It was a day just like any other day, as the worst days of our lives so often are. Lucinda and I were on an adventure. We’d traveled to Portland, Maine, to watch a movie about the death of Vincent Van Gogh. The movie was called “Loving Vincent” and it was the first movie in… Continue reading Everything Changes – Don’t be afraid
When Lucinda and I went to Charleston to attend a wedding, we went searching for the ghost of Annabel Lee.
They were fighting fellow countrymen. But they were also fighting the elements. In the winter of 1779-1780, Washington's Army set to work building huts to weather the winter at Morristown, New Jersey.
A sunflower field...broad leaves whisper...obscures your view...stare at you as you pass...
Travelers need two things: food and books. Everything else is optional.
Not once upon a time, but here and now, two adventurers step off the trail. They climb down into a gully in search of a path improperly remembered. Careful clambering over rocks demands all of their attention. The spiderwebs at head height take them unawares. Fine strands cling to their faces, settle in their hair.… Continue reading Enlightened by darkness and blinded by light
The coast of Maine is dotted with quaint small towns that come alive during tourist season. Along the commercial strip their streets are choked with gawkers and shoppers buying lobster rolls and pine scented candles and painted seashells. Belfast is one of those towns. Picturesque and unassuming. It sits just off route one at the… Continue reading How to Escape the Tourist Trap
The living and the dead both leave their mark on a city. During our tour of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Lucinda and I sought out places where the voices of those gone before could most readily be heard. We began at St. John's Episcopal Church. Built in 1807 on the footprint of a wooden church that… Continue reading Memories of the Living. Echoes of the Dead.
The ruins of history lie all around us. Sometimes we build over them, sometimes we forget them, and sometimes we don't. On the island of New Castle, New Hampshire, the ruins of a colonial fort guard the Pisquatua River at its outlet to the Atlantic Ocean. Across the river, through the mist, you can see… Continue reading Adrift on the Ruins of History in New Castle
In Maine in the summer, there's a carnival or country fair pretty much every weekend. Blank fields sprout tents like mushrooms. Rides land like flying saucers overnight. Even in daylight, there's something creepy about an unattended carnival. The rides seem to be drowsing, like big cats, ready to spring to life at any moment. You… Continue reading Day and Night People at the Unattended Carnival