I was born in Maryland and spent my first thirty years living there, first in the Appalachian Mountains, then on the Eastern Shore, and later in suburban Washington. After a year in South Carolina, I moved to Georgia in 1977. I soon met another park ranger who worked in Florida. She was a wonderful woman who became my best friend. then my wife, and soon the mother of our three children. I spent over eleven years working in the historic city of Savannah, Georgia, and on the moss-draped sea islands nearby before moving to Atlanta.. In 2007, I retired from the National Park Service and a career dedicated to preserving and interpreting resources and themes in the cultural and natural history of the United States. It was a most rewarding experience. Today, I enjoy living in the rolling hills and woods of the Appalachian Piedmont east of Atlanta.
John Steinbeck had a long and varied career as an American writer but was best known for his Great Depression era novel, The Grapes of Wrath. I know the film and story line very well, but must confess that I never read the book from cover to cover. In high school, Of Mice and Men was required reading, and I found great pleasure in reading Travels With Charley: In Search of America on my own shortly after its publication in 1962.
Steinbeck, who was born in Salinas, California, on this day in 1902, was a keen participant-observer of 20th century America in general and the California experience in particular. His work earned him a Nobel Prize for Literature in 1962. These days, I don't think students - and teachers - of American history and culture give him the credit and attention he deserves.
My copy from 1962
If you don't know Steinbeck or want to know more about him and his world start with an electronic visit to the National Steinbeck Center in Salinas. Better yet, plan a visit next time you find yourself in the San Francisco area. From Salinas it's a short drive to Monterey Bay and the world-class Monterey Bay Aquarium. Located on a site made famous in Steinbeck's novel,Cannery Row, it's a "must see" exposure to the coastal environment and marine biology the author revered, enjoyed, studied, and interpreted.
Cannery Row, Monterey, California, 1945
Sources:
Photos and Illustrations: Steinbeck portrait, Nobel Foundation
Today is the birthday of the American singer, Marian Anderson. When she passed away in 1993 at the age of 96 the world lost one of its finest voices of the 20th century. She swept to international fame in 1939 with a public performance at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington.
The Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) had denied her the opportunity to perform in their venue, Constitution Hall, because she was black. The decision didn't sit well with First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt who sat on the national board of directors of the DAR. Mrs.Roosevelt intervened and helped arrange one of the iconic events of our time.
Portrait of Marian Anderson, 1940
Here is a documentary, Portrait of Marian Anderson, produced for the Greater Washington Telecommunications Association and first aired on public television on May 8, 1991. I normally don't post lengthy audiovisuals but this one affords viewers a flexible opportunity to learn about her life, listen to her singing, and hear her personal observations on an extraordinary life that included seven decades on the stage.
Sources
Photos and Illustrations: 1939 concert, public domain photo by U.S. Information Agency, National Archives and Records Administration, Washington, D.C. Anderson portrait, Carl Van Vechten Collection, Library of Congress
Today marks the 106th birthday of Grand Canyon National Park. I first saw it in 1970 on a cross country trip that introduced me to several National Park Service sites. That was long before any indication that the agency would become my career and its mission a life long pursuit. The Canyon is far removed from my early park experiences in the reaches of the Potomac River Valley from Shenandoah to Gettysburg and east to the Mall in Washington. In addition, all of my career assignments were well east of the Mississippi River. It may seem odd but, outside of them, I spent more time - almost one yrar - on temporary duty and vacation at the Canyon than any other place during my career. That makes the sight, touch, taste, smell, and sound of Grand Canyon very special.
Hermit Rapids on the Colorado River, Grand Canyon National Park, 1974
Although the scenic drives, visitor centers, museums, and accommodations are outstanding, the park is really an outdoor, immersive experience. And it's unfortunate that far too few visitors choose the immersion. Thankfully I spent most of my time there when such an orientation was commonplace. Like most people my age, I was ready because Mom sent me out the door after a summer lunch and didn't expect to see me until the street lights came on. Lots of time for adventure then and now. At the Canyon I ran untold miles on trails through the Ponderosa Pine forests along the South Rim. On many occasions I went over the rim into the Inner Canyon on trails named Grandview, Kaibab, Bright Angel, Hermit, Dripping Springs, and Tonto. Each was its own experience as was the day I climbed 5200 feet out of an 80 degree summer into a blizzard and two feet of snow at the South Rim.
Grand Canyon National Park Poster, 1938
The Grand Canyon wasn't well known to most Americans until around 1900 and the completion of an Acheson, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad link to the South Rim. There had been interest in making it a national park as early as 1882 but the first protection afforded the canyon came in 1906 with its proclamation by President Theodore Roosevelt as a game preserve and later in 1908 as a national monument. With the conservation movement in full swing across the nation, Congress finally passed the Grand Canyon National Park Act. It was signed into law by President Woodrow Wilson on February 26, 1919.
El Tovar, the AT&SF hotel, Grand Canyon, early 1900s
In the century following its national park designation, Grand Canyon has witnessed millions of visitors. The park wears its World Heritage Site designation proudly with its multi-faceted display of nature and culture. It does so even when less than one percent of visitors - around 45,000 in 2020 - actually leave its rims to explore the Inner Canyon. Today, the computer and its games, the focus on the automobile as transportation, an aging population, and other demographic and cultural variables may take a bigger toll on an already dismal number. For most of my life I've enjoyed the adventure, walking the beaches and trails end to end on Georgia's Cumberland Island National Seashore and almost every mile of the C&O Canal National Historical Park's 184 mile long towpath across Maryland and the District of Columbia. That's not to mention the hundreds of miles "in the traces" in parks from the Mississippi River southeast to the U.S. Virgin Islands. All in a day's work then. Today? No question there is less walking in my retirement but I can still recall the wonder-filled experiences on the traces in one of the grandest places in the world. It's even more enjoyable to do so on a very special day that very likely made all those experiences possible.
Post-hike at Hermit Rest trailhead. Old Tybee Ranger kneeling, right.
If the Grand Canyon is on your bucket list, be sure to visit. If you've been there many times, go again. Either way, go over the rim. Go into the Canyon. Be the beauty and mystery of this sacred place.
Sources
Photos and Illustrations: National Park Service Library of Congress Personal photo
Text: wikipedia.org. National Park Service National Park Service
We had a federal holiday a few days ago commemorating Washington's birthday but it was simply another one of those government manipulations to provide us with three-day weekends. Washington was actually born on February 22, 1732. Perhaps a few days don't matter much in a nation that has lost its appreciation for history and reality over the past decades. Still there are some personalities and events worthy of authentic remembrance. George Washington, fondly recalled as the Father of His Country, is one of them. Here is what Scott Johnson (Powerline) has to say about the subject:
Of all the great men of the revolutionary era to whom we owe our freedom, Washington's greatness was the rarest and most needed. At this remove in time it is also the hardest to comprehend.
Today as we contend with the contemporary equivalent of "the Babylonish empire," let us send up our thanks to the Ancient of Days for this indispensable man.
In 1747, when Washington was 15 years old, he accompanied his friend, George William Fairfax, on a surveying expedition to the Virginia - now West Virginia - frontier and the headwaters of Patterson Creek, a tributary of the South Branch of the Potomac River. I got to know well over a thousand feet of Patterson Creek intimately over the span of a quarter century. The creek was a great source of recreation, leisure, study and contemplation. It was a powerful force in shaping my future. I learned of Washington's trip there long after I'd left the place but I still think about what it would have been like sitting on the creek bank in 1960 and suddenly seeing a teenage boy and his companions in colonial dress come slogging around the bend about 50 yeards downriver. That small stretch of Patterson Creek is a sacred place and although I havent sat on its bank or skipped stones across its quiet pools for fifty years this landscape I remember still speaks to me about our imaginary conversation. I'm quite sure that young Washington would have no expectation of becoming in the words of his eulogy delivered by Henry Lee, "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his contrymen."
In my experience every sacred place opens dimensions and portals as time exposes layers of its past. Listen carefully next time you stand alone immersed in the experience of your sacred place. There you recall your personal stories. Add imagination and who knows what you may encounter on the banks and bends of your river through time.
Sources
Illustrations: Stuart portrait, a copy known as the Lansdowne Portrait, hangs in the White House. The original is located in the National Portrait Gallery, Washington, D.C. Postcards are from the author's archive.
It really is enjoyable to commemorate the passage of the Blaine Act which took place on this day 92 years ago. This brief piece of legislation began a year-long process that ended the debacle we know as Prohibition. Granted, overindulgence in alcohol was a national issue by the Gilded Age. At the same time, I doubt few progressive liberals would have expected the degree of lawlessness that engulfed American society as a result of their best intentions. Indeed, a year before the Blaine Act, John D. Rockefeller wrote this appraisal:
When Prohibition was introduced, I hoped that it would be widely supported by public opinion and the day would soon come when the evil effects of alcohol would be recognized. I have slowly and reluctantly come to believe that this has not been the result. Instead, drinking has generally increased; the speakeasy has replaced the saloon; a vast army of lawbreakers has appeared; many of our best citizens have openly ignored Prohibition; respect for the law has been greatly lessened; and crime has increased to a level never seen before.
And here's a photo of The Honorable John J. Blaine, U.S. Senator from Wisconsin, who was responsible for not only writing the act bearing his name but also the 21st Amendment that officially repealed Prohibition.
I would suggest a toast this evening to Blaine and his realistic response to moral folly. Oh that we should have such wisdom today!
Sources
Photos and Ilustrations: The New York Times, rarenewspapers.com Blaine, public domain photo, bioguide.congress.cov
Text: Rockefeller quote, "Twenty-first amendment to the United States Constitution," wikipedia.com
Regardless of what you may hear on the street today's holiday commemorates Washington's birthday. As the official federal government page states,
This holiday is designated as "Washington’s Birthday" in section 6103(a) of title 5 of the United States Code, which is the law that specifies holidays for Federal employees. Though other institutions such as state and local governments and private businesses may use other names, it is our policy to always refer to holidays by the names designated in the law.
At one time the nation had a Washington's Birthday holiday on February 22, the actual day of the man's birth, but that changed in 1971 when the "Monday holiday rule" took effect. The rule was a postlude to a torturous twent year saga of federal bickering, ineptitude, and state's rights issues over the national failure to honor our presidents, especially Abraham Lincoln, with their very own holiday. The fallout left us with what is in reality a Washington's Unbirthday holiday and a three-day weekend. Honest Abe didn't make the official cut.
That said, American capitalists, never keen to let a good shopping opportunity pass, liked the idea of a President's Day, especially one that could be stretched over a full week . They saw the advantage of the patriotic fervor generated by matching silhouettes of Lincoln - log cabins - and Washington - axes and cherries - positioned over merchandise and big red signs reading "SALE." The concept caught on. Today, about all Americans have left with the third Monday in February is the opportunity to buy stuff, mostly stuff they don't need. On the federal level, this not only leaves us with nothing for Old Abe but also nothing for the other presidents save George and his big unbirthday.
So what is one to do?
Perhaps it's best to forget the issues of a misnomer and the neglected presidents and return to Lincoln and Washington as our February presidents. And they have more in common as presidents who share the quality of American exceptionalism, a term we've been hearing more often these days as the republic drifts ever deeper into its golden years.
I elected some years ago to honor these gentlemen on their respective birthdays and celebrate this Monday federal holiday with an Old Fashioned and the pop and crack of a perfect fire. In time my conversations with the faces in the fire will help me organize a tribute post to George Washington that will appear on his birthday, February 22. We owe it to this statesman who postponed a well-earned retirement to become our first chief executive and shaper of what became known as the Office of the President of the United States.
Sources Text: federal holiday quote, opm.gov/policy-data-oversight
Aside from the Christmas freeze and an exceptionally cold January it has so far been a rather typical winter in north Georgia. The coming weeks looks promising as higher temperatures should reach above normal by month's end, a certain fulfilment of the promise of spring. It is after all that time of year when cool mornings give way to pleasant afternoons and sitting on the patio in the warming sun. Some early spring flowers are already in bloom along with a few optimistic redbud trees. Even casual observation of the woods reveals first hints of color from sap rising into the young branches. But not all of the activity is at ground level. It's time to look up, way up, for the magnificent Sandhill cranes.
Although year round resident populations of Sandhills continue to increase in Georgia for those who feel the urge it's time for birds in the Southeast to begin their journey. Reports from watchers all over north Georgia confirm that that the great migration is indeed underway. For the next month of so over Atlanta, flocks ranging from a few dozen to as many as several hundred push north and northwest on their journey to summer habitats in the western Great Lakes and central Canada. They are a pleasure to watch with their shapely "v" and wide arc formations as well as their "kettling" in uplifts prior to departure.
In our woodland setting I always hear their distant croaking - "ka-roo, ka-roo, ka-roo" - that leaves me hoping they fly over my clearing. Most of the time they do because they fly high, sometimes into the thousands of feet. At those altitudes it's hard to imagine that you are looking at a bird that may stand four feet tall and soar on a seven foot wing span. Several hundred-thousand will migrate from their wintering ground in Florida and Georgia. Far larger numbers will migrate north from Mexico across the Great Plains for their their summer home in Canada, Coming or going, they always bring a smile to my face and leave me looking up for more.
For your Valentine's Day 2024 I offer three love songs by The Bard of Scotland, Robert Burns.
Green Grow The Rashes, O
There's nought but care on ev'ry han', In every hour that passes, O What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O Green grow the rashes, O The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent among the lasses, O
The warl'y race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow the rashes, O Green grow the rashes, O The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent among the lasses, O
But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, My arms about my dearie, O, An' warl'y cares an' war'ly men May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
Green grow the rashes, O Green grow the rashes, O The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent among the lasses, O
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this Ye're nought but senseless asses, O The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O Green grow the rashes, O The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent among the lasses, O
Auld Nature swears the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O Her prentice han' she try'd on man, An' then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O Green grow the rashes, O The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent among the lasses, O
Ae Fond Kiss
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, and then forever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; Dark despair around benights me.
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy; But to see her was to love her; Love but her, and love forever. Had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met—or never parted— We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace. enjoyment, love, and pleasure! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, forever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!
A Red, Red Rose
O my Luve is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun; I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve! And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my luve, Though it were ten thousand mile.
Happy Valentine's Day 2025
Sources
Photos and Illustrations: postcards from family archives
George Ruth wasn't much of a scholar at Baltimore's St. Mary's Industrial School for Boys but he excelled at baseball, the primary sport used by the Xavarian Brothers to bring structure and discipline to their 800 boys. He was born in Pigtown, one of Baltimore's many rough and tough neighborhoods near it's famous harbor. After seven years struggling to maintain their working-class family his parents assigned custody of their son to St. Mary's. He entered when he was seven years old and stayed there for twelve years. A few months after his nineteenth birthday in 1914 he signed a professional baseball contract to play with the Baltimore Orioles. He was the newest "babe" to join the team and would go on to become a legend during his major league career (1914-1935) with the Boston Red Sox, the New York Yankees, and the Boston Braves.
Babe Ruth (top row, center) at St. Mary's School in 1913
Today marks the 130th anniversary of the birth of Babe Ruth, the "Bambino," the "Sultan of Swat," arguably the greatest baseball player ever.
Readers undoubtedly will hear something about groundhogs today. They are less likely to learn that February 2 marks a Christian festival day. It is known in the western Catholic tradition as theFeast of the Presentation of the Lord, the Feast of the Purification of the Virgin orCandlemas, and more often in the Protestant world simply as the Presentation of Our Lord.
The Presentation at the Temple Menologion of Basil II, ca 1000 CE
The festival marks the fortieth day following the birth of Jesus. Under Mosaic law it was a day for temple rites completing the purification of a woman following childbirth. It was also the day to present the firstborn son for redemption in the rite of pidyon haben.
The Candlemas tradition emerges from Luke 2:22-39 where Simeon prays over Jesus with words that would become known as the Song of Simeon or Nunc Dimittis:
Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace according to thy word. For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; To be a light to lighten the Gentiles and to be the glory of thy people Israel.
Book of Common Prayer, 1662
Beginning around the third century following the birth of Jesus, the blessing of candles and their procession about the church on this feast day became a symbol of Jesus as the light of the world. The practice emerged in the western church around 1000 CE.
This day is a Christmas feast day marking the end of the traditional Christmas Cycle in the Catholic calendar. It is also the mid-point between the winter solstice and spring equinox, a cross-quarter day filled with pagan traditions symbolizing fire and the "return of the light." In our house the last Christmas decorations have been removed and stored for another year. Our fireplace seems naked without its trimmings of red, green, gold, silver and glass. But the fire therein brings light and warmth, both spiritual and physical, as this joyous season comes to a close.
Down with the rosemary, and so
Down with the bays and mistletoe;
Down with the holly, ivy, all,
Wherewith ye dressed the Christmas Hall.
Sources
Text: Candlemas, Book of Common Prayer, wikipedia.com poem fragment, Ceremony Upon Candlemas Eve, Robert Herrick (1591-1674)
Photos and Illustrations: public domain, original manuscript in Vatican Library
