Forest Lawn is a vast city cemetery, covering almost 270 acres and containing over 150,000 graves.  It is where many of Buffalo’s wealthy, successful, and famous residents ended up and is, therefore, home to some spectacular mausoleums and statuary.  I agreed, however, to focus my attention on finding the Strickler graves and I, by and large, kept my promise.  I think the relatives anticipated we would be in the cemetery until dark trying to locate the graves but – thanks to the wonderful volunteers of Find A Grave – I was prepared with the two lots where the most direct ancestors were buried.  It was my father-in-law who found the graves of Daniel Strickler, his second wife and children from both marriages.  Daniel (1809-1901) was the son of Ulrich so these were the 3x Great-Grandparents of Mr Pict – or a full six generations above our kids if that makes more sense.  My mother-in-law has just entrusted me with caring for a blanket made by Daniel’s wife, Eliza Faust, so it was great to see her grave too.  In a nearby lot, it was my mother-in-law’s cousin who almost literally stumbled upon the grave of another of Mr Pict’s 3x Great-Grandparents, this one being Sarah Augusta Tyler, nee Clapp (1831-1920).  It is she who is the connection to John Alden and Priscilla Mullins who came to America on board the Mayflower.

Despite my commitment to stick to the clusters of Strickler graves in Forest Lawn, I am afraid I did break my promise.  Since we have found ourselves visiting a number of Presidential graves, it did not seem right that I should be in Forest Lawn and not stop off to see Millard Fillmore.  The 13th President is certainly one of the more obscure ones, and perhaps would be even more so if not for his memorable name, and he frequently appears in lists of the nation’s worst presidents.  He is also controversial for a number of reasons but especially his enactment of the Fugitive Slave Act.  Still, I thought I would pop by to have a gander.  In contrast to the more elaborate presidential graves we have seen, Fillmore’s was a simple obelisk.  Nevertheless, it was easy to find thanks to the flag flying above it.

I also visited the grave of Red Jacket.  I had, however, successfully convinced everyone of a family history connection so they were agreeable to seeing his grand statue, which is sited near one of the cemetery entrances.  Red Jacket (Sagoyewatha) was a Chief of the Seneca and is, of course, famous in his own right.  However, his connection to Mr Pict’s family history involve his remains.  Red Jacket – and many other Native Americans – were originally buried in an Indian Burial Ground that was on land opposite the Stricklers’ houses.  Not being keen on this, the Stricklers successfully petitioned for legislation that led to the closure of the burial ground and the removal of all of the remains, most of which ended up in Forest Lawn, including those of Red Jacket.  Therefore, Red Jacket is only commemorated in Forest Lawn because of the prejudices and insensitivity of Mr Pict’s ancestors.

All of which is a neat segue into the next location of the family history trip which was to Buffum Street, where generations of Stricklers had owned property and lived and where the original Indian Burial Ground was located.  One of these, at number 49, is currently the focus of a restoration project given its significance as the oldest extant house in South Buffalo.  My mother-in-law and her cousin explained some of the history of the house and then we all wandered along the street to see two other houses that had once been Strickler residencies.  While the older family members chatted with the current occupants, I took the kids across the street to the Indian Burial Ground.  I felt it was important to impress on them the connection between their family history and local history.

The final cemetery of the day was Woodlawn, where the more recent generations of Stricklers are buried.  Among others, we visited the graves of Allen Darius (1845-1938) and Emma Augusta Strickler (nee Tyler, 1851-1946) who are Mr Pict’s 2x Great-Grandparents (five generations above my boys), and their son, Herbert Arthur Stickler (1881-1951) and his wife Lily, nee Styles (1886-1962).  When figuring all the graves we had visited, not just the direct ancestors but also the collateral ones, we had visited the graves of Stricklers from seven generations.  Now I really must visit the graves of the even earlier Stricklers in Pennsylvania!

Back to Blighty #17 – Edinburgh – Our Wedding Anniversary

Well I could not have planned the timing of this blog post better if I had tried.  I am just battering out blog posts about our trip back to Britain as and when a quiet moment arises between chores and entertaining / refereeing the kids yet by happy coincidence the subject matter and timing of this post happily coincide: exactly 19 years ago today, Mr Pict and I got married in Edinburgh; this blog post is all about the tour down memory lane that we dragged our kids on as part of our day in Edinburgh.

First up on our nostalgia tour of the day was the street where we got married all those years ago.  We had a civil ceremony in what was the city’s registry office on Victoria Street.  Sadly India Buildings has been disused for over a decade and is awaiting some sort of development.  Victoria Street, however, barely seemed to have changed from when we lived in Edinburgh. I have always loved Victoria Street for its elegant curve and its stacked architectural design, colourful shop fronts with arches below and more impressive buildings on the terrace above.

Here is a photo of Mr Pict and me outside India Buildings with our four sons and my youngest nephew.

We wanted to take the kids to see the buildings at the University of Edinburgh’s main site where we had studied for our undergraduate degrees.  The whole area, however, is undergoing something of a radical transformation it seems and we could not see past construction hoarding.  The kids had to make do with seeing some of the less impressive buildings and listening to our tales.  From Potterow, they could just make out the shape of McEwan Hall – covered in a web of scaffolding – where we had graduated from our first degrees almost two decades ago.

Having been disappointed by our ability to tour the main campus, we took the boys to see the wonderful Old College.  The buildings around the quadrangle of Old College were designed by three of Scotland’s most famous architects – Robert Adam, William Henry Playfair and Robert Rowand Anderson, who was responsible for the dome – and the architecture certainly impresses.  The University’s School of Law is housed in Old College and Mr Pict undertook studies there in his first year.  I was familiar with Old College because of admin services being situated there and also from visiting the Talbot Rice Gallery.  It was always a lovely, quiet, restful spot.

The final leg in our Recent Family History Travel Through Time was to take the boys to Where It All Began.  Mr Pict and I first met because we happened to be billeted in the same student accommodation for the first year of our studies.  It was a converted house on a residential street in a rather nice part of the city and the sixty of us accommodated there were actually the last to be so.  The summer that we all moved on to pastures new, the property was sold off and reverted to being a private residential property once more.  In the photo below, the window in the grey tiled roof on the left hand side of the image was the window to my bedroom.

So 19 years after we got hitched, almost 22 since we first met, that was our little Personal History Trip around Edinburgh with the kids.  I wonder what we will be up to next year for our 20th Wedding Anniversary?!?!

Great-Grandad’s Grave and Coney Island

For reasons I will probably commit to a future blog entry, my Great-Grandfather is buried in Calverton National Cemetery on Long Island.  In fact, the primary reason for building a stay on Long Island into our vacation was to visit his grave as it made sense to do so when my Mum (his granddaughter) was visiting America.  My last visit to Long Island was before I had uncovered the location of his final resting place so, therefore, the final day of our family vacation was committed to my first visit there.  Our travels had intersected quite a lot with Mr Pict’s family history but this was a day for my own family history.  Of course, it was historical in only the loosest definition since my Great-Grandfather died when I was ten.

A couple of summers ago, Mr Pict and two of our boys had spent more hours than expected in a cemetery in London searching for and eventually finding the grave of another of my Great-Grandad’s.  That cemetery had been vast but Calverton National Cemetery was on an even more massive scale.  To indicate how expansive it was, our sat nav app actually identified roads within the boundaries of the cemetery.  Using a map I had downloaded from the relevant website, we easily made our way to the correct section of the cemetery.  Then, using the clearly indicated grave numbers on each brass plaque, the boys ran off in search of their Great-Great-Grandad’s grave with our 8 year old successfully finding it in short order.  Although I did meet him once and have a very misty memory of him, I really know very little about my Great-Grandad.  He was estranged from his wife and daughters and was, therefore, never really part of our family.  To mix my metaphors, although he is clearly an important section in the trunk of my family tree, in terms of family history it is as if he is a little island off on his own, not especially intersecting with the other branches and buds, discovered but unexplored.  Frustratingly, because he is a recent ancestor, one who died within living memory, it is also difficult to access documents about him and begin to piece together the parts of his life.  He’s rather an enigma.  As I stood at his grave, three generations of his descendents gathered together, really the only emotion I felt was that sense of frustration that I did not know more about him, that I wish I had the anecdotes that would breathe some life into him.

With a whole afternoon spare, we decided to head off to Coney Island since none of us had ever been there, not even Mr Pict.  As someone who is nerdy about the history of sideshows, I wish the title of this blog entry served to indicate that my Great-Grandfather had some connection to Coney Island but there is none.  The only connection is that we somehow reckoned it was appropriate to do something as solemn as visiting a grave in a Veterans’ Cemetery immediately followed by a trip to a boardwalk, beach and fun fair.  Such ying and yang is the stuff of life.

We managed to find a parking spot really close to the boardwalk so within minutes of arriving my children were running around and we were all having a relaxing stroll along the promenade.  We partook of some munchies from Nathan’s famous hot dog stand, people watched and the older boys buried the youngest Pict in the sand and then sculpted the resulting mound into the form of a mermaid.  Really, it wasn’t a merboy as they opted to give it boobies.  Kids!  I was very excited to be at Coney Island, not just because of the whole sideshow thing but also because of other episodes from history and popular culture.  Mr Pict and I knew that there used to be a massive elephant somewhere on Coney Island, an actual building that was shaped like an elephant.  Just because.  It had been a hotel, tourist attraction and brothel.  The architect must have been either a genius or a madman.  Mr Pict had it in his head that it still existed so he asked a brace of cops for directions.  You know that old adage that whenever you are lost you should always ask a police officer because they will know the answer?  Well not only did neither of these police officers have a clue as to its location but they had never even heard of it.  Mr Pict was puzzled.  I googled.  It had burned down in 1896.  No wonder the cops didn’t know anything about it: we were a bit late.  A more tragic tale of a Coney Island elephant, of course, relates to poor, sad, brutalised Topsy.  Topsy was a maltreated circus elephant who was condemned to death after killing her trainer.  So it was that in 1903, the inventor Thomas Edison, engineered the electrocution of the pitiful animal at Luna Park.  It was a spectator event and was filmed to be viewed by even more people.  I also knew of Coney Island from the cult 1979 movie ‘The Warriors’.  It’s one of my guilty pleasure movies so I am not going to argue that it is a stellar piece of film-making with weighty themes but if you have never seen it then I urge you to do so nevertheless.  It depicts a near future – so probably a 1990 that never was – in which tribal gangs defined by elaborate costumes are battling against each other in New York City.  When one gang, the Warriors, are accused of assassinating a kingpin, they must fight their way through the city streets and back to the safety of their home base, which happens to be Coney Island.  Seriously, I recommend it.

Obviously the major attraction at Coney Island is the fairground rides so it would have been lax of me as a parent to not allow my kids to have a turn on a ride.  Our time was limited, as per the parking meter, so they were permitted to choose one ride each.  The 5 year old chose a little aeroplane ride, though he wanted to do something more adrenalin-fuelled, and the 8 year old chose a shooting gallery which resulted in him winning a penguin.  The 11 and 7 year olds, however, opted to do something more adventurous.  They chose a water flume ride.  At first it was all smiles but, as soon as the log boat climbed higher, the 7 year old began to look stricken and by the time the log hurtled down the watery slope and splash-landed at the bottom he was virtually hysterical.  Poor wee guy.

And thus our family vacation literally did end with a splash.

Travelling Back in Family History at Plimoth Plantation

We had breakfast in the hotel each morning.  This was ideal as there were lots of options to  keep everyone’s bellies happy, from scrambled egg to cereal to bagels to yoghurt to self-made waffles, and because it saves on time when you want to get your day trip underway.

It was a short journey to Plimoth Colony, past lots of archetypal New England houses with wood shingles, coloured clapboard against white woodwork, external staircases and widow’s walks along the tops of roofs.  I do love New England style. I very much covet the dusky blue paintwork and the whale weathervanes.

Mr Pict and our boys have a family history connection to Mayflower and Plymouth Colony in that they are directly descended from people who crossed the Atlantic aboard ‘The Mayflower’.  We explained to the kids they would not exist – or at least not as themselves – had Priscilla Mullins and John Alden not survived the Winter of 1620 unlike so many others, including Priscilla’s parents and brother.  This personal connection to such a pivotal episode in American history certainly added an extra dimension to the trip and provided a useful means of engaging the children in what they were seeing at the recreated site.

We began in the lovely visitors centre by watching a video presentation about Plymouth Colony.  This proved to be more of an introduction to the site than an insightful documentary about the history of the place, which was rather disappointing.  Leaving the visitors centre, we started at the Wampanoag village.  This section of the site was populated by Native Americans wearing loincloths and other traditional clothing who could talk to us about contemporary tribal life as well as the history of the local Native American people and their interaction with the European settlers. We saw the winter huts and summer huts and it was interesting to be able to actually see close up and even feel the different construction process and materials used.  The kids found it interesting to see piles of shells and bones near the houses and had fun searching for crab claws and deer bones.  We also saw fishing nets being woven, women making turkey soup and cranberry tea.

A brief walk along the Eel River brought us to the recreated plantation that demonstrates how the English colonists lived.  It was populated by people in authentic costume, completely immersed in acting the role of seventeenth century settlers even down to their patterns of speech and peculiar accents.  They never once broke character.  It was a most impressive skill while also adding interest and being engaging.  The actors really did bring it to life and add an extra dimension even if it was really quite disconcerting talking to them, as I felt as if I had to translate myself into a more formal, archaic pattern of speech and avoid any modern vocabulary.

The settlement was set up as they envisaged it would have been in 1627.  It was interesting to note just how compact the buildings were.  So much so that only the master and mistress of each household had beds as the other residents, whether children, servants or lodgers, slept on mattresses on the floor.  We went in and out of lots of buildings, including the meeting house at the top of the hill which afforded us a great view over the colony and out to the bay beyond.  We also went into the house that was representing that lived in by the Aldens.  We didn’t meet the “ancestors”, however, as they were “working in the fields”.  Shame.  That could have been goofy, nerdy fun.

After a nose around the visitor’s centre, a short drive took us to the waterfront of Plymouth where we continued our visit by boarding ‘The Mayflower II’.  Obviously this was a modern replica ship but one that had actually sailed from England in 1957 nevertheless.  As much as there was lots to explore on board, it was not on a large scale so it was incredible to think that 102 people had squeezed aboard and – except for two of them – survived the hard crossing across the Atlantic.  The boys and Mr Pict are descended both from pilgrim passengers and a member of the crew (John Alden was the ship’s cooper) so it was useful to be able to show the boys the ship in addition to the replica colony.  They thoroughly enjoyed scurrying around the deck, below deck, nosing in cabins and dressing up in sailor costumes.  The ship was staffed by contemporary crewmen, who could answer technical questions about sailing such a ship, and people in costume representing the passengers.  Two of them, a young man and woman, even burst into some plain singing at one point which was quite delightful.

After locating all of our children on ‘The Mayflower II’, we strolled along the shore line pathway to Plymouth Rock.  It is set beneath a grand, Greek style portico but the contents are deflating: the rock looks sad and neglected for all its historical (though probably inauthentic) association with ‘The Mayflower’.  Litter was scattered all around the rock which made it look scuzzy.  Would it really be so hard to get someone to go and clean out the space ever so often?  Another amble took us to see the fountain that serves as a monument to Pilgrim women.

Back at the hotel, the boys immediately sloughed off their clothes and pulled on their swimming clobber so that they could grab a couple of hours in the swimming pool before heading out to dinner.  We went out to dinner at a place called Dave’s Diner.  This was my parents’ first experience of an American diner.  My Father-in-Law is an expert in diners so we knew it was not an authentic diner but it still had the right vibe to it and it had really great food, very filling, and great service all in a nice environment.  We left feeling beyond satiated and feeling we had had a very good experience.

Thanksgiving

We have always marked Thanksgiving, particularly as a means of reminding the children of their American heritage.  Of course, in Scotland it is not a national holiday so in previous years we have always had to celebrate Thanksgiving on the weekend.  This then was – for the four kids and me – our first Thanksgiving celebrated on the actual day itself and we had been really looking forward to it.

The older boys had been learning a bit about Thanksgiving in school and my 4 year old had been learning about it through the theme of Native Americans at preschool (as well as doing the Turkey Pokey!).  I had also borrowed books galore from the library – including a lovely one of NC Wyeth’s mural paintings – and had attended a Thanksgiving lunch at the youngest’s preschool.  With all this build-up, we were very much looking forward to the celebration.

 

The logical, academic side of me conflicts with the emotional side of me when it comes to Thanksgiving.  I do very much appreciate the sentiment of the day: offering up thanks and expressing gratitude for what one has, reflecting on life’s blessings and spending time with loved ones.  However, it is difficult to square the warm glow of those emotions with the historical event the day commemorates.  After all, only a few decades after Squanto and Samoset had saved the pilgrims from starvation and ignorance, the colonists and the indigenous population were engaged in King Philip’s War (during which one of Mr Pict’s direct ancestors was scalped).  Colonisation, subjugation and genocide are a bit hard to swallow along with tales of planting corn and sharing turkey.  However, I then have to reconcile that moral dilemma with the fact that we would literally not be in America now as a family had it not been for the colonists.  Mr Pict – and, therefore, our four sons – is a descendant of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins who crossed from Europe to America on ‘The Mayflower’.  So had it not been for the whole Thanksgiving story, had it not been for John Alden and Priscilla Mullins surviving the disease and privations that beset the colonists in order to pass on their DNA for generations to come, then Mr Pict would not have been born half-American and it would have been near impossible for us to emigrate.  So, in order to be grateful for this opportunity, I suppose I have to be grateful to the pilgrims for their colonising of land already occupied by the Native Americans.

What we were very thankful for yesterday was the chance to all be together all day, having quality family time, relaxing in each other’s company.  The boys in particular have found it difficult to adjust to Daddy’s new working hours and patterns so they relished the chance to spend four solid days with him.  Mr Pict actually has to go away with work for a week (Florida in December – sucks to be him) so this was a good ration of Daddy-Son time to store up their reserves for the week ahead.

Of course, a critical component of Thanksgiving is the food.  We decided to be very traditional this year so that the kids could experience an authentic American Thanksgiving dinner.  Centre stage obviously was the turkey.  We actually got the turkey for free from the supermarket.  Turkeys here are a loss leader at Thanksgiving, enticing people into the store to buy all the other bits and bobs they need.  Since I shop there anyway, it being my nearest supermarket, clocking up all the required loyalty points was simple.  I even have enough left over to get a dollar per gallon off car fuel.  So we had our freebie $25 turkey, mashed potato, sweet potato, broccoli, carrots, green bean casserole (my favourite), corn on the cob, corn bread and stuffing.  American stuffing is not like British stuffing.  Instead of having a sausage meat base, it is like moistened herby croutons.  It tastes nicer than it sounds.  Incidentally I don’t know that corn on the cob is a traditional side for Thanksgiving – though we usually do creamed corn – but you can never have enough corn on the cob at this time of year.

 

A Thanksgiving tradition that is new to me is sales shopping.  There has been a lot of controversy this year in the run up to the holidays regarding the number of shops opening on Thanksgiving itself, which not only means that frenzied bargain hunters leave their family to go and track down deals but also employees are coerced into giving up a holiday.  I am in support of holidays staying as holidays, especially a secular one such as this where everyone can enjoy some time off together, so the ethical part of me wanted to opt out of sales.  I would never actually go out to sales anyway.  I hate crowds almost to the point of being phobic and I don’t wish to do battle with ferocious people clamouring for things going cheap.  However, the frugal side of me won out against the ethical side and I did hop online to snag some deals on Christmas presents for the kids and a vacuum cleaner for me.  I am justifying this on the basis that we had to abandon so many possessions to relocate here that we now have to replace and stretching our budget as far as possible is obviously important.

I was very excited about Thanksgiving TV.  Apparently American Football is a thing on Thanksgiving so Mr Pict watched a bit of whatever game was on.  I don’t do sport – playing, spectating or viewing – so the TV I was looking forward to were the Charlie Brown and Muppets specials.  Charlie Brown did not disappoint.  The two episodes were sweet without being mawkish and the whole thing had a vintage charm.  One episode even mentioned John Alden and Priscilla Mullins which my boys enjoyed.  Family history is proving a good way to engage them in history.  The show I was really excited about – more than would be considered normal for an adult woman – was the Muppets special.  I have always loved the Muppets.  I still forget that they are puppets when I am watching them.  Sincerely, Miss Piggy was one of my icons growing up.  I have managed to emulate her feisty spiritedness but her femininity and glamour have always eluded me.  Unfortunately, the much anticipated Muppets Special was hugely disappointing.  Lady Gaga was supposedly the special guest but she dominated entirely rather than assuming a guest’s role.  As such, the Muppets, including stars Kermit and Piggy, were relegated to bit part players.  The whole thing became one long promotional music video (for music I dislike no less) and all the magic of the Muppets was lost.

So overall we very much enjoyed our first American Thanksgiving.