Wissahickon Diary -- Dispatches from Philadelphia's Wissahickon Valley

Happy Holidays!

2008-12-23T09:58:00.001-05:00

May the coming year be filled with peace and hope for all of us.

Wissahickon Diary will resume in mid January.

Cheers

2008-11-30T20:14:00.004-05:00

Apropos of nothing, other than this last day of November, 2008, has been a particularly sodden and lonely one, when there is so much uncertainly in the world and too many examples of man's inhumanity to man, and that I wanted to recall better times and company, here's a picture of my old friend Cormac Clancy and me having a pint in a pub outside of Dublin in December of 2001, the occasion being an impulsive decision by Donna and me to hop a flight to Ireland to celebrate my 40th birthday. (Cormac is the good looking one.)

The decision to make the trip had been rash, considering that the attacks of September 11 and the attendant fears of travel abroad that followed, still hung over everything. Looking back of course, no regrets. A wonderful time we'll remember the rest of our lives.

In a few weeks from now we will make this trip again. We won't be celebrating my birthday this time (it will have passed), but Donna's daughter and father, who will accompany us along with Donna's son and mother, will see in their twentieth and seventy-third years while we are there. Certainly, occasions they will always remember.

And we will all see in a new year. Here's to hoping it will be a good one, not only for us, but for you and yours as well, and the rest of the world, too.

CHillie afternoon

2008-11-20T20:40:00.000-05:00

That's CHillie. She hangs out on the northeast corner of Germantown and Southampton in Chestnut Hill. She is truly a Renaissance bear. Not only is she a work of art...

but also a cool and funky map of Chestnut Hill and environs (or perhaps I should say imaginations). And a bench!

She is the creation of artist Rebecca McKillip Thornburgh, and you can read (and see) all about how she came to be on Rebecca's blog.

Sarah can't hurt this one

2008-11-18T21:04:00.002-05:00

Window display, Robertson's Flowers, Chestnut Hill, Sunday afternoon.

Bear with me...

2008-11-17T19:12:00.001-05:00

That's Gus, according to a plaque in the sidewalk, standing in front of the Melting Pot restaurant, near the intersection of Germantown and Southampton Avenues, in Chestnut Hill. I like to think of him as the ambassador of fondue.

Bear with me. This is the beginning of a theme...

Der himmel über Chesnut Hill

2008-11-16T16:32:00.008-05:00

Intersection of Germantown Avenue and Bethlehem Pike, Sunday afternoon.

Yesterday (Saturday, November 15) felt freakishly like summer. The temperature soared into the seventies, and the humidity was as oppressive as any day in August. To top it off, the National Weather Service issued a tornado warning for the area into the evening. I stepped out onto my front porch toward the middle of the afternoon to see my neighbor across the street, in shirt sleeves, struggling to set up his Christmas display.

Throughout the night, wind and lashing rain marked the onset of a cold front. This afternoon the temperature was nearly thirty degrees cooler than yesterday, with enough left over wind to drive the cold right through you. The sky had that classic late autumn look, thick gray clouds piled under bright blue. I pulled down the ear flaps on my cap when I went out. The holiday decorations in store windows and lampposts on my trip to Chestnut Hill seemed entirely appropriate.

Wait, wait... don't read this!

2008-11-14T18:36:00.004-05:00

Update: here she is!

Erin of, well, Erin fame, will become even more famous after Saturday when she appears as a contestant on NPR's Wait, Wait... Don't Tell Me!

I'm not going to say whether or not she wins... Okay, I am. She wins.

If you don't believe me, call her at (123) 555-9876, and hear Carl Kasell's voice on her answering machine. I swear this is true. Except for the phone number, which I made up.

Full circle

2008-11-13T20:58:00.008-05:00

Fall,
summer

spring,
and winter.

Tulip poplars, in the grove down from Park Line Drive.

Red

2008-11-12T19:15:00.002-05:00

Donna's favorite tree, my backyard, Sunday afternoon. (And she took this photo, too.)

Hint: if your really want to see the tree, enlarge the image by clicking on it, and check out the reflection in the window.

Gold

2008-11-11T19:04:00.001-05:00

Maple leaf, Sunday afternoon, in the grove below Park Line Drive.

Donna and I were headed down into the Wissahickon to take photographs of the giant tulip poplars.

Purple

2008-11-10T18:59:00.002-05:00

Purple berries, a neighbor's yard, Sunday afternoon.

I have no idea what these fellas are, but they sure are pretty. If you do, please let us know.

Kinda like the week after Christmas

2008-11-09T16:47:00.004-05:00

Nearly a week has passed since the election, but the yards here in Germantown and Mt. Airy are still displaying their Obama signs. We Democrats haven't won an election in quite some time, and I suppose we don't know how to handle it. Of course, this is unlike any election any of us have ever seen, given that so much is at stake. Also, the man we have elected seems extraordinarily qualified to handle the task.

To be sure, the times ahead will be long and hard, and if we are to get through them, we will have to all pitch in, a theme Mr. Obama has struck throughout his campaign.

But for now, it feels like the days after Christmas, when nobody wants to be the first to take down his Christmas tree, hoping to hold on to all those good feelings, and to stave off thoughts of all of the work that lies ahead in the year to come.

So proud

2008-11-04T23:43:00.002-05:00

Wissahickon in Autumn

2008-11-04T06:51:00.002-05:00

Wissahickon Creek, from Rex Avenue Bridge, Saturday afternoon.

Rex Avenue Bridge

2008-11-02T19:25:00.001-05:00

My bike has been begging to be included on the blog, so I've finally given in.

Thomas Mill Covered Bridge

2008-11-02T11:55:00.005-05:00

Saturday afternoon.

Parsons

2008-10-29T22:36:00.006-04:00

Parsons, late 1984 or early 1985.

This is a re-post from a previous blog of mine. It occurred to me to do this after receiving an email from Brendan Lynch, the author of Parsons Bookshop: At the Heart of Bohemian Dublin, 1949-1989. Mr. Lynch had read my piece after a friend of his had shown it to him. I highly recommend his wonderful book to anyone interested in the Dublin literary scene of that era.

I know where and when I bought Flann O'Brien's At Swim-Two-Birds because for some reason I decided to inscribe the first blank page in the book:

Purchased from the old ladies at Parsons bookstore, where the bridge crosses the canal at Baggot Street, Dublin, 15 April 1983.

I have no idea what inspired me to write those words. To my recollection, I have not inscribed a book before or since.

When I read it now, "old ladies" strikes me as demeaning. I'm sure I didn't mean to be callous. I probably thought that the white-haired, soft-spoken women who ran the shop were quaint. At twenty-one, I often viewed people and situations, especially in Ireland, as subjects for my amusement. What I didn't know then was that these remarkable women -- Mary King, May O’Flaherty, and their assistants -- had actually known Flan O'Brien (real name Brian O'Nolan), and that he and one of my other literary heroes, Patrick Kavanagh, had been regular visitors to the shop during the heights of their careers in the 1950s and 60s.

I certainly did know of the significance of Parsons bookstore, and the role that its proprietors played in Irish literary history, when I returned to Dublin in late 1984. I had a small flat on Herbert Place, just down the canal from the shop, and I would drop by every morning. I liked the idea that I was walking the same ground as O'Nolan, Kavanagh, and other famous writers like Brendan Behan, and exchanging pleasantries with their old friends.

But if the women ever thought of me at all, it would only have been as the shy American who came in every morning and bought a copy of the Irish Times and a Cadbury bar. In the six months that I visited their shop, I never engaged them in any meaningful conversation. “Good morning,” “Thank you,” and comments about the weather were as far as I got.

I don't know why I didn't ask them about the old days, or divulge my passion for the work of Kavanagh and O'Nolan. I suppose that I had some silly notion that my dignity would be compromised, that I would appear to them like a typical American tourist. What a shame. They were gracious and kind, and likely would have given me anecdotes that don't exist in any of the biographies. Who knows, I might have learned something interesting or important I could share here. But that opportunity is long gone. So is Parsons, and so are those venerable women.

I learned of Mary King's death on June 25, 1995 -- ten years later and three thousand miles away from Parsons. I was in another bookstore, the Borders in the Chestnut Hill neighborhood of Philadelphia, near where I now live. I must have been feeling nostalgic for my time in Dublin, and purchased a copy of the Irish Times. Her death notice was the first thing I saw when I turned the front page. It read in part:

Queen of books dies aged 83
A landmark of Dublin's literary world has passed away with the sudden death of Mary King. Aged 83 she ran Parsons book shop in the city for 38 years and her knowledge of books was unsurpassed.

I clipped the notice out of the paper and it has been stuck inside my copy of At Swim-Two-Birds ever since.

Sunset, Walnut Lane Bridge

2008-10-28T06:35:00.001-04:00

A few weeks age, before the tulip poplar's leaves began to change.

Osage orange

2008-10-26T19:28:00.004-04:00

We used to come down Germantown Avenue from the PA Turnpike to get into the city twenty-eight years ago when I was a Freshman at Temple University. Around where we crossed the line from Montgomery County into the city limits, we would see Osage oranges strewn along the sides of the road. A connection between the life I was leaving, and the new life I was going to.

Osage oranges grew along the banks of the Davidsburg Run where it ran through the lower meadow of our farm when I was growing up. As kids, my cousin Steve and I would drop them into the water and race them down the current, a competition to see whose would be the first to bob under the fence into the neighbor's field.

Today Donna and I rode our bikes up Andorra Road, near where I used to see the Osage oranges years ago, and found this specimen.

Happy Birthday Abe!

2008-10-25T08:49:00.002-04:00

Korean mums off the front porch.

I don't usually post on weekends, but then I found out that it's Abe Lincoln's birthday.

Happy Birthday Abe!

Jack's p.o.v.

2008-10-23T19:13:00.001-04:00

Have a great weekend, whatever your perspective happens to be.

Pumpkin Pickin'

2008-10-22T19:54:00.005-04:00

Pumpkin Pickin', not unlike Festivus, is a made up holiday created in answer to the over commercialization of a traditional holiday -- in this case, Halloween.

Donna, my girlfriend, came up with the concept twenty years ago, or so, and it goes like this:

You get a bunch of your friends together (especially, but not necessarily, if they have kids). For the last five years, we've gathered in a cabin in an undisclosed location in northern Bucks County.
As a gang, you descend on a local and sincere pumpkin patch to search for the most jack-o-lantern-worthy pumpkins.
As a gang, you return to the undisclosed location and create your masterpieces on the front porch, which requires the use of various and sundry implements of destruction, and the accumulation of mounds of pumpkin guts. When they are finished, you line them up on the porch railing.
Then you bring your friends inside and give them liberal amounts of food and libation.
After dark, they all get lit. (The pumpkins, that is.)

A very sincere pumpkin patch

2008-10-20T20:06:00.002-04:00

Saturday afternoon.

Bad pumpkin!

2008-10-19T15:21:00.003-04:00

Pumpkin Pickin', Saturday afternoon.

Halyomorpha Halys

2008-10-14T19:33:00.006-04:00

That's Halyomorpha Halys. Or the brown marmorated stink bug, to you and me.

Until 1996, they were not native to Pennsylvania -- or the United States, for that matter. Somehow they sneaked in.

If you live in an old house in my neck of the woods, with woods being meant more or less literally, you most likely have run into these fellows. They tend to show up in droves as the weather gets cooler, seeking out warm places to hibernate until spring arrives.

The unnerving sound of their erratic flight, a sudden buzzing that almost always ends with an abrupt thwack, is as common as the sight of them. They don't so much land as crash into things -- walls, furniture, you. Probably the reason one finds a lot of them dead.

Whether dead or alive, be cautious in handling them. Their name is well earned. When threatened (or squashed), or insulted, they emit a very disagreeable odor -- like rancid almonds, I have read. So far I have not experienced this first hand. Having been forewarned, I am careful.

Pick them up in a tissue and flush them down the toilet, is my advice. Rehabilitation -- to borrow from Woody Allen -- is out of the question.

Family portraits

2008-10-13T20:52:00.004-04:00

Tom, Dan, Colleen, October 2008.

December, 1995.

An earlier piece about Tom and Colleen.

Getting over the wall

2008-10-12T19:33:00.008-04:00

A very passionate and articulate young man (he's only four months older than I am) who wants to be our next president held a rally in a park in my neighborhood on Saturday morning. We got up early and stood in line for hours with thousands of our neighbors to hear him speak.

In the twenty minutes or so that he was at the microphone he spoke on many important issues of the day, first and foremost, of course, being the economy, but also education, health care, energy, and the environment. He also spoke eloquently on the role of personal responsibility, stressing that government alone could not solve the massive problems facing the country.

He spoke to us, not at us. The crowd, which was truly a cross section of the culture ethnically and racially, was one, with him the way crowds are with rock stars or evangelist preachers, interrupting his discourse with whoops and hollers, chants, enthusiastic applause. He is, after all, one of the most powerful speakers of our time.

Afterwards, thousands had to figure their way out of the park. A large contingent of us surged toward the edge of a field that looked like a promising exit onto the street. When we got there, we found we were at the top of a wall, maybe five feet above the sidewalk. Not a problem. An ad hoc system was established. Those over the wall first turned and helped the strangers following them. Smiling faces, arms reaching up, words of encouragement for the unsure. We all made it. Amazing what we Americans can do when we work together.

Barack Obama, Vernon park, Saturday morning.

Biff's new friend

2008-10-09T20:33:00.000-04:00

Biff and cat (name unknown), Sunday afternoon.

Tinged

2008-10-08T20:28:00.002-04:00

Wissahickon Valley from Walnut lane Bridge

Hawthorn

2008-10-08T03:11:00.001-04:00

Hawthorn berries, Johnson Street.

I love this time of year

2008-10-07T03:51:00.001-04:00

Near Blue Stone Bridge, Sunday afternoon.

Autumn flowers

2008-10-06T07:07:00.000-04:00

Blue Bell Hill, Saturday evening.

The neighbors

2008-10-05T09:51:00.010-04:00

Saturday evening, Johnson Street.

And all for a good cause

2008-09-28T19:43:00.003-04:00

So they gave out one of these medals to everyone who completed the first 75 miles of the MS150 City to Shore bike ride on Saturday, which included the two of us. (City to shore being from the suburbs of Philly to Ocean City New Jersey.) If it hadn't been for Donna, I probably wouldn't have done it this year.

That would have been a shame. It was a beautiful day for cycling, and the view of the ocean as we barreled into Ocean City was spectacular. An offshore storm had the waves rolling up to the size of mountains. The sky -- pardon the cliche -- was truly alabaster. Later we met up with old friends we'd unexpectedly met along the way, and bought Kohr Brother's frozen custard on the boardwalk.

And all for a good cause, research into Multiple Sclerosis. So many of the participants, and the hard working volunteers who supported them, know someone who is suffering from MS. The irony of being able to exult in physical activity on their behalf lurked over the day's activities.

Still tinkering

2008-09-25T08:57:00.004-04:00

Hi all. I'm still tinkering with the look and feel of Wissahickon Diary, as you may have noticed if you're a regular visitor. (And yes, I know it isn't working quite right in Internet Explorer. I'll try to fix that tonight.) With each iteration, I get more confident in going "under the hood" of the Blogger template and making changes to the HTML and CSS. Heck, I might even make this a monthly thing, ala Dooce, creating a new banner to refect the current season.

Anyway, I'm having fun. I'll start posting new photos soon.

An agreement

2008-09-21T21:17:00.007-04:00

So here’s the deal. She can stay where she is, in that inch or so of space between the cabinet and the wall. For my part, I won’t scrunch her up in a tissue and flush her down the toilet, though that would be so easy to do, given that the toilet is, after all, only three feet away. Nor will I trap her in a glass and throw her out the window to fend for herself in the wilderness of the backyard.

She, for her part, has to understand – and I don’t mean to give offense, I’m just telling it as it is – that the mere sight of her creeps me out. I don’t want to be rubbing elbows (my two to her eight) in the morning as I brush my teeth or do what little shaving it is that I do. She forgets this from time to time, but a rap or two of the tooth bush on the counter is sufficient to send her scurrying. When I’m not home, I don’t really care what she does. She can watch Oprah and Ellen, or surf the net. Or wait for other bugs to get caught in her web. She is not allowed into the homebrew, but so far this has not been a problem.

And finally this: I keep a messy bathroom; I know and don't need to be told. She is going to have to accept this without complaint.

Whales

2008-09-14T21:25:00.003-04:00

Whale mural, as seen from Market Street Bridge, Center City, Philadelphia.

Drexel Dragon

2008-09-11T03:12:00.000-04:00

Drexel University, Wednesday morning.

Heading in

2008-09-10T15:07:00.005-04:00

Drexel University, West Philadelphia, early Wednesday morning.

Heading in to work, that is; not the fountain.

Woke up same time I did

2008-09-09T02:57:00.002-04:00

Tom, Sunday afternoon.

Hannah baby was a honey of a girl

2008-09-07T19:48:00.000-04:00

From my bedroom, Sunday afternoon, after the nap.

Hurricane Hannah, or what little of her we got, gave us a windy and raining Saturday without too much fuss, and departed by Sunday leaving us with a splendid early autumn day.

By the way, this is Monday's post going up Sunday night. I'm tired of looking at the yellow caution tape.

Please be careful

2008-09-04T20:48:00.002-04:00

I will be working on Wissahickon Diary this weekend, revamping the design and some of the content. If you stop by, don't be alarmed if the site is down, or if it looks really funky.

Have a great weekend!

Unhappy plastic frog

2008-09-04T06:42:00.002-04:00

This makeshift birdbath is actually the bottom tray of a flower pot. The plastic frog was found buried deep in the ground while digging in the garden.

Honeysuckle

2008-09-03T03:00:00.000-04:00

Honeysuckle, front porch, Sunday evening.

Hard to get mad at honeysuckle. Its kind of of like the stray cat that'll do anything to win your affections. The flowers are not only pretty to look at, but what a sweet aroma it puts into the breeze on a late summer night.

Red wheel barrow, yes; chickens, no.

2008-09-02T01:03:00.002-04:00

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
-- William Carlos Williams

A bit blurry (as were we)

2008-09-01T08:50:00.003-04:00

Peppers on the grill, Sunday evening.

Morning personality

2008-08-29T07:11:00.003-04:00

These weeds (well, I didn't plant them) close their flowers at night. But in the morning they're up early to catch the first sunlight.

Front porch geraniums

2008-08-28T07:01:00.003-04:00

Geraniums, front porch, Tuesday evening.

In memory of my grandmother, I keep geraniums. They were her favorite (although she preferred the red ones), and I grow mine in one of her old planters

Backyard berries

2008-08-27T05:54:00.002-04:00

Late summer berries in the backyard.

The hummingbird was incensed that I would invade her domain and kept buzzing the back of my neck as I took this photo.

Number 10

2008-08-26T07:25:00.001-04:00

Mug Club members party, General Lafayette Inn, Saturday afternoon. The number 10 refers to the years I've been a member, not the number of beers I had that day.

Waiting for us to go away

2008-08-25T03:37:00.000-04:00

Near Donna's bird feeder, Ambler PA, Sunday morning.

Blue skies over Carpenters Woods

2008-08-22T06:43:00.003-04:00

Wishing you all blue skies, nothing but blue skies, this weekend. See you Monday.

Happy orange flower

2008-08-21T03:25:00.000-04:00

Summer is on the wane, but there are still plenty of blooms left, including this fellow.

Remnants

2008-08-20T04:01:00.000-04:00

Carpenters Woods, Saturday morning.

Season's end

2008-08-19T03:45:00.000-04:00

Carpenters Woods, Saturday morning.

Spider

2008-08-18T03:28:00.000-04:00

Carpenters Woods, Saturday morning.

Recharging the batteries

2008-08-13T18:18:00.003-04:00

Hi all. I need to take a short break for a few days, but I'll be back next week. See you then!

Bus stop

2008-08-12T03:14:00.000-04:00

Market Street bridge, Center City Philadelphia, Monday afternoon.

Yellow

2008-08-11T06:01:00.000-04:00

Marigold, Blue Bell Hill Traffic circle.

Red on red

2008-08-08T03:35:00.000-04:00

Salvia, Blue Bell Hill traffic circle.

'Tis the season

2008-08-07T03:32:00.001-04:00

Off the front porch, Saturday afternoon.

At the pond's edge

2008-08-06T04:09:00.000-04:00

Saylors Grove, Sunday morning.

Saylors Grove, August

2008-08-05T05:55:00.006-04:00

Saylors Grove, Sunday morning.

The last time I wrote about Saylors Grove and posted photos of it was back in February.

Bit of a change since then.

Figuring out the remote control

2008-08-04T03:58:00.001-04:00

Me, Saturday evening.

I've had my Nikon D40 for over a year now. It's a good camera for someone like me who doesn't know anything about photography, but I've decided to try to take it to the next level. Step one: learn how to use a tripod and a remote control.

A fun guy

2008-08-01T03:15:00.000-04:00

Monster mushroom, in the woods off of Park Side Avenue.

An idea of scale...

Have a great weekend! See you Monday.

In the thick of it

2008-07-31T03:50:00.000-04:00

Tulip poplars, in a deep grove off of Park Line Drive, Monday evening.

Back in April.

Back in January.

Lovin' the lavender

2008-07-30T03:52:00.000-04:00

Blue Bell Hill traffic circle, Monday evening.

Lavender is the popular flavor these days among bees in this neck of the woods. Of all the other flowers they had to choose from, they decided to crowd these blooms.

Burdock trinity

2008-07-29T03:54:00.000-04:00

Burdock, in the Wissahickon off of Park Line Drive, Monday evening.

(I better check my pants to make sure they didn't follow me home.)

Ambling toward Philadelphia

2008-07-28T06:15:00.002-04:00

Wissahickon creek, Montgomery County, north of Philadelphia.

Green Ribbon Trail

2008-07-25T05:55:00.003-04:00

Green Ribbon Trail, Ft. Washington, PA.

The Wissahickon Green Ribbon Trail is a nearly 20 mile long trail that starts in the City of Philadelphia at the confluence of the Wissahickon Creek and the Schuylkill River (at the Schuylkill River Trail in Manayunk) and ends in Upper Gwynedd Township in Montgomery County.
-- Montgomery County Trails

Happy trails to all of you. See you Monday.

Doldrums

2008-07-24T03:48:00.000-04:00

I don't know the wild flower, and I don't know the insect -- some sort of hornet or wasp, I suspect -- but here they are doing nature's work, on the perimeter of a field in Ft. Washington State Park, Sunday morning.

As I tap away here, around 8:00 on the evening of August 23, the sound of an approaching thunderstorm is rumbling up the alley between my house and the neighbor's. Given the frequency of the thunder, and the fact that it somehow seems deeper than usual, leads me to believe that it is going to be a real bugger of a storm. The tapping of rain has just begun...

By some almanacs today is the tipping point, statistically and meteorologically speaking, when the average high for the year hits its peak. It can only go down from here, and by late July to the first days of August, the average temperature will have dropped by a degree. Yes, I know that the hottest weather could still be in front of us, but for those of you who say that August is usually the hottest month, check the statistics. You are wrong.

I dislike the dead of summer to the same degree I dislike the dead of winter. Stagnation. Like a ship stuck in the doldrums. Yet if we are attentive, the signs that nature never really stalls are there. In just the last few days, cicada have added their clamor to the condensed heat of summer. While they sound like a kind of aural manifestation of the oppressive humidity, they are a sure sign of the seismic shift toward summer's end.

Not such a big storm after all. As I am finishing up, the storm is moving away. (Perhaps more are coming tonight.) If the weather folk are right, the heat wave that has been pressing down on Philadelphia for the better part of a week is about to be broken.

And here's the surest sign of all that autumn is on its way: L.L. Bean's Fall catalog has arrived in the mail.

Mather Mill

2008-07-23T03:51:00.001-04:00

Ft. Washington, or thereabouts, Sunday morning.

Said I could take his picture...

2008-07-22T04:01:00.001-04:00

Praying mantis, Ft. Washington State Park, Sunday morning.

Ft. Washington State Park, north of Philadelphia in Montgomery County, borders the Wissahickon Creek on both sides. I drove into the parking lot off of Bethlehem Pike Sunday morning to take some photos. This section of the park is essentially a large field of uncut grass, a wide swath cut around its perimeter serving as a trail. It is hot here now -- we're in the middle of a heat wave -- and the air was already heavy by mid morning.

The edges of the field were thick with vegetation, including wild raspberries, and Queen Anne's lace. I moved in to take a photo of the latter, and noticed a small face regarding me.

It's that regarding part that makes praying mantises so interesting. I believe they are unique among insects in that they have the ability to turn their heads, which they will do as you draw near. Very alien, and yet very human at the same time.

Wild raspberries

2008-07-21T05:58:00.004-04:00

Wild raspberries, Ft. Washington State Park, Sunday morning.

The 35¢ egg

2008-07-18T03:44:00.000-04:00

I spent $4.25 on a dozen eggs the other day. That works out to a little over 35¢ an egg. Yes, that's a lot to pay for eggs.

I paid so much for these eggs because they came from hens that were "pastured," meaning that they spent their days in pastures rather than chicken coops. (And please note that "pastured" is not the same as "free-range." Free-range means that the chickens are "offered" the opportunity to go outside of the coop via a trapdoor during certain periods of the day should they choose to do so. Given the intellectual capacity of a chicken, this is the same as offering them free cable.)

I decided that paying so much extra for eggs was worth it after reading this passage from Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma,

... [The American laying hen] spends her brief span of days piled together with a half-dozen other hens in a wire cage the floor of which four pages of this book could carpet wall to wall. Every natural instinct of this hen is thwarted, leading to a range of "vices" that can include cannibalizing her cage mates and rubbing her breast against the wire mesh until it is completely bald and bleeding...Pain? Suffering? Madness? The operative suspension of disbelief depends on the acceptance of more neutral descriptors, such as "vices" and "stereotypes" and "stress." But whatever you want to call what goes on in those cages, the 10 percent or so of hens that can't endure it and simply die is built into the cost of production. And when the output of the survivors begins to ebb, the hens will be "force-molted" -- starved of food and water and light for several days in order to stimulate a final bout of egg laying before their life's work is done.

Okay, please understand, I am not here to lecture you on the morality of buying eggs. The surest way to damn any cause you believe in is to become an extremest and start brow beating. I am saying that, along with other changes to my eating habits this year, I have also made this one. It is a personal choice.

It's not just altruism, however. These eggs taste really good. And given the varied diet the hens responsible for them enjoyed, and the lack of hormones and antibiotics, they are better for me too.

I'll shut up now, except to wish you all a great weekend.

Daffodils in July

2008-07-17T03:27:00.001-04:00

Daffodils, Historic RittenhouseTown, April evening.

Call it whimsy. Call it nostalgia. Call it not having a new photo ready for today.

Tough nut to crack

2008-07-16T03:29:00.000-04:00

I don't know what this fallen nut is. Not shellbark, not walnut, I'm pretty sure. Probably not edible. But boy, what a fragrance! Very spicy, a mixture of lime and evergreen. That doesn't begin to do it justice.

Der himmel über Chestnut Hill College

2008-07-15T03:50:00.000-04:00

With apologies to Wim Wenders, who I'm pretty sure doesn't read my blog anyway...

Chestnut Hill College, dusk, Saturday.

Wild flowers; guardrail

2008-07-14T04:00:00.000-04:00

Wild flowers, guardrail, Northwestern Avenue, Saturday, dusk.

Note to my blogging friends: I will be deep within the New Jersey wilderness (oxymoron intentional) the next few days. Please don't be offended if I don't post comments for a while.

She of the black eyes

2008-07-11T00:15:00.000-04:00

Black-eyed Susan, off the front porch, Thursday evening.

Happy Anniversary, Abe, to you and Patty! I'll be thinking about you Saturday.

And to all, have a great weekend!

Not the inner chamber of the ear

2008-07-10T06:08:00.005-04:00

Rather a hornet or bees nest (abandoned, thankfully!), in the rafters above one of my neighbor's kitchen, discovered during renovations...

...the size of a 30 gallon trashcan.

Thank you, Linda Jaymes, for those great photographs!

Beers of the Wissahickon

2008-07-09T03:17:00.001-04:00

I hope you will excuse a bit of shameless self promotion, but I am finally launching my new blog, Beers of the Wissahickon, which will showcase the local beer culture.

As I say in the introduction (and by the way, I just love quoting myself):

Residents of Chestnut Hill, Mt. Airy, Roxborough, Germantown and Manayunk have easy access to many of the world’s greatest achievements in brewing.

One of the places affording that easy access to great beer is Manayunk's Old Eagle Tavern, and it is the subject of the first article.

As you might know if you read yesterday's post on this blog, I support buying local. It's not only good for the local economy, but for the environment as well. So if you're from this area, please support your local brewery, brewpub, or tavern. And if you're not, let me know when you're in town, and I'll buy you a beer.

Having drunk the high-fructose corn syrup free Kool-Aid…

2008-07-08T01:15:00.000-04:00

Weavers Way Co-op, Sunday morning.

Friends would tell you that I don’t have casual interests. Whether it’s home brewing, bike riding, or running, I have to go at it full tilt or not at all. Friends, by the way, are not complimenting me. They find my passion fueled rants and raves on whatever the latest obsession happens to be somewhat trying. Which brings me to my latest obsession…

Food.

Well, not food per se. Rather, the getting of food that is healthy, that tastes good, that supports the local economy and especially farmers, that promotes bio-diversity, that doesn’t harm the environment through the use of petroleum derived fertilizers and pesticides, that doesn’t further harm the environment by being shipped half way around the world to cater to the desires of a spoiled consumer base that doesn’t see why it shouldn’t have raspberries in February, that doesn’t make kids fat, and that doesn’t treat animals inhumanely. And so I joined the local co-op.

Expect me to be writing a lot about this in the near future. After all, I consider you all to be my friends. Why shouldn’t you suffer too?

Endangered species?

2008-07-07T04:14:00.000-04:00

We need these guys. Seriously, we really do.

Celebrating the Fourth

2008-07-04T00:00:00.000-04:00

American flag, front porch, Blue Bell Hill

It seems to me that Americans, in principle a free people, have the right to celebrate or not celebrate the Fourth of July, and if they choose to do so, to celebrate in their own way and for their own reasons.

In a recent editorial in the Philadelphia Inquirer, Chris Satullo argues that America does not “deserve to celebrate its birthday” this year, citing violations of human rights, including torture and imprisonment without charges, which he correctly sees as a sad deviation from the principles set forth in the Declaration of Independence, namely “that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

But surely if we are to decide each year whether or not to celebrate the writing of these words based on how well we and our government have followed the principles they invoke, we would never have been able to hold a Fourth of July. For nearly a century after the Declaration of Independence was signed, people kept slaves. Women were denied many of the rights that men routinely held, and were not allowed to vote until 1920. And what of the horrendous treatment of Native Americans? And the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II? The list goes on.

Our government, like all governments, is not perfect. And I would agree that at present we are way off course. Yet I also believe that the values set forth in the Declaration of Independence are still there to correct that course. As values -- as ideals -- they will always remain a force that drives us forward; but as values and ideals, they can never be fully attained.

Abraham Lincoln, perhaps this country’s greatest defender of the Declaration of Independence, understood its tremendous importance in steering the destiny of the nation. That is why he invoked it in the Gettysburg Address as he struggled to help the American people make sense of the horrific loss of life during the Civil War. Adherence to the principle that “all men are created equal” brought us to that war, and the guiding principle of “government of the people, by the people, for the people” helped to bring us back together afterward.

In his article, Satullo chides not just the government for violations of human rights, but you and me as well. That is fair. In a democracy we are all responsible for our country’s actions. But I am not sure that we are as indifferent to the problems and issues as he suggests. The greatest weapon in our arsenal against bad government is our right to vote. Seems we’ve been doing a lot of that lately. I, for one, take much pride in the active involvement of the students at the University where I work during the Pennsylvania primary. I also take much pride in the fact that we have an African American candidate for president this year, and that his main opponent during the primary season was a woman.

So I am going to celebrate the Fourth of July this year. I am going hang the American flag on my front porch. I am going to think about the values set forth in the Declaration of Independence, and of all of those who struggled and died to advance those values. I think it is proper and fitting to do so.

And now I’ll shut up, except to say to those of you who intend to celebrate the Fourth, happy holiday, and to everyone, have a great weekend.

Punched-hole cathedral

2008-07-03T04:23:00.001-04:00

Interior, Fingerspan, Wissahickon Valley.

The shape of a finger

2008-07-02T04:00:00.000-04:00

Fingerspan is secluded deep among the trees along the steep banks of the Wissahickon Gorge, just a short walk south from Livezey House, so that you tend to stumble upon it with surprise rather than seek it out as a destination. If you are in a hurry, you might think "What an odd little bridge," and keep on going. If you are in a more contemplative mood, you will stop in the middle of the span and admire the unique view of the Wissahickon through the punched-hole mesh. Then you might turn around and see the "knuckles" and the "nail" and realize that this is more than just a bridge.

When I think of a bridge, I think of a reaching, a touching, a connection. So I decided to use a finger, the shape of a finger, for the bridge.
-- Jody Pinto

A mini-documentary on artist Jody Pinto's inspiration, as well as footage of the installation of Fingerspan, can be found here: http://www.fpaa.org/child/Fingerspan-PeterRose.html.

Fingerspan

2008-07-01T05:48:00.003-04:00

Fingerspan, on the east side of the Wissahickon Valley, a short walk south of Glen Fern.

Red gorget

2008-06-30T04:08:00.000-04:00

Male hummingbird, front porch, June 2008. Photo courtesy of Donna.

Not with a bang (surely a good thing), but with a whimper

2008-06-27T06:00:00.000-04:00

And so our excellent adventure comes to an end, in a backyard of suburbia.

Have a great weekend!

Up, up, and away...

2008-06-26T04:06:00.001-04:00

Dude, there's my car!

High. Tension.

Hey! Hay!

Group shot.

Cows.

Chester County.

Say goodnight (even though it's morning)

2008-06-25T04:04:00.001-04:00

Gracie on Gracie: That's Gracie the dog, foreground; her namesake, Gracie the balloon, background.

Inside the belly of the beast

2008-06-24T05:30:00.007-04:00

Inside Gracie, balloon festival, Chester County, Saturday.

Hard to believe...

2008-06-23T04:00:00.000-04:00

Hard to believe that this...

coupled with this...

would equal one of these...

and convey us over the magnificent farmland of Chester county, affording views such as this, ...

but it did.

Back the creek (as the old timers used to say)

2008-06-20T04:00:00.000-04:00

The Wissahickon, near Glen Fern, Sunday afternoon, June 15.
Sorry -- couldn't resist a second photo.

Have a great weekend! See you Monday.

Livezey House (Glen Fern)

2008-06-19T04:04:00.002-04:00

Livezey House, Sunday afternoon, June 15, 2008.

Directly across the creek, on the east bank, are the ruined walls of the "Great" or Livezey Mill, built in 1717 by Thomas Shoemaker, and for a long time the largest grist mill in the colony. It was sold to Thomas Livezey October 10, 1749. Sometimes hid in its little glen, but usually visible from the drive, is the Livezey House, built in 1696, now the picturesque home of the Valley Green Canoe Club. The kitchen in this house is believed to date to 1683.
-- The Wissahickon Valley Within the City of Philadelphia, Francis Burke Brandt, 1927

Ruins of the Livezey Mill, Sunday afternoon.

Daylily

2008-06-18T04:07:00.000-04:00

Daylily, Glen Fern, Sunday afternoon..

Caught red headed

2008-06-17T04:15:00.001-04:00

So, did you ever have one of those Sunday afternoons where you're sitting on the front porch drinking a glass of wine and having a conversation with your girlfriend and after a while you begin to notice this persistent banging noise, except that you don't really notice it because you are after all drinking a glass of wine and having a conversation and there are all the other background noises you'd expect on a hot afternoon in more or less the middle of June like kids playing up and down the sidewalk and neighbors fiddling with their motor cycles in the alley, etc., except that this noise is really persistent so that finally you just have to ask "what the hell is that?" and you look over at the porch next to yours, which is generally a much cleaner, quieter and more civilized porch than yours, and you see this guy wreaking havoc and perpetrating all kinds of nasty property damage on your neighbor's nice white fence as if it is the most natural and appropriate thing in the whole wide world to do, which come to think of it, from his point of view, it is? Well I did.

Companions

2008-06-16T04:00:00.004-04:00

Spring house, giant sycamore, at Glen Fern (Livezey House).

The half of the big trees of the Wissahickon Hills are those that stand about the houses, or the sites of the houses, of the millers. All the houses are gone now save two, Glen Fern, the Livezey house; and the Monastery, built by the Gorgases and long lived in by the Kitchens. The Rittenhouse house, the home of the paper-makers, is still standing on Paper Mill Run, a tributary of the Wissahickon, and less than half a mile from the creek. Some of the mils on the creek, and their accompanying homes, were built as early as two hundred years ago. Some few of the trees that still stand are apparently as old as the houses they were left to shadow, or planted to shadow.
-- The Wissahickon Hills, Cornelius Weygandt, 1930

I don't know if this is one of the trees Professor Weygandt mentions in his book from 78 years ago, but isn't it nice to think so?

Wissahickon Class of 2008

2008-06-13T00:05:00.001-04:00

That's Erin. She won't stop crying.

I told her she had to stop crying so now she's laughing and crying at the same time. And rubbing her eye.

Much better! Erin and her mom.

Well done, Erin. I couldn't be more proud of you. And congratulations to the Class of 2008 from the Class of 1980! Let's hope we've left enough for you to work with.