Summer in NY

[TexasShadow]

Starting towards the end. Who said everything has to be linear?

My First Motorcycle Rally
35th Annual Hogarossa Rally
Non-labor Weekend
Springville, NY

Every year my sister and brother-in-law (BiL) attend this rally in the foothills of the Allegheny Mnts. of Western NY. I was invited. I went.

I wasn't sure what to expect during this four-day event. But I packed up and loaded the bike with an open mind, no expectations. Best way to go.
(yes, that's my Turtle - new-ish travel trailer- and new-ish truck, camped at sister's place in western NY)

Cathy, my sister on her Harley and I rode to the private campground. Tom (the BiL) had already set up their trailer for camping a couple days before. Arriving Friday morning, there were a few other trailers set up. But it was relatively quiet.

I set up my tent (actually, borrowed sister's tent) behind their trailer. Wiley was making himself at home.

Cory, my nephew-in-law (is there such a relation? and his girlfriend. Kattie, arrived later in the day. His tent was HUGE. This was Kattie's first camping experience. And her first rally, too.

We all got settled in for the afternoon and evening.

The place filled up, and up. And UP! Must have been a couple hundred people there; motorcycles, ATV's, mini-bikes, bicycles, you name it. Under a huge tent were a main stage for music, a wall of remembrances and tributes to motorcyclists that were 'gone': to accidents, cancer, etc., a booth run by the NY ABATE, tables and chairs. I missed the music that evening having opted to visit and chill at our little group.

However. I realized the next morning that I was missing two things. A better air mattress and earplugs. Between the constant ATVs and the loud music, I realized the only way I would get any sleep was to mute it all. The second cause of sleeplessness was laying on a thin air mattress. I'm too old to sleep on the ground, and, with some recent back issues, I got no sleep. Besides, my sister's old tent leaks....... I was loaned an inflatable air mattress. And I acquired a few pairs of soft earplugs. I slept good the next few nights.

Saturday I met a distant cousin who, with her husband, attend the rallies, too (I have met several relatives this summer I never knew I had). I have to say, I never encountered a tighter knit crowd of wonderful and generous people in my life. Everyone was hugs, sharing, kind, gracious, respectful, and wonderful. All ages, sizes, colors, shades, and kins. And I had a blast.

We all shared food in one way or another. Many people in this area raise, prep and preserve their food. We shared jars of pickled garlic, dilly beans, home-grown and smoked bacon, venison, fresh fruit and veggies, and even moonshine (not a fan). Here we all tested the picked garlic and beans.

One of the big events is a two-day motorcycle rodeo. Being naive in these things, I was not quite sure what to expect. In fact, I had to ask, "Huh?" Events ranged from a race with the slowest bike, pushing a beer keg, a serpentine with five eggs (a partner race), a race to fill a beer bottle with water (also partners), biting a hot dog hung from above (partners), tug-a-rope, keg toss, tire toss, and a few more.

Bikes ranged from choppers, full dressers, a 1937 pan head Harley, dirt bikes!, and even a scooter. Here's a shot of the line-up for the slow race. There was one I coveted; can you guess which?

Our group on sidelines during the first day watching the MC Rodeo.

Second day of the Rodeo

A moment of relaxation:

The music Sunday night was phenomenal. Patty Parks sang excellent blues and jazz with her band comprised of impressive musicians, several of them in the Buffalo Music Hall of Fame. Most impressive was a young man named Mick Hays, who grew up with NiL Cory in East Aurora. Mick is a family friend, so I got to hear the background of how he started playing at age eight years. His specialty is blues, but also plays rhythm and blues, Delta blues, etc. Both his guitar and voice are exemplary. This young man is promising, and, in my opinion, bests Stevie Ray Vaughn.

I rocked and rolled with them all, danced (the first time in decades) for hours, and just enjoyed being able to experience it all. Despite the rain. (hanging the clothes out to dry....)

Home in the rain Monday afternoon.

Getting down to business now, since I will be leaving here in about four weeks. Getting the urge for going now with fall closing in. Back Home. To Terlingua. Hauling the Turtle, the travel trailer that is my home, and a bike in the pick-up bed. No matter where I go, there I am.

I will post up a few more adventures as I get photos uploaded and have access to wifi. 'Till then:

"The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.”
― Augustine of Hippo

 

[TexasShadow]

Water, Water, Everywhere!

June

Living in Texas, especially in the desert, truly sensitizes a person to water. Or lack of. Even living in north central Texas, where rain is not uncommon, water conservation was a way of life for me. My well water wasn't the best, being highly alkaline and a bit 'hard' during dry summer months. Drinking water was filtered, showers were short, and I washed my dishes by hand (the dish washer was used a handful of times over nine years).

Moving to live in the desert of Big Bend further honed that conservation. All of us, including people living in town and on public water, were greatly water conscious. Wasteful use of water by tourists makes us cringe. We often go outside and dance in the rain. And the aroma of rain in the desert is the best perfume I know of.

This summer I am surrounded by water. Everywhere. It has been one of the most wettest summers here in many years. All the lakes, rivers and creeks are above normal, and those that were low last year are now recovered average levels. People here can't comprehend my fascination with water.

It really impressed upon me the deficit of water in Texas when I rode north to spend a weekend along one of the Great Lakes. To me, it was like being on the ocean, despite that I have lived decades near both of the great oceans bounding the US. It was like being drunk on water.

I was invited to spend a 3-day weekend event with my sister, BiL and friends. I needed a bike trip and some time alone, so I went. With the Whee loaded, I rode up to Alexandria Bay area, about 1/2 north of Fort Drum and 4 miles south of the Canadian border. The private campground was a mix of seasonal folks and weekend guests. My spot was next to one of the three cabins, one of which was still unfinished. (The owners built them out of half logs harvested from nearby.)

I was the first one to arrive. But the first thing I needed was food. Luckily, the campground was behind a small convenience store and deli. The food was prepared by two sisters that ran the deli and it was excellent. Another treat was they had ice cream, about two dozen flavors!

While strolling back to my camp site, I found my sister looking for me. My tent site was relatively hidden between a hedgerow and the cabin, and backed by thick woods, which was later to be my downfall (literally).

Cathy and Tom usually have an elaborate set up. Tom converted and insulated a utility trailer into a toy hauler, which they haul behind the truck. After unloading the bikes, a queen bed folds down with underneath storage. Tom installed dressers and shelve, a small 12v fridge and wired it throughout for both 12v and 110v. They set up a gazebo with two tables next to the side door, and this is usually serves as the central kitchen for whomever is in their group.

Three other trailers arrived; one cargo trailer and another two converted toy haulers. Other than myself, one other couple roughed it by tenting. I was the only one that rode in on a bike, but I was also the only one that got soaked, too.

Everyone contributed to dinners. And, as usual, the campfire was the gathering place at night, sharing stories, jokes and songs.

Saturday I decided to strike out on my own while everyone else attended the event in the small lakeside town of Alexandria Bay. I rode south to Clayton to go on, what I referred to as 'Gilligan's Tour.' It was a three-hour boat tour of the many islands (aka ~1500 islands!) that gives the name to this general location: Thousand Islands. The boat tour also included a section of the St. Lawrence River and Seaway. One reason that attracted me to this tour was that my grandfather was a captain, and Merchant Marine, of one of the large freighter ships that transported coal and other goods on the Great Lakes, the Seaway and the Atlantic Ocean. His life was being on the water; I wanted to experience some of that.

Like many of the small towns on the edges of the Great Lakes, Clayton is mostly a seasonal tourist town. However, much history encompassing the War of 1812 took place along these shores and in these very towns. Even though many of the historic old buildings remain, the towns are a far cry today than they were back in 1812 and shortly thereafter.

While waiting for the tour boat to return and embark on the second (and last) tour for the day, I sat on a bench under tall trees on a sunny day and watched life around me, on the water and the streets. I almost felt invisible, and the squirrel that came up on the bench to sit beside me almost confirmed that feeling.

The owners of the tour business were wonderfully friendly and helpful. When I inquired into a place to park the bike, they offered a spot in their private parking place. They also gave me a bottle full of water to take with me and I answered their many questions about Texas. Ironically, as I was informed, the captain of the tour boat was also from Texas. Originally from NY, he winters in south Texas where he captains a boat out of one of the harbors in between Houston and Galveston.

I saw several tour boats on the water from other vendors, including nearby Canada. Many of them were huge and packed with people. Ours was humble and open for easy viewing. I was glad of both -small and open; it facilitated an informal atmosphere and the guide, a native of Clayton, was a wealth of historical information and anecdotes.

There are hundreds of homes on the shores and islands of this area. Some small, quaint and humble. Others huge elaborate mansions. And they all had stories!

Many small communities still exist on the shores of the river and lake. Even the largest islands harbor small communities in which summer and year-round homes stand. Our guide explained how people live on these islands: all supplies and mail arrive by boat, usually once a week.

Need some excavation work? The rigs have to be shipped to the islands by barges!

We were treated to seeing and hearing ospreys that nest in the tops of depth markers, both in the river and on the seaway. The state and volunteers have erected framing on top of these makers to attract the ospreys to build nests. They also nest on the tops of utility poles.

We coasted along the edge of Wellesley Island State Park, which is right on the international border. Tour boats from Clayton Island Tours stop at the park to load and unload visitors and tourists. The park is quite large, accommodating RVs and tent camping, offering modern campground amenities to primitive secluded sites. I was hoping to visit the park for a stay later this summer, but schedules just didn't allow it. It is on my list next time I'm in NY!!

One of the big attractions in the Thousand Island area is the famous historic Boldt Castle. Our tour boat docked here for an hour and 1/2, which wasn't really enough time to explore the entire grounds and building. The place is amazing.....

Beginning in 1900, the Boldt family spent summers in the 1000 Islands at the Boldt Families Wellesley House near Mr. Boldt’s Wellesley Island Farms while 300 workers including stonemasons, carpenters, and artists fashioned the six story, 120 room castle, complete with tunnels, a powerhouse, Italian gardens, a drawbridge, alster tower (children’s playhouse) and a dove cote. Not a single detail or expense was spared.
- read more here.

Of course, it is FULL of photo opportunities. This is when I realized that someday I need to invest in a good wide angle lens. A few photos are posted below, but for the entire photo gallery, a link follows below.

​

The main building (360 rooms!) was only the beginning. Several other buildings are on the island. The boat house, ironically, is on another island.

The Boat House.....

The International bridge.

The Gilligan's Tour (the owners laughed when I called it that; they thought this might be a new name for it) turned out to be four hours. Which none of us minded. We were all having fun. That was my day, and it was the best of them all.

We all had dinner and spent another night around the campfire. With a full moon to boot.

I went to my tent long before everyone else did. I woke up in the middle of the night with an 'urgent need'. It was all quiet outside as I exited my tent and walked behind it to do my business. Just about done when I found myself rolling backwards down an embankment, ending up in the bushes about 250' behind my tent. Half asleep I had forgotten that the tent was pitched at the top and edge of a plateau which sloped down into the woods. I woke up quickly enough, put myself together and crawled back into my sleeping bag chuckling to myself.

Two nights of the three we had showers, which were heavy at times. I discovered quickly that the borrowed tent leaked. A lot. The first time, everything was wet the next morning. In fact, it was like an aquarium. The heat seams of the vinyl 'windows' on the fly let go. I tried applying duct tape but once that got wet, it let go. This seemed to be my lot because every camping trip I had here in NY has been leaky tents. I miss my tent back in Texas........

I packed up early Sunday and headed back to my sister's place before everyone else even had breakfast. The four-hour ride was uneventful except for a few rain showers. I hit the hot shower and got a good night sleep.

The next morning (Monday), I got on the bike and rode to Medina, Ohio, to look at a truck that I spotted on Auto Trader. After a test drive and dickering with the dealer rep, I traded a wad of cash for an '06 F250. Two men, who had no clue what they were doing, helped me load the Whee-strom into the back of the truck and I drove back to my sister's with my new-to-me truck. I was beat; it was a loooong day. But a good day, and mucho broke.

Link to gallery of that weekend: Thousand Islands Camping, NY

 

[tricepilot]

That's some interesting stuff you did

 

[thebeancounter]

Re: Water, Water, Everywhere!

Love the narrative and the great pics. Your trip sounds like a lot of fun. Thanks for sharing!!!

 

[TexasShadow]

The Grand Canyon of the East

Letchworth State Park, NY

June, 2013

A gem and jewel of the northeastern seaboard is a gorge cut by the Genesee River. The shale and limestone rock walls rise 600 feet above the river in many places, and more than fifty waterfalls are in the state park that covers 14,350 acres along the river. The park is well known for three major waterfalls - the Upper, Middle, and Lower Falls - and one seasonal falls that lays claim to the highest falls in the state.

This is the land of the former Seneca Native Americans, the largest member of the Iroquois Confederacy. Although their historical range covered much of central New York, the gorge was sacred to the nation and their annual council grounds were on the land that later became the park. Centuries later, their history and influence are remembered and interlaced with Euro-Americans, as you will see shortly.

For me, this place is the one that still lingers with me for more than a half-century. As a youngster, our family spent weekends and week-long vacations here. Hiking, swimming, experiencing all the outdoor wildness that the park protects. After a long absence, we visited the park last year while in the area for my sister's wedding. While at the entrance gate on the motorcycles, the friendly ranger asked if this was my first visit.
"I haven't been here in 42 years."
"Well, honey," she said, "nothing's changed."
And in many ways, she was right. And I was glad.

We visited the park again in early June, not long after arriving in NY again this summer. Again, we had lunch at the historical Glen Iris Inn, which was once the home of the park's benefactor, William Pryor Letchworth. William was an industrialist in the late 1800's. A successful businessman in the iron industry, he was also one of a rare class of wealthy men with kind and charitable hearts.

While visiting the Sehgahunda Valley, as the Seneca Indians called the gorge, he fell in love with the serenity and wildness, finding a a reprieve from his business life. In 1859 he purchased his first tract of land near one of the larger falls and had a large home built not far from an overlook of the largest falls in the area. The estate became known as the Glen Iris. After Letchworth bequeathed the estate and the first 1,000 acres in 1906 to the state to be preserved as a park, the large home was renovated as an Inn with rooms, a gift shop and a restaurant.

The spacious entry way and dining room retains the original hand-carved and detailed hardwood. I've always chosen to eat at one of the tables on the stone patio surrounding the front and one side of the building. Interestingly, visitors can apply their $8 entry fee towards a meal there just by presenting your entry ticket. The menu varies, and much of the food originates from local producers outside of the park. They even grow some of their herbs in gutter gardens on the sides of the building that houses the kitchens.

​

How nice it was to have a young man (maybe 11 years old?) come up and ask if he can play his violin for us.

Seneca Council Grounds

After lunch, we rode to a nearby location that I was unable to visit our last time. On a ridge that overlooks the estate is the council grounds of the Seneca Indians and the burial of Mary Jemison. Mary is known as "The White Indian of the Genesee", and her life and history entwined with the Seneca Nation is famous throughout NY. Born in 1743 on a ship from Ireland, she was captured as a teenager from her frontier home in Pennsylvania by a group of Shawnee and French traders. Much later, she was adopted by the Seneca and married a warrior by whom she had six children.

Mary chose to remain with the Seneca nation despite several attempts by the American colonists to 'restore and revert her' to the ever-growing colonial life. During the several wars that encroached on her home tribe's land, she served as a negotiator between the colonists and the tribe. She earned respect from both sides and was considered wise and kind. When the Seneca were forced to sell their land in this area, a 2-acre tract was reserved for Mary to live on. That tract remains in the state park.

In her later years, she sold that tract of land and moved to a reservation, returning to her chosen life with the Seneca. She passed away in 1833 at the age of 90 and was buried on the reservation. At the behest of Letchworth, and approval by the Seneca Nation, her remains were reinterred to the ancient Seneca Council grounds that overlooked the Glen Iris estate. Her grave site near the relocated council house is now marked by a bronze statue of Mary Jemison, created in 1910 by Henry Kirke Bush-Brown. And stands as a testimony of the gray areas between two very different cultures and times; a reminder of our similarities more than our differences.

In the clearing on top of this forested ridge stand two log structures, renovated originals of historic significance: the old Seneca council house and a cabin built by Mary for one of her daughters. Many of these timbers in the structures are original, some are more recently hand hued to replace rotted ones. The craftsman attempted to retain the historical significance by harvesting and hewing the replacements by hand. The joints are all different, adapted to each join and the adjoining timbers.

A winding rock stair way leads through the forest and down the slope to the Glen Iris Estate below. It lands behind the Letchworth museum, which is a wealth of information on the natural and cultural history of the park and the gorge. A partial fossil found of a mammoth found in the park grounds resides inside. That alone is worthwhile going in to see.

Next: the Lower Falls

 

[TexasShadow]

Letchworth State Park II

The Lower Falls

After the Seneca Council Grounds, we rode several miles to a parking and picnic area at the trail head to the Lower Falls.

That meant we had to hike down a long, long, long winding stone stairway to the river below.

It started at the top and went down,

and down,

and down,

and down,

and down,

(time for a break)

getting close....,

Then down some more,

Ahhhh........

Now back up, up, up..... take a diversion...

and up, and up some more!

Now we are worn out.....

On the way north to one of the three entrance/exists to the park, we stopped near the dam near the town of Mount Morris, a town which later I was to learn has it's own memorable historic point of interest (later post).

Here we looked out over the north part of the river. And wondered where all the water went!!!!!

The dam

I still don't know where the water went.....

Meanwhile, some fun at a closed visitor's center,

Even Wiley joined in.

It was a memorable day.

 

[TexasShadow]

The Men of Two Countries and Two Canyons

The Man of Two Countries

I did not know until browsing a book while drinking coffee at a cafe that nearby to where I sat was the birthplace of a famous naturalist and explorer. Since I am fascinated by history, I decided to investigate this a little more. As it turned out, this town has birthed several historical figures. The first influential figure was not born there, nor lived there, but his (and his son's) history is important to not only the town, but the entire Western New York.

On the edge of the Genesee River and Letchworth State Park sits a small community: Mount Morris. Like most towns, it has had several names. Because the original settlement sits on a hill, that geographical attribute has been a running influence on all it's names: Allen's Hill, Richmond Hill, and later, Mount Morris. So where does the 'Morris' derive from?

Let's start near the beginning. I add this simply because it is in contrast to historical time in the Western US. However, the historical twists and turns are a running pattern throughout the history of this entire country. As I mentioned previously, this land was home to the Seneca Nation, and the edges of the gorge cut by the river was popular for hunting and camping for many of the Iroquois Confederacy nations. But it was the favorite and sacred land especially of the Senecas.

During the 1700's, when Europeans began pressuring the native people for acquisition of native land, the Senecas, like all the Iroquois nations, were forced west. Not without a fight. But that's another story. (I hightly recommend watching the series, 'We Shall Remain'. The first episode provides a background for history of this area.)Regardless, as the Native peoples were forced west, the Europeans and their descendents swarmed behind them building settlements.

Around the time of the American Revolution, settlers began scattering into the countryside to organize and build small tight communities: villages. And this location was prime because of access to all the resources required to make a living and provide: water, trees, good soil, etc.

During 1784 the locals gave their village a name. Which, as usual in the timeline of communities, changed several times. I've discovered a pattern in that the individual that owns the most land, or the most money, usually bestows the first name, or changes thereafter, until a stronger collective says, "Hey, we want this name instead of your name!" In this case, a local named Ebenezer "Indian" Allen (who was given hundreds of acres of the original territory holdings) chose both early names (Allen and Richmond). Of course, a later figure influenced the name that remains today.

In 1835, the village and township was incorporated and named after the then current dominant figure: English-born Robert Morris, who financed the American Revolution, signed the Declaration of Independence, the Articles of Confederation, and the United States Constitution. Wow, an active fella he was. Historical accounts claim he was the most influential man next to George Washington, although that bit of information seems to have dwindled through the centuries.

Morris made his fortune in shipping and trading. His company was active in slave trading until it was politically unfashionable, where then he denounced slavery and jumped on the anti-slave bandwagon in the northeast. He also made his money in acquiring vast tracts of land in Pennsylvania and New York. He was for a time the richest man in America. And died broke.

He had feet in both sides of the British colony, but put more weight on his American independence foot during the Tea Party, which leveled a heavy tax on tea shipped to the rapidly growing North American colonies. Since Morris had many 'tea ships', this did not sit well with him. He began smuggling weapons from France, along with information on British Navy doings, to the fledgling Continental Congress. Yet Morris also voted against the Congress' move for independence.

In 1791, the state of Massachusetts, which held vast territories in Western NY, sold 3,750,000 acres west of the Genesee River to Morris for $333,333.33 (who wonders how that figure originated? Over beers?). Morris quickly divided and sold parcels to companies, other states, and even other countries (such as Holland). However, he kept 500,000 acres (a 12 mile-wide strip along the east side of the lands, from the Pennsylvania border to Lake Ontario). This later became known as The Morris Reserve. Major trading routes were established along this strip, and contained some of the best hunting and meeting grounds for the Native peoples, who did not relinquish their rights without fights (this is where Morris' son, Thomas, made his history).

The lands around Mount Morris were sold to settlers. According to one source, "It was suggested that these lands were sold at unfairly low prices to friends of the Morris estate, in an attempt to create something akin to an oligarchical rule by landowners in the area." Meanwhile, much of the settled area west of the Genesee River was called the Town of Leicester in the late 1700's. As small satellite settlements were established, they broke off from Leicester and acquired their own names and identity. Mount Morris was one of them. Robert Morris died in 1806, in Philadelphia, after successive financial failures, prison confinement, and ill health. But his legacy continues on here.

In 1794 General William Augustus Mills settled on the land bordering the gorge of the Genesee River and built a log cabin for he and his wife. As his family and land holdings grew, he became influential with the local Seneca native people (whom called Mills 'Big Kettle'). Mills founded and named the town of Mount Morris to honor Robert Morris in 1818 (later being incorporated in 1835). Acquiring 1,000 acres in and around the town, he served as the first justice of the peace and as town supervisor for 20 years. He had a brick mansion built, which still stands on Main Street and serves as a museum and houses the local historical commission. (seen in the background in photo below)

Today the town is a brimming attraction for tourists and locals that live near and visit Letchworth State Park and the nearby Finger Lakes. Several of the original buildings remain, having been restored to host shops and cafes. I found a delightful indoor/outdoor cafe that served delicious soup and coffee. And a neat little antique shop that is also an outlet for local artists. I fell in love with this enormous carved wolf, which would have found its way to Texas had I the funds to buy it.

A few decades after the town and village were founded the man that wrote the American Pledge of Allegiance (1855) was born. Just a year before the small town was incorporated, another historical figure was born that was highly influenced by his first years growing up on the edges of the Genesee River gorge and nearby lakes: John Wesley Powell.

Next: The Man of Two Canyons

 

[TexasShadow]

The Men of Two Countries and Two Canyons

The Man of Two Canyons

I grew up in a moderate sized WASP-ish community southeast of Buffalo, NY. I never really felt at 'home' there unless I was in the woods, in the creek, or out in the meadows. My parents had a hard time getting me in the house; I preferred the strawbale fort, the tree house, even the igloos I made. I would drag my sleeping bag outside and sleep on the lawn, gazing at the stars and watch the stories of the constellations. I skipped school, even as a teenager, to skate the frozen pond in the back or explore the nearby large creek. I was a nerd and wall flower in school, preferring to read and write instead of do the social clicky things with my classmates. I 'escaped' shortly after graduating from high school. And returned 42 years later; this summer.

My favorite memories of growing up were our family vacations to the Adirondacks, the Finger Lakes, Alleghany mountains, and the various parks. One of my favorites, as well as my Dad's, was Letchworth State Park. Decades later, both my Dad and sister would return to live nearby, preferring rural life to the urban sprawl. And this is where I have spent my summer.

An earlier post depicted Letchworth Park, but it does little to truly describe the landscape. And barely touches on the cultural history other than mentioning the Seneca Nation connection. Ironically, I was to learn this summer that this area was an influence on another person, one who shared my love for the natural history and life both here and in the West.

In 1834, John Wesley Powell was born in the village of Mount Morris. Anyone familiar with Utah and Arizona landscape and history will recognize the name. Powell's most famous mark on history is as leader of the expedition that explored and charted the Green and Colorado Rivers, and the Grand Canyon. Powell was also later to become the second director of the US Geological Survey, professor of geology at Illinois Wesleyan University and Illinois State University, as well as director of several several major scientific institutions (e.g. the Smithsonian, etc). Perhaps where he was born and spent the first years of his life was a lasting influence on his career interests and path.

The fourth of nine children, John was born when many town and villages were beginning to grow and prosper. It was also a time when outside influences were pushing their fingers into local communities, such as religious, social and political entities. European immigrants were flooding ports of entry and testing the 'land waters', so to speak. It was more common for immigrants to be migrants than to land on one specific location and plant their roots. The 'new' Americans usually moved from settlement to village and on, changing their locations sometimes every couple of years. The Powells were no exception to this.

The decades leading to the onset of the Civil War were long brewing with conflicting ideals and morals before they came to a head. Joseph, a poor Methodist clergyman, and his wife, Mary, had emigrated to America from England in 1830. Joseph joined the anti-slavery movement after immigrating, partly through the influence of John Wesley, a founder of Methodism. Like many Methodists, Joseph was an Abolitionist and joined the Liberty party.

Joseph Powell supervised the construction of the Methodist Church in Mount Morris, and the family lived in the parsonage next door. Although the church has since been replaced with a more modern structure, the parsonage is still standing and now serves as a residence, and sandwiched between two churches (the Methodist church is in the background).

​

Interestingly, there are five churches forming a tight cluster in this neighborhood (the street is named Chapel Street for a reason). One is characteristic of the early 1900's: wood clapboard siding and single steeple. Another is very distinctive and reminiscent of southwest architectural influence (see below). You can guess which structure I prefer.....

Because of Reverend Joseph's profession as a clergyman, the family moved often. The slavery issues prompted Joseph Powell to leave the Methodist Episcopal Church and became an ordained minister for the Wesleyan Methodist Church. His vigorous stand against slavery was met with hostility by many of the townspeople. For both of these reasons, the family left Mount Morris and moved to Castile, a small community on the eastern shore of Silver Lake, and across the lake from where I sit at this moment typing this.

Joseph and Mary had another son, William Bramwell Powell, who made his own mark in history as a prominent teacher and also a member of several scientific and social science institutions. William was an ardent supporter of enabling education to all children and incorporating the fundamentals of education as a learning experience rather than dictated.

Joseph and Mary Powell had an enormous impact on their children and their pursuits throughout their lives. According to one obituary, Joseph "had a strong will, deep earnestness, and indomitable courage, while his wife, Mary Dean, with similar traits possessed also remarkable tact and practicality. Both were English born, the mother well educated, and were always leaders in the social and educational life of every community where they dwelt. Both were intensely American in their love and admiration of the civil institutions of the United States and both were strenuously opposed to slavery, which was flourishing in America when they arrived in 1830."

Because of their strong view, the Powell family experienced persecution and community ridicule. Joseph was known to "stand on the steps of the courthouse and denounce the slave owners, in the midst of a community full of southern sympathizers." On the other hand, Joseph was also an avid naturalist, teaching his sons about known science of the natural world, how to be keen observers, and passed along a restlessness that stayed with John Powell throughout his years.

Landscapes such as the immense Genesee River gorge and the lakes in their backyards may have had a lasting impression upon the Powell brothers. However, in addition to the landscapes where John grew up, was the strong influence of his parents' naturalism. Historian Curtis Hinsley explains, " I would say that the key formative influence on Powell is the inheritance of natural theology from his father and his mother, both; the belief that the study of the natural world is a way of studying God, of studying God's creation; and thereby seeing the face of God. I think in his later life this element is subdued, it is muted, but that the face of God is always an element in Powell's science, that he inherits this from his Methodist childhood and he carries it with him, although he must put it in new form, in order to distinguish himself from his father and his father's beliefs, or behaviors, and separate himself from that, but at the same time, carry that on. I believe that it is that inheritance, that legacy of natural theology that is most important in Powell."

His family moved again, to Ohio, Wisconsin and then Illinois. Throughout John Wesley Powell's childhood, he was more comfortable out in nature exploring the landscapes, collecting plants and creatures, observing and learning the natural sciences. Later, he would spend three months hiking around Wisconsin. He also retained an avid interest and love of rivers. He rowed up and down the Ohio, Illinois and Mississippi Rivers, which precipitated his ultimate adventure on the Green and Colorado Rivers.

After the Civil War, in which he lost his arm, Powell lead the first expedition to travel by boat down the Green and Colorado Rivers. In 1869, he and ten men navigate these rivers and through the Grand Canyon for three months. He repeated the expedition in 1871–1872 with resulting maps and papers, including a book which he authored about his adventures.

After several bouts of ill health, John moved to his summer home in Haven, Maine, with his wife and daughter. There he died on September 23, 1902, of a cerebral hemorrhage. He was only 68 years old, and nearly penniless.

Tomorrow is the 111th anniversary of his death.

Many are familiar with Lake Powell, and other landmarks named after him. But to many, including myself, his legacy is this:
"We've got to be responsive to places, we've got to know them and know them well. That, I think is the most important of Powell's legacies. But, also I think he had a sense that, again very relevant today, that the way in which we build on the land and settle the place has consequences for our institutions."

Like John Powell, the natural landscapes have formed and still form who I am, also influencing my my career path as a biologist. And like Powell's restless nature, I too, love to explore them as much as I can. Especially on a motorcycle.

 

[h2000fb]

What a story! Thanks for the time you spent on it. Very interesting.

 

[TexasShadow]

What a story! Thanks for the time you spent on it. Very interesting.

Thank you for the kind words! I didn't' think anyone really reads my posts...

 

[TexasShadow]

New York Impressions

New York Impressions

​

During my summer stay in western New York, my days usually started with a walk down a seasonal gravel road. It meandered through two farms, forests, wet land/swamp, with up and down. A local retired forester invited me to explore his wood lots and ponds, which I did several times. And I explored the edges of expansive corn fields. I visited with song birds, ducks, hawks, deer, racoons, beavers, and turtles. We talked back and forth, a new-born fawn thought I was its Momma, a baby turtle was rescued from the middle of the road, I tracked fox and racoons through pastures and wet gravel, collected colorful fall leaves from the ground, and took many photos.

Sometimes I only went with myself -no camera- and felt like shedding my humanness to fly south with the hundreds of geese as they honked and flew overhead. I always returned with a smile, lighter, happy and full of life.

This summer I lost much, including my father, and gained a lot. I returned to my rural roots, which is strong again in my heart. I gained friends and family, and a new-found freedom. I rode my bike for hours and rode just to ride. I remembered who I am, and let go of what I have lost. Losing my Dad impressed upon me how precious life is, and how much to cherish friends and family. And all the little things we encounter in life.

I posted daily photos from my walks with a running theme of Morning Walk Impressions. Little things we don't often take time to see anymore. Or can't see because of different locations. Sometimes we see things differently than others. That is what I love about riding a bike. We can see things, internalize them, even stop and immerse ourselves in them if we choose. But nothing beats encountering things on your own two feet. I like to do both.

Large to small, there are miracles everywhere. We can't let them slip away. Enjoy them all that you can.

My new daily motto is this:

"This is your life; savor it. Hold on to the threads across days that, when woven together, reveal the rich tapestry of what you are achieving and who you are becoming."

Next to last post: Photographic tidbits of NY life

 

[jhansen]

Good stuff! One more place to visit.

 

[TexasShadow]

Odds and Ends of Summer in NY

I learned that my great-grandfather (mother's side) spent four years helping to build this shrine in Buffalo. He was a Swedish stone mason (guess that's why I love working with stone. It's in my blood

Sister, Brother-in-law and I planted a garden. I canned over 4 dozen jars of cucumber pickles, pickled beans and beets, and beet relish. We ate fresh food from the garden, venison from the freezer, and locally grown fruit.

Spent some time at a lake-side cottage, watching the geese, ducks, seaguys and seagals, and sun rises on the water.

Attended the annual Sidewalk Chaulk Art Festival in Perry.

Saw and heard many musicians over the months.

Watched turtles laying their eggs and their little babies on their own.

Went to the county fair, an event that was an annual part of my life in Oregon for many years.

Boat ride on the lake, which I haven't done since I was 16 yo.

the deer were my neighbors.

Rode the bike and visited small towns, where EVERYONE is friendly and hospitable. Really enjoyed learning about local history.

Really miss the small bookshop/cafes. I spent a lot of time here.

Retaught myself how to knit, even joined a knitting class at a local yarn store. Knit my first pair of socks in 15 years.

Last post: On the road again.

 

[TexasShadow]

On the road again.....

.... it's good to be back on the road again,
visiting with my friends....

Landed for a few days off from behind the steering wheel at Hunt's Motorcycle Lodge in eastern Tennessee. Old-time, good close friends, Jack and Lori Hunt.

This is also the weekend for their annual fall SagMag group event. Folks from all over converge to ride the Smokey Mnts and all the great roads in this area. As well as share stories, laughter, card games, dinner, and just good camaraderie. Met some of these folks years ago, my first visit here. It was fun to see them again, and meet new folks.

A very eclectic group of bikes this time!!


A 1986 Yamaha SRX-6

1940 Ariel.

A RED Ural!!! I want one

Many brought their dirt bikes.

From Honda Magnas, BMWs, Buells, Kawasakis, Yamis, Suzukis, Ariels, you name it.

I manned the grill and cooked 3 dozen steaks, couple dozen chicken breasts, all marinated in Lori's excellent sauce. Chow line was impressive.

​

Even Jack's Mom and Dad made an appearance.

Had a great time, made new friends, and relaxed.
Back behind the wheel tomorrow.

See y'all on the road!