Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Friday, May 06, 2016
Thursday, May 05, 2016
Bench ‘o’ Knowledge, no reserved seating
New Blog here. Haven’t time to enter anything yet. Will post TI Sun Article next
Bench ‘o’ Knowledge, no reserved seating
New Blog here. Haven’t time to enter anything yet. Will post TI Sun Article next
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
The Thousand Islands Sun has graciously published some of my pieces on growing up in Clayton, NY on the St. Lawrence River. With the permission of the publisher I am re publishing them here, mostly as PDF copies of the printed piece, but some as they were originally submitted. There were some minor editorial changes in the latter, but none significant to the story. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them.
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| Rock Island Light, 2001 |
(Published as "My Youth On the River")
My Youth On the River (see Ship Grounds at Clayton, NY for photos)
(For some reason I did not make a copy of the printed piece, and there are names missing from this copy of the draft.)
Sunday, March 01, 2015
I submitted this piece to The Thousand Islands Sun, and it was published Feb. 18th, 2015. I hope this reaches an audience of non subscribers
I've been having fun with Google Maps Street View in Clayton. From age ten to eighteen this house was my home, where I lived with my parents, Robert and Ruth Charles. I loved this house. The Foxes bought it after we moved to Syracuse after Dad retired as principal of Clayton Central School. As far as I know they are still enjoying it.
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After we moved here from our rented home on Beecher Street my mother hired Mr. Wiley to upgrade the kitchen and bathroom, and add a bath and a half so my grandmother could come and live with us. I followed Mr. Wiley around while he did the remodeling my Mom wanted; learned a lot about carpentry from just watching that gentle man. Probably he found me a nuisance, but he never let on.
I counted my paper route money out on my bed in the little bedroom on the first floor, until my grandma moved into it. Then I moved upstairs to the room in the back, facing the railroad tracks.
My favorite house in Clayton
I Recuperated from chicken pox at eighteen in the room with the little window above the porch; heard Doctor Pilpel tell my Mom I might not recover, my fever was so high. There was a question about the future ability to father children, which turned out all right as Carol and I have two, and five wonderful grandkids. I did miss the CCS Class of 1960 trip to New York City, though.
Bryce Baker and I spent a lot of time in the silver maple tree that preceded the small one pictured on the right by the driveway. A great climbing and sitting tree, it was as big as or bigger than the one on the left, which my Dad planted after a storm took down the one it replaced. He paid me to take out the stump, which was just north (left) of the big one in the picture. The new one was a little smaller than the tree on the right is now.
I learned from my Dad how to use a double bitted ax, and managed to get the stump out, roots and all, blisters and all. One blade for roots in the dirt, shovel the dirt, pry the root up, chop with sharpest side, rotate, chop with duller side, repeat. Persevere every day for an hour after school for a month and Bob's your uncle, the root comes out!
Just in front of that present day big tree was a seven foot section of iron railroad rail embedded in concrete, with an iron ring at the top. My Dad said it was used to tether horses in the days before cars. I knew there were others like it in town, some fancier but no sturdier, so I had no reason to disbelieve him. He paid me to dig it out also. Bryce and I couldn't break off all of the concrete with Dad's 3 pound sledge; but we got it out, put it my rusty old Radio Flyer wagon and hauled it to the dump (the present site of the skating rink/Lions Club ball field park) where Bruce Ackerman paid us a small sum for the scrap iron. We split the profit 50/50.
I learned to drive my Brother Dick's stick shift Plymouth on Graves St. Back out of the driveway, down the hill to the cheese factory, around their loop drive, back up the hill, and do it again. He made me take my test on it in Watertown. Would not let me take it until I could shift perfectly and crawl up and down the hill in first and reverse without hesitating. I drove nothing but sticks for fifty years afterward except for company cars.
This is how it looked when we lived there in 1959. If you “drive” up Graves Street on Google, you can't see it now for the trees. Of course, “real time” being today, February 9, 2015, you might not be able to see up the street for other reasons; like snow, as it was the night before this storm in 1959.
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In the lower left you can see my Dad's snow covered '49 ford. He parked it that way to be sure it could get out. Of course he didn't need to because we lived less than a block from Clayton Central. I doubt he could have gone very far on those roads anyway, because we did not have snow tires or chains.
In the center you can see the big silver maple we used to climb. Its branches are bowed almost to the ground. Just to the right in the background you can see the trunk of the smaller (but still large) maple that Dad had to cut down a few years later because of rot and the ice damage in '52. It's the tree whose stump removal paid for my new English bike in 1955.
I had a hand me down fat tired red Schwinn, no gears, Bendix brakes and pretty worn out. I really wanted the black Raleigh 3 speed I saw at Gonseth's bike shop, and this stump removal got it for me as a 13th birthday gift from my parents, paid for out of my savings and my Grandma's contribution. I delivered papers with it as a substitute paper boy out of Merle Daly's smoke shop (I think I covered every route in town) and rode it back and forth to work at McCormic’s for four summers.
In the background behind the car is the other Grave's house. Ours was the Peter Graves house, built in the late 1800's according to the wooden letters in the concrete front steps. I think the letters are still there, but the wood is long gone. Next door was the Tiffany home. North of our lot was a vacant field, often sown to timothy, to which I was violently allergic in the growing season! Just north of that was the concrete block cheese factory, built about the same time we moved. On hot summer days, if the wind was just right and the tanker hadn't come by yet, you got a pretty good whiff of the whey tank that sat just south of their driveway. Some days you could smell the Limburger cheese they made as well. I never have been able to eat that.
The photo with the boy petting the cat the cat was taken in the then updated kitchen of the house, with the door to the mudroom in the background. The boy is Bryce Baker, my best friend through school at CCS and long after. Bryce passed away a few years back. I miss him.
The cat in the picture was Rusty, who lived happily to a ripe old age of 18. Once, when we were about 15, Rusty tangled with a king snake in the yard next door where Mr. Tiffany had a hen house, with a large manure pile next to it, occupied by that snake. We heard Rusty yowling, and when we went to look we found him wrapped in the black coils of the snake, which had to be 5 or 6 feet long. We didn't want to kill the snake as they are good at keeping varmints under control, but it was killing my cat! We got shovels from the back cellar entrance and whacked at its head until it let go. It was one of those times you wanted to have your camera at hand, because people never believed us, but I didn't really have time to run in the house and get mine.
Another time my brother's friend, Bill Carpenter, came by with his beagle. The dog treed Rusty in that big maple in the photo. Rusty skinned up that tree easily, and sat out on a branch that overhung the driveway. The dog stood under the branch, baying up at the cat enthusiastically. After about 5 minutes of that, the cat calmly dropped the seven feet or so off the branch right onto the beagle's back and hung on with his claws. The dog turned around in circles for a few seconds, and then went ki-yi-ing up the dirt road south of our house for about 200 feet before Rusty calmly jumped off into the grass at the side of the road. Dog never bothered him again.
That cat had nine lives, I believe. One fall my Dad and I were scything the long grass in the large back yard behind the house and Rusty could be heard meowing strangely on the other side of the cow pasture fence. We went to look and that cat, which was a large yellow orange tiger, had a buck rabbit in his mouth nearly as large as he was!
He was making the strange noise because he couldn't open his mouth or that rabbit would get away. We made him turn it loose. It was quite a lot worse for the wear, but had gotten a few kicks in with the claws on its powerful hind legs, and probably a few bites. It wasn't long after that Rusty developed skin ulcers, and they became infected. Bryce and I had to put him in a big box and drive him to Watertown to be treated. The vet said we really needed to put him down, as he was too sick to stay with us anymore. I had rarely seen Bryce so sad. We had both grown up with that cat, and we were very silent on the ride home.
We also had a pure bred collie dog when I was supposed to be old enough to take care of one. We got him at what today would probably be considered a wildcat breeder, but back then they were good, carful folks who loved dogs, and bred them to sell, but only a few at a time. Mike (Prince Michael on the pedigree papers) was a typical pure breed collie; very affectionate and loyal to a fault, but exitable. When I was in high school he started coming to the door by the music room, and patiently waiting for me to come out. If someone let him in he would either come to my homeroom door or go to the office where my Dad was usually to be found. That always meant a quick trip home for me to get him shut in the house until school let out.
The back door shown in the picture with Bryce Baker petting the cat led to a mud room where boots and outdoor clothes, laundry detergent, snow shovel (in winter) and a big laundry tub were kept. Twice my mother had to give Mike a tomato juice bath after he tangled with a skunk while guarding the back yard at night from such critters. Sometimes he came home covered head to tail in manure smelly mud from the pond next door where the dentists' office is now. He was fond of chasing the cows in that pasture, and we finally had to put him on a cable lead with a wire running from the house to a pole so that he would stop chasing after things. It did not make the stock owner happy to have him chase his cows either!
It's funny to drive by on a well paved street, past the dentists' office and the fire house, right on up to East Line Road. Back when we lived there the paved road ended about 70 feet south of our driveway. It was rutted and big sharp rocks stood up in the holes that could cut your tires, or flatten bike tires if you hit them.
The Calumet fire team used to come roaring up the street to the hydrant across from our house and practice hooking hoses to it. Carol and I lived at French Creek Marina for a few years back in the early part of this century, and could hear the roaring of engines as they did a much more sophisticated version of that, and still do today.
I often wish I could live in Clayton in the summer (I don’t know if I could ever take the winters there now!) but it is not possible. We do love to visit though, and even though Carol was born in Rochester she, through force of habit since I keep taking her back, has grown to love it there as well. But never in the winter! We love to see the pictures in the Thousand Island Sun, but that's as close as we want to get to a River winter!
Joel Charles,
Cumming, Georgia, 2015
I've been having fun with Google Maps Street View in Clayton. From age ten to eighteen this house was my home, where I lived with my parents, Robert and Ruth Charles. I loved this house. The Foxes bought it after we moved to Syracuse after Dad retired as principal of Clayton Central School. As far as I know they are still enjoying it.
After we moved here from our rented home on Beecher Street my mother hired Mr. Wiley to upgrade the kitchen and bathroom, and add a bath and a half so my grandmother could come and live with us. I followed Mr. Wiley around while he did the remodeling my Mom wanted; learned a lot about carpentry from just watching that gentle man. Probably he found me a nuisance, but he never let on.
I counted my paper route money out on my bed in the little bedroom on the first floor, until my grandma moved into it. Then I moved upstairs to the room in the back, facing the railroad tracks.
My favorite house in Clayton
I Recuperated from chicken pox at eighteen in the room with the little window above the porch; heard Doctor Pilpel tell my Mom I might not recover, my fever was so high. There was a question about the future ability to father children, which turned out all right as Carol and I have two, and five wonderful grandkids. I did miss the CCS Class of 1960 trip to New York City, though.
Bryce Baker and I spent a lot of time in the silver maple tree that preceded the small one pictured on the right by the driveway. A great climbing and sitting tree, it was as big as or bigger than the one on the left, which my Dad planted after a storm took down the one it replaced. He paid me to take out the stump, which was just north (left) of the big one in the picture. The new one was a little smaller than the tree on the right is now.
I learned from my Dad how to use a double bitted ax, and managed to get the stump out, roots and all, blisters and all. One blade for roots in the dirt, shovel the dirt, pry the root up, chop with sharpest side, rotate, chop with duller side, repeat. Persevere every day for an hour after school for a month and Bob's your uncle, the root comes out!
Just in front of that present day big tree was a seven foot section of iron railroad rail embedded in concrete, with an iron ring at the top. My Dad said it was used to tether horses in the days before cars. I knew there were others like it in town, some fancier but no sturdier, so I had no reason to disbelieve him. He paid me to dig it out also. Bryce and I couldn't break off all of the concrete with Dad's 3 pound sledge; but we got it out, put it my rusty old Radio Flyer wagon and hauled it to the dump (the present site of the skating rink/Lions Club ball field park) where Bruce Ackerman paid us a small sum for the scrap iron. We split the profit 50/50.
I learned to drive my Brother Dick's stick shift Plymouth on Graves St. Back out of the driveway, down the hill to the cheese factory, around their loop drive, back up the hill, and do it again. He made me take my test on it in Watertown. Would not let me take it until I could shift perfectly and crawl up and down the hill in first and reverse without hesitating. I drove nothing but sticks for fifty years afterward except for company cars.
This is how it looked when we lived there in 1959. If you “drive” up Graves Street on Google, you can't see it now for the trees. Of course, “real time” being today, February 9, 2015, you might not be able to see up the street for other reasons; like snow, as it was the night before this storm in 1959.
This photo was taken after a major snow and ice storm in 1952. My Mom told us not to leave the neighborhood because power lines were down everywhere. Our neighbor, Bill Lafountain (Mr. Lafountain to me) was a Niagara Mohawk Lineman, supervisor. When it did this sort of thing he was away from home a lot.
In the center you can see the big silver maple we used to climb. Its branches are bowed almost to the ground. Just to the right in the background you can see the trunk of the smaller (but still large) maple that Dad had to cut down a few years later because of rot and the ice damage in '52. It's the tree whose stump removal paid for my new English bike in 1955.
I had a hand me down fat tired red Schwinn, no gears, Bendix brakes and pretty worn out. I really wanted the black Raleigh 3 speed I saw at Gonseth's bike shop, and this stump removal got it for me as a 13th birthday gift from my parents, paid for out of my savings and my Grandma's contribution. I delivered papers with it as a substitute paper boy out of Merle Daly's smoke shop (I think I covered every route in town) and rode it back and forth to work at McCormic’s for four summers.
In the background behind the car is the other Grave's house. Ours was the Peter Graves house, built in the late 1800's according to the wooden letters in the concrete front steps. I think the letters are still there, but the wood is long gone. Next door was the Tiffany home. North of our lot was a vacant field, often sown to timothy, to which I was violently allergic in the growing season! Just north of that was the concrete block cheese factory, built about the same time we moved. On hot summer days, if the wind was just right and the tanker hadn't come by yet, you got a pretty good whiff of the whey tank that sat just south of their driveway. Some days you could smell the Limburger cheese they made as well. I never have been able to eat that.
The cat in the picture was Rusty, who lived happily to a ripe old age of 18. Once, when we were about 15, Rusty tangled with a king snake in the yard next door where Mr. Tiffany had a hen house, with a large manure pile next to it, occupied by that snake. We heard Rusty yowling, and when we went to look we found him wrapped in the black coils of the snake, which had to be 5 or 6 feet long. We didn't want to kill the snake as they are good at keeping varmints under control, but it was killing my cat! We got shovels from the back cellar entrance and whacked at its head until it let go. It was one of those times you wanted to have your camera at hand, because people never believed us, but I didn't really have time to run in the house and get mine.
Another time my brother's friend, Bill Carpenter, came by with his beagle. The dog treed Rusty in that big maple in the photo. Rusty skinned up that tree easily, and sat out on a branch that overhung the driveway. The dog stood under the branch, baying up at the cat enthusiastically. After about 5 minutes of that, the cat calmly dropped the seven feet or so off the branch right onto the beagle's back and hung on with his claws. The dog turned around in circles for a few seconds, and then went ki-yi-ing up the dirt road south of our house for about 200 feet before Rusty calmly jumped off into the grass at the side of the road. Dog never bothered him again.
That cat had nine lives, I believe. One fall my Dad and I were scything the long grass in the large back yard behind the house and Rusty could be heard meowing strangely on the other side of the cow pasture fence. We went to look and that cat, which was a large yellow orange tiger, had a buck rabbit in his mouth nearly as large as he was!
He was making the strange noise because he couldn't open his mouth or that rabbit would get away. We made him turn it loose. It was quite a lot worse for the wear, but had gotten a few kicks in with the claws on its powerful hind legs, and probably a few bites. It wasn't long after that Rusty developed skin ulcers, and they became infected. Bryce and I had to put him in a big box and drive him to Watertown to be treated. The vet said we really needed to put him down, as he was too sick to stay with us anymore. I had rarely seen Bryce so sad. We had both grown up with that cat, and we were very silent on the ride home.
Bryce Baker in the middle of icy Graves St., whey tank to his left
The back door shown in the picture with Bryce Baker petting the cat led to a mud room where boots and outdoor clothes, laundry detergent, snow shovel (in winter) and a big laundry tub were kept. Twice my mother had to give Mike a tomato juice bath after he tangled with a skunk while guarding the back yard at night from such critters. Sometimes he came home covered head to tail in manure smelly mud from the pond next door where the dentists' office is now. He was fond of chasing the cows in that pasture, and we finally had to put him on a cable lead with a wire running from the house to a pole so that he would stop chasing after things. It did not make the stock owner happy to have him chase his cows either!
It's funny to drive by on a well paved street, past the dentists' office and the fire house, right on up to East Line Road. Back when we lived there the paved road ended about 70 feet south of our driveway. It was rutted and big sharp rocks stood up in the holes that could cut your tires, or flatten bike tires if you hit them.
The Calumet fire team used to come roaring up the street to the hydrant across from our house and practice hooking hoses to it. Carol and I lived at French Creek Marina for a few years back in the early part of this century, and could hear the roaring of engines as they did a much more sophisticated version of that, and still do today.
I often wish I could live in Clayton in the summer (I don’t know if I could ever take the winters there now!) but it is not possible. We do love to visit though, and even though Carol was born in Rochester she, through force of habit since I keep taking her back, has grown to love it there as well. But never in the winter! We love to see the pictures in the Thousand Island Sun, but that's as close as we want to get to a River winter!
Joel Charles,
Cumming, Georgia, 2015
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
The Castle That Disappeared.
A few years back, while we were visiting an old friend from high school (Clayton Central, Class of 60), she happened to show us a framed photo of Calumet Castle. Since it is one of my favorite memories, we had an interesting discussion about the origin of the photo. I believe she found it in a flea market, and the lady who was selling it asked her if she knew the history of the photo, or at least the castle depicted in it.
Of course she did, and informed them that she had grown up on the St. Lawrence, and was not only very familiar with its history, but had grown up accompanying her father on fishing trips, many of which took place right under the castle itself when it still stood.. It appeared that the photo had the tower in the wrong place, and I remarked that I thought it was a mirror image, or a photographic reversal of the original post card. We discussed this and many other things "River Rats" would be interested in, and Carol and I left for our home in Arizona shortly afterward.
We have since moved to Georgia, and still travel to the 1000 Islands as often as possible. My wife was born in Rochester, but has no ties to the city anymore, and we actually spent five summers living in Clayton, where I grew up. I have kept in touch with my friend, Carolyn for many years, and we are looking forward to seeing her and other old friends this summer. In the course of discussing that, and the various painting projects I have been working on in the last year, Carolyn became curious about the photo. This generated a series of emails, and has resulted in some interesting research, mostly on her part. She has an extensive collection of Calumet history, and decided to get them out and examine them. To quote the first email:
"I removed the Calumet Castle picture from its frame and (Scanned it). I was able to flip it to reflect what the original postcard looked like. I also played a little bit with the sharpness and color. These photos are labeled Calumet Castle Right and Calumet Castle enhanced. The original photo without the matte is 6 1/2" X 10". I also took photos of the original and you can see the matte. these are a little crisper and show a little more detail of the castle granite structure.
Carolyn's Postcard Photo
I suspect that the castle front steps faced more downriver towards the Bridge. If that is true, it would explain why the Water Tower was on the right in the original post card. However, if the castle faced more to the Village dock in Rotary park, it would seem more normal for those of us who viewed it from there, for the Water Tower to be on the left. I suppose if there was a site map of the origin of the castle to the island itself, it would clarify this theory.
At any rate. you can add these photos to your collection of "castles on the St. Lawrence" for a possible future project. If you would like, I can bring the original to Clayton in June ..."
Well she indeed did more research, and this was the result:
"I am a dog with a bone!!!!! I just spent the last hour, searching for the Rex Ennis book on C.G. Emery that I couldn't find yesterday!!!!! In it is the attached scanned copy of an aerial photo of the ;island with the castle still intact. Considering the orientation of the castle steps, my framed picture is indeed WRONG!!!! The tower IS on the RIGHT!!!!! and the West Wing would have been on the Left! I found a satellite image of the island and the footprint of the castle is visible, with the placement of the front steps pointing directly at the down bound end of the little long island that was probably once a shoal, That angle points the castle orientation directly to the pointed end of Washington Island. All are attached. Mystery solved!!!! "
Well, part of it anyway. I wrote back, saying:
"You indeed are a research tiger! With these I only have one mystery to solve. The only thing that isn't clear is the area over the door. Balcony? White slash is . . . what? I may be able to work that out when I see it again. Also, I might have a sat photo that will shed some light on the orientation.
My memories of the castle are fuzzy, as I rarely saw it complete up close. We fished on the little flower garden island’s lee side (downriver from the castle, about where they launch fireworks from now) and because our boat was not large, and my Dad was careful of the water he was in, we always approached his fishing spot from downbound, heading back upstream and drifting to different spots. Thus our closest view was of the downbound side, which afforded us with a great view of what was to me at the time, a mysterious harbor below the castle, with a tall tower to our right as we looked upbound. In fact, the tower was across the harbor, west of the castle. If you looked at it from Clayton it appeared to be on the same side of the island. It’s not. There may have actually been no connection between the main island and the point on which the tower sits. I don’t know. I think they may have been two separate islands, or close at one time. Maybe they still are, connected by a bridge or causeway. Don’t know. I’d love the chance to walk it and find out! I have not been on the island since I was ten, when my brother and a friend of his took me there.
The harbor is behind this ridge (see arrow 1 in photo below), with tower on the west side of the harbor. Most of the other structures around it were probably built later than this photo. Looking at it from Clayton, it appeared to be to the right (northwest or downriver) of the castle, which is why I felt that your postcard photo was a mirror image. Also, the trees filled in, and have since been removed on the Clayton side. The star down near the water's edge in the photo is, I believe, where the summer flower garden is seen now.
A second arrow points at the “front” of the castle which clearly would have looked like it was facing Clayton, with the larger porch and white stairs. There is a legend that says Mrs. Emory wanted the village fathers to either move all the buildings back from the waterfront or remodel them all to get rid of the porches and other protuberances seen from the river side, spoiling her view. Don’t know how true that is, though. In the black and white photo I have drawn an annotated arrow showing that the “front” of the castle is not the face shown in the photo, but rather the side with the smaller porch (arrow #3 in the color photo)
In the black and white photo I have drawn an annotated arrow showing that the “front” of the castle is not the face shown in the photo, but rather the “smaller” porch on the side (arrow #3 in the color photo). The west wing the author refers to is at the “back” of the castle, with two small turrets. I believe this may have contained the ballroom, but memory is fuzzy. I only saw inside it once, and I was 10.... There is a 3rd, smaller, porch back there along what would be the south wall. I would love to do a painting of this side as well, but here there are ownership/copywrite issues with the photo.
I was never really sure, until you sent me these, of what it looked like whole. The black and white photo is the side from which my Mom, Dad and I approached the fire after rounding the end of Wolfe Island, returning from a fishing trip in Canada. Flames were shooting hundreds of feet in the air, and the wind was blowing the smoke north and east, I believe. Even if they had had the “Last Chance” and a couple of other fireboats on hand, there would have been no hope of saving the structure, It was an inferno, fully involved, as my fireman friends say."
Strange thing is, I remember it most vividly as a ruin being blasted down, with the last thing remaining being this grand porch, like the grin on the Cheshire Cat, as the rest of the ruin disappeared. It took a couple of weeks to get it down, with regular “thud” and “boom” noises coming to us seconds after the puff of dust and smoke from the blasting. I used to sit for hours watching through my Granddad’s high powered military binoculars, making it look close enough to touch. I hear and see that in my mind every time we sit by the river and look at the island. Many of the people sitting around me seemed to think the place would come down like a house of cards with the blasting. It was, after all, a mere burned out shell. Well it was pretty well built for a shell! All of the combustible material was gone, and the iron/steel beams were melted to slag in the ruins, but it didn’t go away easily. Granite castles don’t die easily!
Thanks for all the photos. Ruining the surprise here, but after I finish the Antique Boat Museum piece I am just starting, I’m going to paint this."
And paint it I did. The way I paint is to put on canvas what I see in a photo and from memory. Since this was to be a painting of a picture postcard from the early 20th century, I had little detail (see photo above) to work with since the postcard had so accurately depicted it, but without that fine detail you would get in a modern photo. Thus the painting is not greatly detailed when it comes to leaves and finer points of the castle's exterior woodwork, trees and features of the landscaping. Only the positioning of the card and the proportions were available, and that's what I painted. I been told (by no less an art critic than my wife, who has been very helpful in my earlier works with effective criticism and help with detail) that the painting lacks detail, and looks "unfinished."
So it does, and so it will remain. It is a painting of a postcard, not of reality, as the real thing and "real" photos of it are hard to obtain. I don't intend to change it, and if it remains unsold, it will remain on our wall as a reminder of my youth, and a glorious opportunity missed by the village of Clayton, despite the efforts and desire of Mr. Vincent Dee to see it as a future attraction. It is my belief that Vince's later tireless and successful efforts to kindle interest in refurbishing Boldt Castle were grounded in his earlier wish to see Calumet made into what Boldt lately has become. I wish he had succeeded in as grand a way with Calumet. Imagine the view of this magnificent castle from the grand new hotel that occupies the old Frink site. What an attraction if would have been!
Sunday, October 20, 2013
If you like water, water features, and just an all around nice place to visit and patronize the gift ship, you'll love this place. We like to just go there and walk the paths, look at the koi ponds, falls, and flowers. It changes with the seasons, so it never gets old. We'd love to be better supporters of this local business (Atlanta Metro area) but our HOA rules would not allow a koi pond, I fear, nor would our finances!
Check it out here:
http://vimeo.com/77364957
Check it out here:
http://vimeo.com/77364957
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Well, I haven't posted in quite some time. What a relief, some might say... but seriously, I am now going to put it out there for all to see.
Since moving to Georgia my perspective has changed a bit. The landscape is so different here than in Arizona, and the people seem to be mostly from somewhere else, as it is in Arizona, but quickly become Georgians at heart once they're here. It is indeed a lovely state, when you don't have to deal with the freeway system. Off the freeway, as Carol and I tend to be about 98% of the time by choice, it's not so bad. Most of us are going somewhere near the speed limit, and mistakes made probably won't result in sudden death. Our first weeks here were...interesting.
We've tried our best to stay out of Georgia politics and political discussions. I've been in several group situations where I probably would have been given a swift education as to why guns are good for everyone; no matter where one might be or what one was doing - church for example. I thought we were back in Arizona for a bit. I did not feel compelled to point out that I was in favor of guns, just not in favor of everyone having them in large quantity, or in some cases, at all. By and large though, there isn't much difference here. People keep getting killed by those darn people with guns. It's them, you see, not the guns...
Today I do feel compelled to comment, even though I know in my heart that probably no one is reading my blog, hidden as it is in the Google woodpile, easily discovered but attracting zero interest. Let me pull a log off the top, see if anything jumps out.
Earlier this week the Atlanta Journal Constitution and the TV news folk covered a story about the KKK filing to be recognized, with official signage included, for volunteering to pick up litter on a Georgia highway in the mountains up north. It's a beautiful road, in very pretty country, and it should be kept free of trash for sure. The question arose, why did the KKK think it was their duty to do that and get recognized for it? Maybe so they could attract attention to that marvelous old institution of bigotry, and hatred and the benefits of joining up?
I won't pretend to know much about the Klan except for what I have heard and read. I have no personal experience. So, I won't put in any outrage here, even though I might be inclined to feel it. It's just that both sides, the state of Georgia and the Klan, have vowed to take the whole thing to court. And the last time that happened, in Missouri, the Klan won the right, in court, to pick up trash on a stretch of state road. Signs and all...with the help, in court, of and institution I have long respected but long suspected of occasional bad judgment in which battles to pick.
So it was with great interest that I read a Solomon like suggestion in today's AJC that the state agree to the Klan's request, and in addition put up signage that designated the particular stretch of highway the "Rosa Parks" or "Martin Luther King" memorial scenic byway, or some such. Mr. Roughton, the writer of said letter of recommendation, did not indicate where such signs should be placed in relation to the Klan's signs but, in view of the current feelings about saving government funds, I would add to his wise solution this suggestion: the signs could indicate that "this section of the (fill in the name) memorial parkway is being well cared for by the (fill in the name) chapter of the KKK."
The honorable members, probably including the lady who loftily pointed out that the Klan lynched white folks as well as black, could even wear their traditional regalia while performing this selfless community service. Just a thought.
Let's all write to the governor (I did) enclosing a copy of this suggestion and Mr. Roughton's original idea for his consideration. It seems that here would be a solution both sides could live with, and no increase in tax dollars spent for duplicate signage. If not, many of us could ask why not? If one truly wants to help out the community and preserve beauty, what matter the name of the road it's done on? Wouldn't it be interesting if the volunteers insisted that they needed a different road? What would that say about their real intentions? Just a thought.
(You can find the original letter at: http://www.ajc.com/opinion/readers-write-6-13-1456830.html )
Since moving to Georgia my perspective has changed a bit. The landscape is so different here than in Arizona, and the people seem to be mostly from somewhere else, as it is in Arizona, but quickly become Georgians at heart once they're here. It is indeed a lovely state, when you don't have to deal with the freeway system. Off the freeway, as Carol and I tend to be about 98% of the time by choice, it's not so bad. Most of us are going somewhere near the speed limit, and mistakes made probably won't result in sudden death. Our first weeks here were...interesting.
We've tried our best to stay out of Georgia politics and political discussions. I've been in several group situations where I probably would have been given a swift education as to why guns are good for everyone; no matter where one might be or what one was doing - church for example. I thought we were back in Arizona for a bit. I did not feel compelled to point out that I was in favor of guns, just not in favor of everyone having them in large quantity, or in some cases, at all. By and large though, there isn't much difference here. People keep getting killed by those darn people with guns. It's them, you see, not the guns...
Today I do feel compelled to comment, even though I know in my heart that probably no one is reading my blog, hidden as it is in the Google woodpile, easily discovered but attracting zero interest. Let me pull a log off the top, see if anything jumps out.
Earlier this week the Atlanta Journal Constitution and the TV news folk covered a story about the KKK filing to be recognized, with official signage included, for volunteering to pick up litter on a Georgia highway in the mountains up north. It's a beautiful road, in very pretty country, and it should be kept free of trash for sure. The question arose, why did the KKK think it was their duty to do that and get recognized for it? Maybe so they could attract attention to that marvelous old institution of bigotry, and hatred and the benefits of joining up?
I won't pretend to know much about the Klan except for what I have heard and read. I have no personal experience. So, I won't put in any outrage here, even though I might be inclined to feel it. It's just that both sides, the state of Georgia and the Klan, have vowed to take the whole thing to court. And the last time that happened, in Missouri, the Klan won the right, in court, to pick up trash on a stretch of state road. Signs and all...with the help, in court, of and institution I have long respected but long suspected of occasional bad judgment in which battles to pick.
So it was with great interest that I read a Solomon like suggestion in today's AJC that the state agree to the Klan's request, and in addition put up signage that designated the particular stretch of highway the "Rosa Parks" or "Martin Luther King" memorial scenic byway, or some such. Mr. Roughton, the writer of said letter of recommendation, did not indicate where such signs should be placed in relation to the Klan's signs but, in view of the current feelings about saving government funds, I would add to his wise solution this suggestion: the signs could indicate that "this section of the (fill in the name) memorial parkway is being well cared for by the (fill in the name) chapter of the KKK."
The honorable members, probably including the lady who loftily pointed out that the Klan lynched white folks as well as black, could even wear their traditional regalia while performing this selfless community service. Just a thought.
Let's all write to the governor (I did) enclosing a copy of this suggestion and Mr. Roughton's original idea for his consideration. It seems that here would be a solution both sides could live with, and no increase in tax dollars spent for duplicate signage. If not, many of us could ask why not? If one truly wants to help out the community and preserve beauty, what matter the name of the road it's done on? Wouldn't it be interesting if the volunteers insisted that they needed a different road? What would that say about their real intentions? Just a thought.
(You can find the original letter at: http://www.ajc.com/opinion/readers-write-6-13-1456830.html )
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Favorite views
Our favorite sunset this summer. Sept. 6th, Clayton Village Docks. Our favorite view from home: JW Marriott Country Club Golf Course. My favorite view inTucson: the Catalinas from work parking lot. Good to be home. Miss the river. Sigh . . .
Friday, July 22, 2011
Clayton Slideshow
I hope to update this after our trip. Surely there will be more pictures, and the duplicates and less favored ones will be removed. But for now, let's say I'm just learning how to use these new features...
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Reunions
There was a note from Classmates.com in our email today. They tell me "it's time for your reunion, Joel". Well, several from the class attempted to tell them that before the reunion was to be held June 12th. Since yesterday's note was for 6/26, I guess they don't keep track of that. They can, however, keep track of which ads to throw at me, and think of clever dating schemes I might try if I were inclined to be suicidal. My wife whould not like that, I'm sure. Dating is OUT.
It was wonderful to see you all (even though I'm sure this isn't reaching anyone, as no one seems to read these words or look to this blog for entertainment, and hope to see many of you again before the 55th or 60th class get together. After all, some of us did not make it this (50th) year as they have been rendered unable to attend ANY events, anywhere, by the great equalizer. Next year it could be my turn, so I can't promise anything, really. Still, it was fun, boat trip and all, even though some of us have trouble relating to a really cold draft produced by rapid motion over water on a cold riverine night... Seriously, it was fun. A beautiful sunset topped it all off.
So we were in Clayton. The Video was posted after a long creation process, and it's unlabled. I have yet to find a video maker I'm happy with, at low cost. Software costs more than the camera, and the camera software is inadequate...but here is another. Some slides and footage of Cayuga Lake and Watkins Glen. We hadn't been back there in some time, and I loved the train clanking along between salt plants in front of the classy new hotel.
Been back to work two days now. Request for parents of young children (we get lots at the museum I work for): Please, if your extraordinaryily cute and clever child of 3 really needs to talk without cease at the top of his/her lungs (OK, scream, not talk, usually)PLEASE take him/her outside to enterain yourself and the great outdoors on the other side of the entry...in the parking lot if possible... Those of us forced to work in the confines of a large echoing room, particularly the wearers of hearing aids, would really appreciate it. Oh, and your child by the way is more clever than you think. He/she has you wrapped tightly around a small digit. Knows you think his "talking" is just the cleverest, smartest thing, and somehow knows you think his intellectual growth will be thwarted by your application of the "seen and not heard" rule....
Back to work tomorrow. I really DO love kids. It's the parenting (or lack thereof) I can't stand!
Back East, or Home as some would say....
Carol and I had a delightful 2 weeks with friends and family, one of the best vacations we have ever had. Our first few days were at Bertrand's, located right in the village of Clayton (where my 50th class reunion was held) only steps away from the St. Lawrence. The next six were in a wonderful, but very small, cottage (formerly a 2 car garage, maybe) beautifully fixed up as a guest house for an $898,000 lake property on Cayuga Lake. From there we went further upscale to a semi expensive B&B in Schroon Lake (The Silver Spruce) where our hosts gave us wonderful breakfasts and good hospitality in a VERY comfortable king room. So from double motel beds to queen size comfort with a beautiful lake view (see photo) to a king room with huge whirlpool (good for my rheumatoid arthritic body) and good meals in two weeks. We got to see nearly 60 old friends including the reunion, most of our NY relatives, and drove 1400 rental car miles through various and scenic delights and NY weather types from cold and rainy to sunny and hot! All with beautiful NY greenery, which was hard to get used to at first (claustrophobia would describe our reaction) but we will miss it here in dry dusty Tucson. Not for long, of course. We're back where you can see for 50 miles at a glance. A school mate picked us up in Albany the first day, and we convoyed to Clayton. She and another schoolmate shared a room (2 gals) in the same motel and we got to hang out with them for 3 days. Reunion and great boat ride on the St. Lawrence with my class, then on to the lake and 6 days of relaxing solitude, interspersed with visits with friends and relatives. Then off to Schroon Lake where we visited with a classmate from nearby Ticonderoga who wasn't able to "reune" with us. Then back to Albany where we stayed overnight with the same young lady who went north with us, and who gave us a great tour of an area we hadn't ever seen closely, including Union College and a stop at the recently renovated theater in Schenectady. The latter was of interest to me as a 14 year stage vet, acting, directing and set design/building. Our flight to Tucson from Albany, albeit departing at 5:45 am, was smooth and "homeland security" problem free. I just love walking around in my socks on "clean" airport security floors, don't you? Foot powder, anyone?
Friday, May 28, 2010
New York or bust
Well, we leave shortly, and are excited about that, but not about flying. Seasoned flyers (Carol used to work for Alaska Air), we don’t enjoy it so much anymore. Tough to get old, but security gates are mentally daunting and physically tiring now. Can’t wait to get there.
The best part will be seeing old friends, and relaxing, once we’re there. Our kitty and our house are in capable hands, so we can enjoy our stay without worry.
See you in NY, if you’re there. I’ll be writing from the road, so to speak.
Friday, May 22, 2009
How time flies...
Just looked at the last post, 8/25/08, nine months ago. Anyone who regularly reads this (and I'm pretty sure they don't exist...) would think me dead, lazy or too ignorant to know how to post more "thoughts" to something I once desired to turn into a book.
How does one turn into a book, anyway? Would it be like the young folk going into a closet to Narnia? Or maybe stepping into a mirror or going down a rabbit hole? If one could "turn into a book, would it be a paperback, hardcover or comic book? I rather think the third choice for my life. Too bad I can't draw well. The sense of humor is there, otherwise it would be a different type book entirely. Maybe a Gothic novel, or a horror story.
I've thought about writing the latter (Gothic novels would be too hard for me, as I'm not fond of the genre anyway) but something stops me every time. It is the simple ideation of things evil that bothers me. If one can think of horrible things, could one find oneself doing them? How does one of my favorite mystery writers, Jeffrey Deaver, do it? We all have a dark side, and probably everyone thinks of things they shouldn't now and then, but actually constructing a novel around them? Maybe I should try. Seems like horror sells nowadays. Just look at all the CSI shows, and the gory lab scenes in NCIS, Medium, etc.
Well, enough black thoughts. It's been too long since I wrote upon this page, at any rate. We are about to embark on another, albeit much abbreviated, trip to Clayton, NY. We have put the trailer with screened deck up for sale (since last June, actually, when we decided gas was just too expensive for a cross country trip) and are going to visit it one last (we hope) time to try to sell it occupied. That's how it would show best, not musty and smelling of moth balls and dust from two winters alone gathered in the corners etc. We hope to see many old friends again, and one of them is the River itself.
Many times in the last 21 months our thoughts have turned to old haunts and good warm conversations. We've often commented on how much this or that sunset reminded us of our nights on the Clayton dock benches, even thought there really is no comparison between AZ and NY sunsets, and you can't see Calumet Tower in the middle ground under the pinking clouds. You can imagine it though, and conjure up the faces of old friends. I'm looking forward to sitting in the back room at the American Legion, watching the same sun setting over the same river, and imagining that Carol and I are enjoying a beer or two while the ball drops. Alas, the beer is out, as my medication prevents me from even a sip. But to just imagine...
We need to get our Hoffman's hot (her's red mine white) fix at the Castle too. Can't get those in AZ. Wish we could. And a ride at the beginning of the evening, after supper, to circle the wild area of French Creek by way of the Deferno Road, and cross the creek to stop for spring water at Frontenac Crystal Springs. This used to be a weekly ritual, and for a short time it will be again. We'll marvel at the sunset dropping bright sparks on French Creek Bay (now French Bay,it seems) as we cross the highway bridge over the creek itself, and look over to where our little trailer summer home sits in the shade of a huge old willow.
Of course our trip would not be complete without visits to our old places of employment. The Magical Swan in Alex Bay for Carol and The Antique Boat America Showroom near Fishers Landing for me. We would have spent the whole summer there, perhaps working in the same spots again this year, under different circumstances. Now we both have jobs in Tucson we must return to or lose them. In this economy, it's not good to abandon a job!
Yes, please, if you are in the area (or are lucky enough to live there) please do visit us while we're there. We leave Tuesday the 2nd of June, and will be in Clayton until at least June 10th, after which we plan to go visiting our southern New York friends and neighbors, and family. So, until we meet, by chance on a bench by the town dock or the old coal dock, enjoy your summer! And if we don't get to meet, be sure to hoist a cold one for us.
Joel
Monday, August 25, 2008
Friends sent me an urgent email to be sure to vote in the MSNBC poll asking if the phrase "In God We Trust" should be removed from the currency. The intructions were to forward it to everyone, so they would vote and show their faith in God. It was a forwarded version that I got, and ended with the speculation that MSNBC would be surprised by the outpouring of outrage represented by "no!" votes.
Personally, I don't think most Americans are as worried about this poll as are worried about where the next mortgage payment is coming from, but it is a real poll by MSNBC. I checked out the MSNBC website itself, as I'm always reluctant to go to a web site purporting to be any organization's web address without checking the real site for fear of a security risk. It is real.
I doubt MSNBC is surprised. The stats are now up to 79% no 21% yes. Most people know this is not a political reality, and MSNBC is simply publishing the result. We haven't yet, but soon we'll be hearing about internet stories claiming Obama supports such a silly nonexistent law. I'm pretty sure he doesn't/wouldn't, but there is bound to be someone out there who will claim he did/does/would....
There is not now, nor has there ever been, a serious challenge to "In God We Trust." Every so often a foolish atheist files a dumb lawsuit. That was what this rather ill advised poll was about.. Rarely do they win significantly. Even prayer in the schools is not "banned", it is merely prohibited as a requirement. Anybody wants to pray in school is and should be free to do so. Nobody, however, should dictate to anybody else how or to whom or when they pray. That is between man and God. God has way more authority then Congress. Only the Taliban seem to really want to dictate these terms so far. I hope we don't become like the Taliban.
Incidentally, I voted to keep the coins the way they are. Hope the judge sees the poll.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Google me sometime, please....
Well, they finally got around to us. Not Big Brother, Big Google. By going to http://maps/google.comand looking up 3003 W. Broadway Blvd, Tucson, AZ 85745, you can "drive" around our complex andlook at (pretty much) every house, including the club house. Can't see the pool, though. Now, since I don't plan to do anything illegal, this doesn't bother me as much as it seems to bother some. I just think it's kind of humorous that it isn't Big Government that's doing it: its Big Biz.
In the street level photo, "look" to the east as you "drive" up Maricopa. We're just around the courner, with two hugh saguaro in front. It looks like Carol was working and I was home (or both out in her car) because our van is in the drive, but nobody came knocking at the door to find out. They just drove around video taping, I guess. Google hasn't updated the satellite photo (or high altitude photo) as it still shows the park's old pool and the un-renovated club house, even though the street view photos show the "new" one. If you "drive" all the way 'round the park, you can catch a glimpse of a few local folk out for a drive or a walk.
Burglars don't know how to use computers, do they? Or, do they......? Hmmm. Now for the really frightening stuff. There's even a topo map function that shows the hill behind us, also visible in the next photo (picture the topo map rotated 180 deg.). Pretty neat! Everything a terrorist would need to know, should one want to find out. Try (if you haven't already) looking up your own neighborhood. Or some defense installations, or Yankee Stadium.....Including driving directions! Or the Holland Tunnel, perhaps.....
Scary, huh? This took me about 15 minutes to find and paste into an email. Most of the timewas spent cutting and pasting. The finding part was easy.... Somehow, having my house in the pictures isn't as worrysome as the last two. One of them was actually a target not long ago! Maybe we give too much away?
In the street level photo, "look" to the east as you "drive" up Maricopa. We're just around the courner, with two hugh saguaro in front. It looks like Carol was working and I was home (or both out in her car) because our van is in the drive, but nobody came knocking at the door to find out. They just drove around video taping, I guess. Google hasn't updated the satellite photo (or high altitude photo) as it still shows the park's old pool and the un-renovated club house, even though the street view photos show the "new" one. If you "drive" all the way 'round the park, you can catch a glimpse of a few local folk out for a drive or a walk.
Burglars don't know how to use computers, do they? Or, do they......? Hmmm. Now for the really frightening stuff. There's even a topo map function that shows the hill behind us, also visible in the next photo (picture the topo map rotated 180 deg.). Pretty neat! Everything a terrorist would need to know, should one want to find out. Try (if you haven't already) looking up your own neighborhood. Or some defense installations, or Yankee Stadium.....Including driving directions! Or the Holland Tunnel, perhaps.....
Scary, huh? This took me about 15 minutes to find and paste into an email. Most of the timewas spent cutting and pasting. The finding part was easy.... Somehow, having my house in the pictures isn't as worrysome as the last two. One of them was actually a target not long ago! Maybe we give too much away?
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