Day one, Havre de Grace
June 30 2012, 9:08 p.m.
Hello, all.
Returned today to the Harbor of Grace, so named, we're told, by the Marquis de Lafayette who was hanging out here with Rochambeau helping us win the Revolution. He said it reminded him of Le Havre back home. He's a traveler of my sort, continually playing "same and different," one of my favorite games.
Sort of like feeding the very young monks in Thailand and thinking of American Halloween at the same time. Buddha will, I trust, forgive me for being so rude as to share that.
We stopped off to see my sister Jamy and my brother-in-law Bob.
It took a bit longer to get here than I expected. For some reason, I forgot that everybody else would be taking off this weekend, too, and the Parkway was backed up. Once we got onto the Turnpike, things got better, because most of the traffic stayed on the Parkway, headed for the Jersey Shore, in the footsteps of Snooki. There were some slowdowns, but nothing like the crawl through Newark and Irvington. The two-hour drive through Jersey took about three and a half hours. The rest of the trip, about 40 miles, went fast. But not too fast, because the authorities caught me a couple of weeks ago in upstate New York. I don't want to collect too many of those kinds of souvenirs. I have better things to do with 200 bucks.
Today's picture wasn't taken today. It shows the very cool lighthouse at Havre de Grace, and I got it on my first visit here in June of 09. The lighthouse hasn't changed in more than 200 years. I confirmed today that the photo is still valid.
Bob told me when it was built and that it's one of the oldest in the state or maybe the country. I think he said it dates to the 1760s. That and the lightkeeper's house were about the only things in town that the Brits didn't burn when they came through here during the War of 1812.
Jamy drove us around town because it was a bit hot to walk, and we revisited the Decoy Museum. I had told Joanna about how unexpectedly interesting it was. And of course, that means funny.
There are lots of very detailed duck decoys—canvasbacks, bluebills, and whatnots—in addition to swans (can you imagine shooting a swan?), Canada geese, Carolina wrens (done for decoration, not for decoying to their doom), loons, and probably some of everything that flies and is big enough to shoot. There is also useful information on the origin of the term "decoy--from the Dutch "de cooi" or something like that which means "the cage." The old-time Dutchers used to put tame ducks in floating cages, apparently, to draw wild ducks close enough to catch.
The highlights of the place for me, though, are the life casts of legendary carvers, including one that's actually scary. Imagine a guy in his workshop surrounded by drawknives and other instruments of duckmaking and dressed all in khaki with a black bow-tie. But he's not breathing. Scary enough in real life, but this is an uncanny and very detailed representation—I mean detailed even to concentration wrinkles on his face and broken fingernails. Even scarier, this guy looks like he could be one of my relatives.
A photographer named Bodine caught these guys in stills in the early 40s. One of the photos shows four guys around a stove in 1942 at one decoy carver's shop. I think the shop owner was named McGraw. He's there, along with my relative in the bow-tie again, plus two hunters and a dog. Like "Shakespeare in Love"—a bit with a dog.
You press a button and hear my great-uncle in the bow-tie —Buddha forgive me, I have forgotten his name already—narrating what happened and identifying everyone, including a geriatric on one side playing with a shotgun.
The museum also has the actual string of decoys used by a Hall of Fame baseball player named Home Run Something or Other, who lived near here and shot ducks.
If you have a Triple A card or you're geriatric like me or the guy with the shotgun, you get in for five bucks. The lighthouse and the museum are worth a three-hour drive. Besides that, though, there is a boardwalk along the bank of the Chesapeake Bay.
We had dinner at a place called Laurrapin. I had been there before. and since then, they have added draft beer. I had an Evolution ESB at the bar. Wow. Like being back at Russell Square. I learned afterwards, thanks to the wonder of modern Google, that it is made by a craft brewery in Maryland.
I had a nice fruity California pinot noir with paella for dinner. Joanna and Jamy each had a different cabernet sauvignon, also Californian. I had sips of those and they too were very nice. Just enough sharpness to make them fun at the end.
This is Harry at the Best Western North East Inn in North East, Md., signing off for tonight.
Love to all, and to all a good night.
10:08 p.m.
You got a lot farther than we did! Flight canceled. They put us on a different airline and now we're in Charlotte finally about to board for Graceland ... Poor Emily is waiting for us at the Memphis airport.
KC
Flight canceled? That must be a nightmare with your kid waiting for you. But Emily seems to be a pretty cool-headed person.
The only time this happened to me recently, I was so high from eating hashish for a week in Amsterdam, that I found it amusing. It became a great yarn to spin. But I didn't have to meet anyone at the end of my flight.
I hope Emily finds it funny enough to make a good story later on.
When you have the chance, keep me up to date as the situation improves.
Thanks.
Harry
11:06 p.m.
My parents were married in Havre de Grace. They eloped—both underage, my mother barely in high school—giving an Atlantic City address so their marriage wouldn’t be in the Philadelphia papers.
They’d taken a coconut cream pie and gotten on a train from Philadelphia.
They had a big wedding five years later.
I only learned about the Havre de Grace ceremony when my father was dying and didn’t want me to be upset when I came upon the papers in his safety deposit box.
Beatrice
July 1, 4:18 pm.
We are happy all is well. We are happy to report Alexander could not be happier you needed his help!
He is so happy that he has a pet to care for especially after losing our dear Max!
He adores your sweet little kitty-he smiles ear to ear when he sees her and that makes me so very happy!( and smile too)!
Our love to Joanna
Much love.
Anna
July 1, 7:30 p.m.
Everybody ok. We went to Sun Records today and walked in the footsteps is Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins and Elvis somebody. Soul food at the Four Way Diner and then the afternoon at the Lorraine Motel, very moving and vivid still 44 years on. Memphis is gritty, you'd love it!
KC
July 1, 9:28 p.m.
I've just added it to my list. Thank you.
Harry
Day two, Maryland and northern Virginia
July 1, 2012
Left North East, Md., around 9 this morning, and the next stop, Front Royal, Va., isn’t very far to go, so we knew we’d be stopping along the way. We just didn’t know where.
We drove down I-95 to the beltway around Baltimore and then headed west on I-70. We noticed a sign that said “Historic Downtown Frederick.” All right, I’m always game for a quick stroll through a Historic Downtown, especially with initial caps.
So first thing off the highway is a sign pointing to a visitor center. Having one of those is serious historic, so I’m really expecting something now.
But first we come to the Frederick County Public Schools Building, where this is a banner informing us that this is home to the “National Best Teacher of the Year.”
When we park in the lot by the visitor center, we say hello to a guy coming out. He looks at the car and asks, “What part of New Jersey are you from?”
I tell him North Jersey, not far from New York. Joanna says Montclair.
“My sister lives in Montclair.
Her name is Fritz, short for Frances, and her husband is Jim.
We’re talking to the man, who turns out to be a local real estate agent, who goes by the nickname O.J. He handed me his card and I learned the "O" stands for Otho, the name of a Roman emperor. He told us about some of the things to see in town, including Rose Hill Manor.
So we get local maps and directions from the lady at the visitor center and armed with that we proceed to head downtown first to see the Historic part, including the Barbara Fritchie House (of “Shoot if you must this old gray head” fame).
Of course, the first thing to do is get lost, and thinking I’m taking us the block or three to Historic Downtown, I turn us in the wrong direction. Fix that and almost get it right, but wind up at Mount Olivet Cemetery instead, but that’s actually fortunate, because it’s where the Francis Scott Key monument is.
Also the Barbara Fritchie monument,
and another one to Thomas Johnson, who is modestly identified as the governor of Maryland.
He served in the Continental Congress, was one of the ratifiers of the Declaration of Independence, and was the guy who nominated Washington in 1775 to take charge of the Continental Army.
By the last bit alone I think this guy won the Revolution. Without Revolutionaries like this we’d all be speaking English today.
There was also a monument, surprising enough, to the unknown Confederate dead killed in battles in the area.
Finally got to Historic Downtown, a really charming place full of colonial and federal townhouses. The Barbara Fritchie house is a replica of the place that was wiped out by a flood in the late 19th century. The lady told us the replacement uses as much material as the restorers could salvage from the original house.
As you’d expect, of course, there is no actual proof that the 95-year-old lady actually waved a U.S. flag at invading Confederate troops, or that it was shot at. Apparently, it was a rumor that someone, who hadn’t been in Frederick at the time, passed along to John Greenleaf Whittier.
But that’s all right. It doesn’t have to be true. I have a hard time believing that John Greenleaf Whittier’s whiskers only grew out of his neck, but there you are.
Next stop was the place that O.J., the real estate agent, recommended, Rose Hill Manor. it’s five bucks to get in. If we had played the age card, it would have been four.
A docent in a long dress took us through the house, built in 17-something by some fat cat slaveholder. It was like the Dey Mansion in Totowa, which of course tell you nothing if you’re not a New Jersey history buff. there are several bed chambers upstairs, a couple of parlors down. One of the upstairs rooms is fitted as a textiles room. the docent demonstrated the use of a spinning wheel to spin yarn. We carded a little bit of wool.
She demonstrated a table loom and had kids in the group and Joanna use the shuttle (or whatever it’s called that carries the woof) and the thing that makes the warp go up and down. I hope that description isn’t too technical.
We saw the carriage museum—more than a dozen restored horse-drawn conveyances, including one-horse sleighs—that had been given to the museum years ago. Also an ice house, a log cabin, and a smithy. The grounds are covered by towering black walnut trees. So: yes, under the spreading walnut tree, the village smithy stands.
I know. That’s not how it’s supposed to go, but the chestnuts don’t tower anymore because of the blight.
The docent was magnificent. Armed only with a single thermos of water, she remained cool in hundred-degree heat, even with two very young kids vying to see who could ask the most questions. The kids and their mother had been displaced recently by storms in the area. They had some power, but no air conditioning, and that’s why they were out and about. Those three, Joanna, and I were the total party in the tour.
Yet, the lady took us through the whole thing, explaining and giving us the back story on everything. I was flat-out impressed by her stamina. The tour lasted over an hour and she sat down maybe twice.
We tried to go to a place called the Lucky Star—reputed to have a selection of craft brews—in Front Royal, but it was closed. We went to the Main Street Tavern instead, where they had a locally brewed IPA that tasted almost fruity, or maybe oaky, and a Vienna-style lager that was surprisingly good. There was also a chocolaty stout that I had only a sample of.
I switched to a California cabernet sauvignon that was almost sweet to go with the cheesecake for dessert.
We came to Front Royal, Va., on the Stonewall Jackson Memorial Highway, U.S. 340. There is also a Stonewall Drive that runs next to the Quality Inn in Front Royal. Today’s photo, taken at Rose Hill Manor, is Stonewall Joanna.
Harry
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