Halloween 2021

 

Wishing everyone a Happy Halloween!

Reformation Day 2021

 

On this day in 1517, Martin Luther posted ninety-five theses on the door of All Saints Church in Wittenburg, Germany. He could no longer tolerate what he thought were errors within the Catholic church, including the collection of indulgences from sinners seeking salvation. Today, Protestants commemorate this event every October 31 as Reformation Day. He chose this day, All Hallows Eve, because he knew the church would be filled with influential people within and outside the church as they gathered to celebrate All Saints Day on November 1. Luther's action became the tipping point for reformation within the Christian church.

Luther As An Augustinian Monk Lucas Cranack the Elder, 16th century

Eight years later, Johann Sebastian Bach, the musical voice of the Reformation in the Baroque period, wrote the following cantata for Reformation Day 1725:


Gott der Her ist Sonn und Schild



1. Chorus

God the Lord is sun and shield. The Lord gives grace and honor, He will allow no good to be lacking from the righteous.


2. Aria A

God is our sun and shield!
Therefore this goodness
shall be praised by our grateful heart,
which He protects like His little flock.
For He will protect us from now on,
although the enemy sharpens his arrows
and a vicious hound already barks.

3. Chorale

Now let everyone thank God
with hearts, mouths, and hands,
Who does great things
for us and to all ends,
Who has done for us from our mother's wombs
and childhood on
many uncountable good things
and does so still today.

4. Recitative B

Praise God, we know
the right way to blessedness;
for, Jesus, You have revealed it to us through Your word,
therefore Your name shall be praised for all time.
Since, however, many yet
at this time
must labor under a foreign yoke
out of blindness,
ah! then have mercy
also on them graciously,
so that they recognize the right way
and simply call You their Intercessor.

5. Aria (Duet) S B

God, ah God, abandon Your own ones
never again!
Let Your word shine brightly for us;
although harshly
against us the enemy rages,
yet our mouths shall praise You.

6. Chorale

Uphold us in the truth,
grant eternal freedom,
to praise Your name
through Jesus Christ. Amen.

We can only imagine the exhilaration Luther had on posting his objections. He placed his worldly apprehensions in the hands of Jesus, continued to call for reform within the Catholic Church, and eventually developed a new vision of faith.

Sources:

Photo, Conrad Schmitt Studios, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Bach translation, emmanuelmusic,org

Halloween Countdown 2021: Day 1

 

One more night and the trick or treaters will be among us!

And here's another poem from the master of suspense and mystery, Edgar Allan Poe.

Ulalume

The skies they were ashen and sober; 

The leaves they were crisped and sere— 

The leaves they were withering and sere; 

It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year:

It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, 

In the misty mid region of Weir— 

It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, 

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 

Here once, through an alley Titanic, 

Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul— 

Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.

These were days when my heart was volcanic 

As the scoriac rivers that roll— 

As the lavas that restlessly roll 

Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek 

In the ultimate climes of the pole— 

That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek 

In the realms of the boreal pole. 

Our talk had been serious and sober, 

But our thoughts they were palsied and sere— 

Our memories were treacherous and sere,— 

For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year (

Ah, night of all nights in the year!)— 

We noted not the dim lake of Auber 

(Though once we had journeyed down here)— 

Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, 

Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 

And now, as the night was senescent 

And star-dials pointed to morn— 

As the star-dials hinted of morn— 

At the end of our path a liquescent 

And nebulous lustre was born, 

Out of which a miraculous crescent 

Arose with a duplicate horn— 

Astarte's bediamonded crescent 

Distinct with its duplicate horn. 

And I said: "She is warmer than Dian; 

She rolls through an ether of sighs— 

She revels in a region of sighs: 

She has seen that the tears are not dry on 

These cheeks, where the worm never dies, 

And has come past the stars of the Lion 

To point us the path to the skies— 

To the Lethean peace of the skies— 

Come up, in despite of the Lion, 

To shine on us with her bright eyes— 

Come up through the lair of the Lion, 

With love in her luminous eyes." 

But Psyche, uplifting her finger, 

Said: "Sadly this star I mistrust— 

Her pallor I strangely mistrust: 

Ah, hasten! —ah, let us not linger! 

Ah, fly! —let us fly! -for we must." 

In terror she spoke, letting sink her 

Wings until they trailed in the dust— 

In agony sobbed, letting sink her 

Plumes till they trailed in the dust— 

Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 

I replied: "This is nothing but dreaming: 

Let us on by this tremulous light! 

Let us bathe in this crystalline light! 

Its Sybilic splendour is beaming 

With Hope and in Beauty tonight!— 

See!—it flickers up the sky through the night!

Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, 

And be sure it will lead us aright— 

We safely may trust to a gleaming, 

That cannot but guide us aright, 

Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, 

And tempted her out of her gloom— 

And conquered her scruples and gloom; 

And we passed to the end of the vista, 

But were stopped by the door of a tomb— 

By the door of a legended tomb; 

And I said: "What is written, sweet sister, 

On the door of this legended tomb?" 

She replied: "Ulalume -Ulalume— 

'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" 

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 

As the leaves that were crisped and sere— 

As the leaves that were withering and sere; 

And I cried: "It was surely October 

On this very night of last year 

That I journeyed—I journeyed down here!— 

That I brought a dread burden down here— 

On this night of all nights in the year, 

Ah, what demon hath tempted me here? 

Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber— 

This misty mid region of Weir— 

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, 

This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."


Our creepy music for tonight comes from the pen of one of Hollywood's most prolific composers for film, Bernard Herrmann. 

Sleep well tonight.

Dylan Thomas. His High Hills, Rainy Autumns, and Turning Years

This week we recall the birthday (October 27, 1914) of the writer, Dylan Thomas. an artist whose work reflected his immersion in the themes and images of living on the coast of his beloved homeland, Wales . His lyrical descriptive writing, poetry and unforgettable voice brought him great fame in the United States in the decade prior to his untimely death in New York in 1953.

Thomas in a London park

Thomas and his native land have special meaning to me. My great grandparents on my father's side immigrated from Cardiff, Wales, to the United States in the 1870's. Though I never knew my grandmother - she died before my second year - my father often recalled how she took pride in her Celtic roots and the Welsh love for song and singing.

It is interesting that he should remember the talk of song and singing. Many critics and authorities write that Thomas's recitations are spoken words that approach song. Readers can reach their own conclusion by listening to the poet reading Poem in October, his recollections of his thirtieth birthday. Audio quality isn't the best. I suggest earphones and closed eyes for this sound journey if you choose not to read along at the link.

What an unforgettable voice. I first heard a recording of Thomas sometime in elementary school. There's a good chance few students in any grade have that opportunity today. How unfortunate. We often think education has come a long way over the last seven decades. Perhaps it has, but somewhere on that journey we have undoubtedly lost some very precious cultural experiences. If we could hear Thomas's truth singing every year, we would know so much better who we are as individuals and as a people.

Here is Thomas reciting most famous poem, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, a powerful, emotion-filled villanelle addressing the end of earthly life.

My family likely became aware of Thomas through his trips to the U.S. made over a span of about four years beginning in 1950. His trips always made sensational news for he was not only a rising star worshiped in metropolitan and university salons but also a boisterous character prone to drunkenness, colorful language, and wild behavior. Indeed, his trip to New York in 1953 ended in death from pneumonia likely brought on by his well-known excesses. One could say he covered the full spectrum of life and when he spoke of it in verse or prose he made music. It has been a pleasure to experience Thomas and his work for almost 70 years.

Halloween Countdown 2021: Day 2

 

Our postcard for the day comes from the Ullman Manufacturing Company. The card is described as an American Colorgravure Post Card, Hallowe'en Series 182, Subject 2759. There is no copyright date but it bears a 1911 postmark. Obviously this card suffers from poor registration but, given the subject, a blurred image almost adds somewhat to the effect.

And here is some very fitting music for the pumpkins, cats, and smiling moon on a cold, windy, creepy Halloween night.

Tonight's poem is a literary feast for readers who enjoy language. Granted this is a long poem but it is Robert Burns's wonderful description of the Halloween traditions of Scotland. Here is the introduction in the poet's own words:

The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among th emore unenlightened in our own. R.B. 1785

[Notes appear after the poem. Some readers may find them more helpful if read before the poem.]

Halloween (1)

Upon that night, when fairies light

On Cassilis Downans (2) dance,

Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,

On sprightly coursers prance;

Or for Colean the rout is ta'en,

Beneath the moon's pale beams;

There, up the Cove, (3) to stray an' rove,

Amang the rocks and streams

To sport that night;

Amang the bonie winding banks,

Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear;

Where Bruce (4) ance rul'd the martial ranks,

An' shook his Carrick spear;

Some merry, friendly, countra-folks

Together did convene,

To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks,

An' haud their Halloween

Fu' blythe that night.

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat,

Mair braw than when they're fine;

Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin':

The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs

Weel-knotted on their garten;

Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin

Whiles fast at night.

Then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail,

Their stocks (5) maun a' be sought ance;

They steek their een, and grape an' wale

For muckle anes, an' straught anes.

Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift,

An' wandered thro' the bow-kail,

An' pou't for want o' better shift

A runt was like a sow-tail

Sae bow't that night.

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther;

The vera wee-things, toddlin, rin,

Wi' stocks out owre their shouther:

An' gif the custock's sweet or sour,

Wi' joctelegs they taste them;

Syne coziely, aboon the door,

Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them

To lie that night.

The lassies staw frae 'mang them a',

To pou their stalks o' corn; (6)

But Rab slips out, an' jinks about,

Behint the muckle thorn:

He grippit Nelly hard and fast:

Loud skirl'd a' the lasses;

But her tap-pickle maist was lost,

Whan kiutlin in the fause-house (7)

Wi' him that night.

The auld guid-wife's weel-hoordit nits (8)

Are round an' round dividend,

An' mony lads an' lasses' fates

Are there that night decided:

Some kindle couthie side by side,

And burn thegither trimly;

Some start awa wi' saucy pride,

An' jump out owre the chimlie

Fu' high that night.

Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e;

Wha 'twas, she wadna tell;

But this is Jock, an' this is me,

She says in to hersel':

He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him,

As they wad never mair part:

Till fuff! he started up the lum,

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart

To see't that night.

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt,

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie;

An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt,

To be compar'd to Willie:

Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling,

An' her ain fit, it brunt it;

While Willie lap, and swore by jing,

'Twas just the way he wanted

To be that night.

Nell had the fause-house in her min',

She pits hersel an' Rob in;

In loving bleeze they sweetly join,

Till white in ase they're sobbin:

Nell's heart was dancin at the view;

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't:

Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou',

Fu' cozie in the neuk for't,

Unseen that night.

But Merran sat behint their backs,

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell:

She lea'es them gashin at their cracks,

An' slips out-by hersel';

She thro' the yard the nearest taks,

An' for the kiln she goes then,

An' darklins grapit for the bauks,

And in the blue-clue (9) throws then,

Right fear't that night.

An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat-

I wat she made nae jaukin;

Till something held within the pat,

Good Lord! but she was quaukin!

But whether 'twas the deil himsel,

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en',

Or whether it was Andrew Bell,

She did na wait on talkin

To spier that night.

Wee Jenny to her graunie says,

"Will ye go wi' me, graunie?

I'll eat the apple at the glass, (10)

I gat frae uncle Johnie:"

She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,

In wrath she was sae vap'rin,

She notic't na an aizle brunt

Her braw, new, worset apron

Out thro' that night.

"Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!

I daur you try sic sportin,

As seek the foul thief ony place,

For him to spae your fortune:

Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!

Great cause ye hae to fear it;

For mony a ane has gotten a fright,

An' liv'd an' died deleerit,

On sic a night.

"Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,

I mind't as weel's yestreen-

I was a gilpey then, I'm sure

I was na past fyfteen:

The simmer had been cauld an' wat,

An' stuff was unco green;

An' eye a rantin kirn we gat,

An' just on Halloween

It fell that night.

"Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen,

A clever, sturdy fallow;

His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean,

That lived in Achmacalla:

He gat hemp-seed, (11) I mind it weel,

An'he made unco light o't;

But mony a day was by himsel',

He was sae sairly frighted

That vera night."

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck,

An' he swoor by his conscience,

That he could saw hemp-seed a peck;

For it was a' but nonsense:

The auld guidman raught down the pock,

An' out a handfu' gied him;

Syne bad him slip frae' mang the folk,

Sometime when nae ane see'd him,

An' try't that night.

He marches thro' amang the stacks,

Tho' he was something sturtin;

The graip he for a harrow taks,

An' haurls at his curpin:

And ev'ry now an' then, he says,

"Hemp-seed I saw thee,

An' her that is to be my lass

Come after me, an' draw thee

As fast this night."

He wistl'd up Lord Lennox' March

To keep his courage cherry;

Altho' his hair began to arch,

He was sae fley'd an' eerie:

Till presently he hears a squeak,

An' then a grane an' gruntle;

He by his shouther gae a keek,

An' tumbled wi' a wintle

Out-owre that night.

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,

In dreadfu' desperation!

An' young an' auld come rinnin out,

An' hear the sad narration:

He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw,

Or crouchie Merran Humphie-

Till stop! she trotted thro' them a';

And wha was it but grumphie

Asteer that night!

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen,

To winn three wechts o' naething; (12)

But for to meet the deil her lane,

She pat but little faith in:

She gies the herd a pickle nits,

An' twa red cheekit apples,

To watch, while for the barn she sets,

In hopes to see Tam Kipples

That vera night.

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw,

An'owre the threshold ventures;

But first on Sawnie gies a ca',

Syne baudly in she enters:

A ratton rattl'd up the wa',

An' she cry'd Lord preserve her!

An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a',

An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour,

Fu' fast that night.

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice;

They hecht him some fine braw ane;

It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice (13)

Was timmer-propt for thrawin:

He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak

For some black, grousome carlin;

An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke,

Till skin in blypes cam haurlin

Aff's nieves that night.

A wanton widow Leezie was,

As cantie as a kittlen;

But och! that night, amang the shaws,

She gat a fearfu' settlin!

She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn,

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin;

Whare three lairds' lan's met at a burn, (14)

To dip her left sark-sleeve in,

Was bent that night.

Whiles owre a linn the burnie plays,

As thro' the glen it wimpl't;

Whiles round a rocky scar it strays,

Whiles in a wiel it dimpl't;

Whiles glitter'd to the nightly rays,

Wi' bickerin', dancin' dazzle;

Whiles cookit undeneath the braes,

Below the spreading hazel

Unseen that night.

Amang the brachens, on the brae,

Between her an' the moon,

The deil, or else an outler quey,

Gat up an' ga'e a croon:

Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool;

Near lav'rock-height she jumpit,

But mist a fit, an' in the pool

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,

Wi' a plunge that night.

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,

The luggies (15) three are ranged;

An' ev'ry time great care is ta'en

To see them duly changed:

Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys

Sin' Mar's-year did desire,

Because he gat the toom dish thrice,

He heav'd them on the fire

In wrath that night.

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks,

I wat they did na weary;

And unco tales, an' funnie jokes-

Their sports were cheap an' cheery:

Till butter'd sowens, (16) wi' fragrant lunt,

Set a' their gabs a-steerin;

Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,

They parted aff careerin

Fu' blythe that night.

[Footnote 1: Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other
mischief-making beings are abroad on their baneful midnight errands;
particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said on that night to hold
a grand anniversary,.-R.B.]

[Footnote 2: Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the
neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.-R.B.]

[Footnote 3: A noted cavern near Colean house, called the Cove of Colean;
which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed, in country story, for being a
favorite haunt of fairies.-R.B.]

[Footnote 4: The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the
great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.-R.B.]

[Footnote 5: The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a "stock," or
plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the
first they meet with: its being big or little, straight or crooked, is
prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells-the
husband or wife. If any "yird," or earth, stick to the root, that is "tocher,"
or fortune; and the taste of the "custock," that is, the heart of the stem, is
indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to
give them their ordinary appellation, the "runts," are placed somewhere above
the head of the door; and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings
into the house are, according to the priority of placing the "runts," the
names in question.-R. B.]

[Footnote 6: They go to the barnyard, and pull each, at three different times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the "top-pickle," that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a maid.-R.B.]

[Footnote 7: When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green or wet,
the stack-builder, by means of old timber, etc., makes a large apartment in
his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind:
this he calls a "fause-house."-R.B.]

[Footnote 8: Burning the nuts is a favorite charm. They name the lad and lass
to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and according as they
burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue
of the courtship will be.-R.B.]

[Footnote 9: Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly
observe these directions: Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and darkling,
throw into the "pot" a clue of blue yarn; wind it in a new clue off the old
one; and, toward the latter end, something will hold the thread: demand, "Wha
hauds?" i.e., who holds? and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by
naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse.-R.B.]

[Footnote 10: Take a candle and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple
before it, and some traditions say you should comb your hair all the time; the
face of your conjungal companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if
peeping over your shoulder.-R.B.]

[Footnote 11: Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed,
harrowing it with anything you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and
then: "Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee; and him (or her) that is
to be my true love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder,
and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of
pulling hemp. Some traditions say, "Come after me and shaw thee," that is,
show thyself; in which case, it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and
say: "Come after me and harrow thee."-R.B.]

[Footnote 12: This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger that the being about to appear may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which in our country dialect we call a "wecht," and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times, and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.-R.B.]

[Footnote 13: Take an opportunity of going unnoticed to a "bear-stack," and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.-R.B.]

[Footnote 14: You go out, one or more (for this is a social spell), to a south running spring, or rivulet, where "three lairds' lands meet," and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake, and, some time near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.-R.B.]

[Footnote 15: Take three dishes, put clean water in one, foul water in another, and leave the third empty; blindfold a person and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand; if by chance in the clean water, the future (husband or) wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.-R.B.]

[Footnote 16: Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper.-R.B.]

Time for a Glencairn of scotch?

Sources:

The Burns poem, footnotes, and introduction were taken from robertburns.org.

Halloween Countdown 2021: Day 3

 

Halloween can be jolly, merry, and scary.

Well, a little scary. 

Song of the Witches

Macbeth, Act IV, Scene 1

by William Shakespeare

Round about the cauldron go: 

In the poisoned entrails throw. 

Toad, that under cold stone 

Days and nights has thirty-one 

Sweated venom sleeping got, 

Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot. 

Double, double toil and trouble; 

Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

Fillet of a fenny snake, 

In the cauldron boil and bake; 

Eye of newt and toe of frog, 

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, 

Lizard's leg and owlet's wing.

For a charm of powerful trouble, 

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 

Double, double toil and trouble; 

Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, 

Witch's mummy, maw and gulf 

Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, 

Root of hemlock digg'd i’ the dark, 

Liver of blaspheming Jew; 

Gall of goat; and slips of yew 

Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse; 

Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; 

Finger of birth-strangled babe 

Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, 

Make the gruel thick and slab: 

Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, 

For the ingredients of our cauldron. 

Double, double toil and trouble, 

Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

Cool it with a baboon's blood, 

Then the charm is firm and good.

Halloween Countdown 2021: Day 4

 

It's getting closer!

My family archives has perhaps 200 postcards from Katherine. She signed all of them either "Katherine" or "K" without a surname and therefore in spite of all that mail she is the mystery woman, a perfect choice for our Halloween countdown. By the time we inventoried the large card collection my grandmother's generation left behind there was no one left to identify her. She sent the postcard shown above - postmarked October 30, 1910, Camden, New Jersey - to my great uncle, Charles. Given that this is one a many postcards she sent that Halloween and other special occasions it seems that sending several postcards to the same recipient on the same day was a popular activity. The message:

Dear Friend: Because I have not written do not think I have forgotten you. I am alive and enjoying life. Have just finished breakfast at 4:30 a.m. Kate

Did she have a night on the town? That sounds about right for a friend of Charles who in his day was well-known as quite the party animal in the family.

And speaking of animals here is a poem for the season, written by the literary master of horror and suspense, Edgar Allan Poe, and delivered by a master of horror on film, Vincent Price.

Halloween Countdown 20221: Day 5

A few more days from now Halloween 2021 will be upon us. I hope your preparations are moving along well with decorations in place, treats in place, and costumes fitted. No doubt the little goblins in the neighborhood indeed have, as the postcard suggests, "the highest of expectations for Halloween."

An October Night

Charles Audete

The wind whispers

A wary warning

There was plenty, still

Early this morning

These primal urges

Are hard to fight

An unholy diet

A dark appetite

The pavement scrapes

With scuttling leaves

I'll pull the drapes

And hope to deceive

The moon suffocates

In ominous clouds

Shut off the lights

Heartbeats too loud

Then the neighbor's gate creaks

But it's not the wind

That seeks to feast

On fearing humans

Red brake lights

A car crawls by slow

The shadowy shapes

On my dark doorstep know

That the empty window

Of my house lies.

The horrible truth

Hides deep inside

Everything tonight

Could have been just dandy

But now the demons have wrath -

Cause I ate all the candy!

Halloween Countdown 2021: Day 6

This year we kick off our Halloween Countdown with Katherine, a shadow from the past. The mysterious "Katherine" mailed the postcard below from Camden, New Jersey, to my great uncle, Charles, who in 1910 lived in the railroad town in the Potomac River valley in western Maryland. Katherine never revealed if she and Charles were more than friends. She did include a "friendly" message and it was no secret that Charles was well-known in the community for his mischief.  He turned 34 that year working as a successful small-town banker who like many men of his generation never married. We have scores of postcards from Katherine in our archives, but she never signed her last name, and to this day she remains a mystery woman to the family. If there was some mischief going on, it belongs to the ages.

Dear Friend, Charles: I sincerely hope you are enjoying life to the full extent. I suppose you will be out for mischief tomorrow night. Halloween is always the biggest night in the year for me. Katherine

Tonight's music comes from the imagination of Serge Prokofiev and it's perfect for spooky owls, fearful cats, and flying bats. Witches, too.

And here is a fitting poem about Halloween by Carl Sandburg from his Chicago Poems, 1916.

I spot the hills

With yellow balls in autumn.

I light the prairie cornfields

Orange and tawny gold clusters

And I am called pumpkins.

On the last of October

When dusk is fallen

Children join hands

And circle round me

Singing ghost songs

And love to the harvest moon;

I am a jack-o’-lantern

With terrible teeth

And the children know

I am fooling.

Picasso Was Reality And Imagination In Cubism, Collage And Constructed Sculpture

 

Picasso in 1962

The world-renowned artist, Pablo Picasso, was born on this day in 1881 in the city of Malaga, Spain. When he died 91 years later in 1973, Alden Whitman said this about him in the opening paragraphs of a New York Times obituary:

There was Picasso the neoclassicist; Picasso the cubist; Picasso the surrealist; Picasso the modernist; Picasso the ceramist; Picasso the lithographer; Picasso the sculptor; Picasso the superb draftsman; Picasso the effervescent and exuberant; Picasso the saturnine and surly; Picasso the faithful and faithless lover; Picasso the cunning financial man; Picasso the publicity seeker; Picasso the smoldering Spaniard; Picasso the joker and performer of charades; Picasso the generous; Picasso the Scrooge; even Picasso the playwright.

A genius for the ages, a man who played wonderful yet sometimes outrageous changes with art, Pablo Picasso remains without doubt the most original, the most protean and the most forceful personality in the visual arts in the first three-quarters of this century. He took a prodigious gift and with it transformed the universe of art.

The artist in 1908

To learn more about Picasso read his biography here. The New York Times obituary continues here. It's impossible to select a representative display of his work in this small post; therefore, I recommend readers visit the extensive website of the Musee Picasso Paris where over 300 Picasso works can be viewed. The Wikipedia Picasso page has several external links that may be of interest.





Sources

Photos and Illustrations:
1908 photo, Musee Picasso Paris
1962 photo, public domain
Text:
A Picasso quote appears in the title.

American Expansion: A Purchase Well-Made

This week in 1803 the government of France officially transferred New Orleans, the colonial capital of Louisiana, to the United States. The event marked the end of French hopes to establish an empire in North America. In this transaction, known as the Louisiana Purchase, the nation acquired 530,000,000 acres of territory in North America for the sum of $15,000,000.

The Louisiana Purchase

As the United States spread across the Appalachians, the Mississippi River became increasingly important as a conduit for the produce of America’s West (which at that time referred to the land between the Appalachians and the Mississippi). Since 1762, Spain had owned the territory of Louisiana, which included 828,000 square miles, and which now makes up all or part of fifteen separate states between the Mississippi River and the Rocky Mountains. Friction between Spain and the United States over the right to navigate the Mississippi and the right for Americans to transfer their goods to ocean-going vessels at New Orleans had been resolved by the Pinckney Treaty of 1795. With the Pinckney treaty in place and the weak Spanish empire in control of Louisiana, American statesmen felt comfortable that the United States’ westward expansion would not be restricted in the long run.

This situation was threatened by Napoleon Bonaparte’s plans to revive the French empire in the New World. He planned to recapture the valuable sugar colony of St. Domingue from a slave rebellion, and then use Louisiana as the granary for his empire. France acquired Louisiana from Spain in 1800 and took possession in 1802, sending a large French army to St. Domingue and preparing to send another to New Orleans. Westerners became very apprehensive about having the more-powerful French in control of New Orleans; President Thomas Jefferson noted,

There is on the globe one single spot, the possessor of which is our natural and habitual enemy. It is New Orleans.

President Thomas Jefferson

In addition to making military preparations for a conflict in the Mississippi Valley, Jefferson sent James Monroe to join Robert Livingston in France to try to purchase New Orleans and West Florida for as much as $10 million. Failing that, they were to attempt to create a military alliance with England. Meanwhile, the French army in St. Domingue was being decimated by yellow fever, and war between France and England still threatened. Napoleon decided to give up his plans for Louisiana, and offered a surprised Monroe and Livingston the entire territory of Louisiana for $15 million. Although this far exceeded their instructions, they agreed.

President James Monroe

Robert Livingston, Founding Father, "The Chancellor"

When news of the sale reached the United States, the West was elated. President Jefferson, however, was in a quandary. He had always advocated strict adherence to the letter of the Constitution, yet there was no provision empowering him to purchase territory. Given the public support for the purchase and the obvious value of Louisiana to the future growth of the United States, however, Jefferson decided to ignore the legalistic interpretation of the Constitution and forgo the passage of a Constitutional amendment to validate the purchase. This decision contributed to the principle of implied powers of the federal government.

Sources:


Text: United States Department of State
Portraits: Official Portraits, The White House

The Harvest Of Memories

 

When an early autumn walks the land and chills the breeze 

and touches with her hand the summer trees,

perhaps you'll understand what memories I own.

There's a dance pavilion in the rain all shuttered down,

a winding country lane all russet brown,

a frosty window pane shows me a town grown lonely.

In October 2008 I wrote the first of many revised editions of the story of the annual October closing of my family's "summer place" in West Virginia. It was nestled in the Patterson Creek valley about twenty miles south of Cumberland, Maryland, and just under a three hour drive from my home in the Washington suburbs. Those who follow this blog likely know more about the Burlington campground than most current residents of that village. Still, it's an important story in my formative years and it's worth repeating, especially with revisions. The most recent change has been the loss of the magnificent two-story cedar pavilion that stood for nearly a century as the focal point of the property. For over 90 years it served as a Burlington landmark and with its loss a place that created so many memories has itself become one. And speaking of memories:

Repairing flood damage at the pavilion

Every October 15, my mind floods with wonderful memories. From birth through my 27th year, the date marked an important event in my life. The story descends from my dad's membership in the Uniform Rank of the Knights of Pythias. The URKP was a military-style company within a fraternal organization born out of the search for national reconciliation following the Civil War. Every good military organization needed a campground with lodging, mess hall, recreation pavilion, and parade. The URKP built theirs in the small village of Burlington, West Virginia. It also served as a regional park, complete with playground, ball fields, and swimming in the creek. It was often rented for the day for family reunions, company picnics, church functions, and other large gatherings.

It was legal...and tasty, about 1966

"Camp" at Burlington was paradise for a young boy. A creek bordering the camp offered hours of fun. You could explore the woods and fields forever. The frequent social events made the playground a great place to meet new friends. But "camping" at Burlington was by no means a wilderness experience. We were lucky to use a cottage that had every comfort of home. There was a drive-in theater next door where I enjoyed the snack bar as much as the movies. Across the road was a small airfield with a few Aeroncas, Taylorcrafts and Piper Cubs, and a hangar that gave birth to many "homebuilts" over the years. I can say with confidence that Burlington was never boring. The drive-in and airport were owned and operated by Dave and Georgia Baker, an entertaining and endearing couple I came to love and respect as family.


Today, the sycamores along the river may be a bit taller, but they still explode in yellow this time of year along with my favorite walnut tree. And the young maple I climbed as a boy has matured into a massive Fall fire tree. In 1950, I watched when the men brought in their bulldozers to shape a new channel and level the bank of Patterson Creek. The stone beach they built was much safer for the generation of bathers who enjoyed it, but creeks have a way of remembering affronts. By the mid '70's, the creek's waters restored the original course and bank to a scene my grandfather enjoyed in the 1930s. Although time changed the place I called "Camp" it will never erase the memories of this childhood paradise.

1959

Hulling walnuts, 1967

Through the summer of 1974, I spent many annual family vacations at "camp" and in later years, several weekends of "cold camping" in the off-seasons where I wrote many college essays including a graduate thesis. Opening the cottage and grounds for the summer, though exciting, was not especially memorable. Freezing temperatures lingered into May, so the campground usually opened on Memorial Day weekend.

When it's 48 degrees and pouring rain in August

On the other hand, winterizing the place was like saying "Goodbye" to an old friend. Thoughts of family, friends, the big - or small - fish, fireworks, that scary movie, the old biplane, all those memories accumulated over the past six months filled your mind. Amid the blazing gold sycamores, brilliant fire oaks and maples, the smell of wood smoke, and a harvest of black walnuts, we went through the years-old closing procedure until the last item - pouring anti-freeze into sink traps - was checked. At that point, it was time to load the car, proceed with all those repetitive tasks one does "just to be sure," then close and lock the big red door until Spring.

Radical days, about 1970

As American society changed, the URKP fell out of fashion. Lodge members grew old and passed away. In 1974, the lodge itself and all its assets dissolved. I haven't locked that big red door for 47 years now, but I still have the key and a remarkably detailed mental picture of the cottage and landscape that I loved.

Closing weekend, 1972

In many ways, Burlington is with me every day for my experiences there helped shape my values, and define my career, hobbies, and general interests. The impact has been so profound that I have asked my children to do their best to provide the same opportunity for their own families.

1949

In weaving all of the memories about this weekend, I ask you, my readers, to do the same: Find a nearby paradise and escape to it often while your children are young. And when they are older and have children of their own, they can join you and make even more vivid memories. There will be no sorrow there.






Sources

Illustrations and Photos:
all photos from the family archive

Text:
song title, "When October Goes", and opening quote, "Early Autumn", lyrics, by Johnny Mercer, Johnny Mercer, The Complete Lyrics of Johnny Mercer, edited by Kimball, Day, Kreuger, and Davis; Knopf 2009