West Towards Home with Roger Williams, Baron von Steuben, and Shake Shack

How cute is this parking lot bunny? One the one hand, I felt like I should scare it so that it didn't think that it was okay to just sit there in a parking lot, but on the other hand... look at its sweet little ears!!!!!!!

Also, here's the iced coffee bar I've been telling you about! I really wanted to take a better picture, but I also felt like an asshole whipping out my phone and taking a picture in the crowded bagel shop, so this sneaky pic will have to do. You can't see the lovely creamers and add-ins, but you CAN see all the nice varieties of coffees, yum...

And here's what it looks like when you've made your own delicious iced coffee just the way you like it and you've bought yourself a couple of bagels and you're ready to drive from Falmouth to Philadelphia!

I wasn't in a hurry on this day, so I thought that I would 1) avoid the toll roads, 2) avoid New York City entirely, and 3) see how many national park sites I could fit in. I'd really wanted to visit the Thomas Edison National Historical Site, but I hadn't realized how quickly the house tour tickets would sell out, and I didn't want to see it without the house tour, dang it.

Oh, well--there's always the Roger Williams National Memorial, with free parking and free admission!

Despite being super small, this national memorial site has officially radicalized me on the topic of Roger Williams. Why is he not WAY more famous?!? He was awesome!

For the rest of the day, whenever I had to stop for gas or at another national park site, I proceeded to blow up the family group chat with yet more Roger Williams factoids. 

Did you know that although he immigrated as a Puritan, he wasn't a religious extremist like most of the other Puritans? He believed in the separation of religious and civic matters, and that religious wrongs shouldn't be punished by civic action.

He named one of his children Freeborn!

He lived in Plymouth Colony for a while and even preached there, but he got pissed at them because they'd settled on Native American land without permission and also refused to pay the Native Americans any recompense for taking their land, so he left. 

He wouldn't shut up about civil rights and fair treatment of Native Americans, though, so eventually the entire Massachusetts Bay Colony exiled him, and he escaped the sheriff by fleeing on foot during a blizzard! The Wampanoags hid him in their own settlements until Spring.

Later that year, he acquired property by properly negotiating with and compensating the native peoples who it belonged to, and he founded Providence Plantations as the first European settlement on the continent in which church and state were strictly separated, and government was by majority rule. 

It was said by all that he and the native peoples of the surrounding lands respected each other and negotiated together when they wanted different things, and he also learned a bunch of their languages. 

Eventually he managed to unify all the nearby European colonies, and then the whole area became a sanctuary state for people persecuted by the Puritans. And that's how Rhode Island has the country's oldest synagogue!

I'm sorry to say that he was a little iffy about slavery, particularly when they were Native Americans captured during wars with other peoples, but he did try really hard to legislate against importing African slaves, and against slavery for life and passing down the status of slave to one's children... he was outvoted, though.

So imagine how fun it would be to be in my family group chat and get frantic texts of Roger Williams factoids All. Damn. Day. 

Oh, and Roger Williams memes!

Anyway, the park itself was actually pretty small, although it does contain a spring that used to mark the center of Providence Plantations... and this guy's grave, I guess:

So on we go to Weir Farm National Historic Site, a place that I fully admit that I knew nothing about other than that it was roughly on my route and had a passport stamp I could collect. 

I've come to realize that it's never any use to go to a place just for a passport stamp and a quick poke around, because I will then ALWAYS be like, "Ugh, I've got to come back for a proper visit!" 

Weir Farm didn't really feel like a place you could buzz through and see all the sites and move on with your life, although they do have house and studio tours, etc. Instead, it felt like a place that you needed to bring a picnic and some art supplies and a nice, long book to in order to really appreciate it:

In this instance, the visitor center and museum was the least of the experience!

I especially want to come back with my especially artsy younger kid and watch her be inspired. I don't know how you could walk around the grounds and NOT decide to set up your canvas and acrylics and start your en plein air masterpiece right away.

And while she paints, I will lounge nearby on a quilt in the grass, nibble on brie and sourdough French bread, and read a very long and very fascinating novel.

I don't know if it was specifically because I told Google Maps to keep me off the toll roads or because I told it keep me well away from New York City, but the rest of my journey after I pulled out of the Weir Farm parking lot was BONKERS. I'm not sure if I drove on a single highway? I am VERY sure that I drove on many, many, many residential streets! It was a bleak afternoon, chilly and rainy, and I spent it on the kind of slick, windy, hilly, rural roads that would have had me as carsick as a dog if I hadn't been in the driver's seat.

OMG it was charming, though. So freaking beautiful. I kept driving down into these absolutely magical valleys with little towns in them, and every single little town was smack in the middle of some kind of little fall festival, with hay bales and pumpkins and scarecrow decorations and people walking around in flannels or puffer vests. At one point, driving into the most magical valley yet, I noticed an especially large amount of flannel- and puffer vest-clad people congregating at the median, and as I drove past I saw that everyone was visiting a giant statue of the Headless Horseman chasing Ichabod Crane!

The worst part of a solo road trip is that when you're hours behind schedule and the road and the weather are poor and you're worried about driving windy, hilly roads after dark, you have to be your own bad guy and not let yourself take an hours-long detour to find a pay parking lot in a crowded autumn tourist town and fight the crowds to pay your respects to all the finest literary spots that Sleepy Hollow has to offer. 

I'll visit properly when I come back to picnic at Weir Farm and take my tour of Thomas Edison's house!

As it was, I didn't find my hotel outside of Philadelphia until well into the night, and I fell asleep pretty much immediately after barricading the door to my room and wolfing down a peanut butter sandwich and some kettle chips.

Even though the kid's college was just a few minutes away, she was busy the next day learning until lunchtime, so I went back on my own to Valley Forge, because even though I'd been there twice already within the last few weeks, I had not yet paid homage to my own favorite hero of the American Revolution:

Baron von Steuben was a wonder, you guys. He was more or less openly gay, which they were not at all cool with back in Europe, but in the military and political world of brand-new America, everyone was seemingly cool with it, alluding to his relationships calmly and cheerfully in letters and such. I imagine this is entirely because he was an absolute beast of a war machine, and simultaneously a teacher so skilled that he could teach advanced drills and maneuvers without a shared language between him and his students. 

Although the scholarship is clear, some scholars still currently speculate about von Steuben's sexuality, but I think that's only because in our contemporary society, we still don't have a clear understanding of how the queer experience was expressed and acknowledged and understood by historical societies. There was clearly some capacity for non-heterosexual expression--remember that exhibit in the New Bedford Whaling Museum:

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But he certainly had male partners in life, and that was pretty well acknowledged and accepted by his social and career circles, as it should have been. And I just think it's low of places like Valley Forge to use some scholars' dithering as their excuse to completely erase a part of von Steuben's complete life, a part that was clearly very important to him, just to avoid having to deal with some visitors being pissed about it. Von Steuben was a hero and we would have lost the Revolutionary War without him, and if you're going to pitch a fit about him being queer then you're not as patriotic as you think you are.

Anyway, this is my mental note to bring him a Pride flag when I'm back at Valley Forge again later this year.

I love that his statue overlooks the place where he turned a bunch of guys into a functional army:

It's been naturalized back into an authentic prairie, but you can walk around and visualize what it might have looked like 248 years ago:

Tangent, but my younger kid will graduate in the year of the 250th anniversary of the Valley Forge overwintering. I wonder if the site will do any cool anniversary stuff that I'll get to come back and see?

Time will tell, but for now, it's time to go meet my kid for lunch!

My older kid thinks she's too grown now to have me look over her rough drafts, but I've gotta tell you that nothing makes me happier than when someone hands me a hard copy of their essay and asks me to give them some constructive criticism.

As you can see, I'm always happy to comply!

I don't know if it's a natural knack, the fact that they're both avid readers and have always been, or my painstaking, astute, and thorough instruction, but both of my kids are excellent writers. One prefers, and seems naturally better at, non-fiction, and the other prefers, and seems naturally better at, fiction, but I tell you what, there is nothing so able to give you a boost in life (other than money and influence, sigh) as the ability to clearly and effectively communicate, and I am thankful beyond my ability to write it that both of my kids have that ability.

This particular excellent writer and I only had time for a flying visit, as the responsibilities of a college freshman are many and varied, but after her last afternoon class we were able to spend a few hours together just catching up and gossiping. I bought her some sorely needed clothes (somehow both of my kids are underpackers), we poked around a bookstore and a record store, and then she kindly took the lead when I got overstimulated in the Shake Shack:

I don't think I can do Shake Shack. My food had too many sauces, and my mushroom patty fell apart, and I used a shocking number of napkins. 

The next morning's self-assembled hotel breakfast was MUCH better:

Even though it was too short, this was the best visit, because I got to see that my daughters? Friends, I am thrilled to report to you that they thrive. There are ups and downs, of course, stressful encounters and new situations, a Greek class and an ocean weather class that are each harder than they seem, but all in all this seems like it's turning out to be a special, perfect semester in which each kid is in exactly the best place for her to be, doing fulfilling activities and having meaningful experiences, building relationships, having adventures, and otherwise just enjoying their lives. 

It's kind of funny, because ever since I've come home from that trip I feel almost like the opposite for myself, and I'm pretty sure I'm starting my long-anticipated mid-life crisis. And I wonder if my mind was just waiting to make sure that my daughters didn't need me for any of their crises before I could start my own?

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P.P.S. I just learned that there's a graphic novel biography of Baron von Steuben entitled Washington's Gay General! I just requested it from my public library!

I Read Dark Carnivals and I Still Think Jaws is a Family Movie

Halloween 2018

Dark Carnivals: Modern Horrors and the Origins of American Empire by W. Scott Poole
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I’m not sure how one could rewrite the title of this book to clarify that it’s not really about the history of the horror genre and how it reflects the American empire, but actually about the history of the American empire, explaining and illustrating some of the events via action, sci-fi, horror, and thriller movies that speak to the politics of the day.

But they need to, because I kind of feel snookered.

During some chapters, mind you, we get a little bit more of the former, and Poole’s claims in these chapters are liberally peppered with film mentions and analyses. A discussion of Poltergeist (remember their haunted house is built on a graveyard that was also supposedly built on an “ancient Indian burial ground”?) leads to a discussion of the history of European settlers’ long genocide of the Native American peoples, which leads to mentions of other movies that also use this “ancient Indian burial ground” trope. But even in this chapter, in which there are numerous horror movies that hint at that genocide, these mentions of Pet Sematary, The Amityville Horror, and The Shining really are just mentions, along the lines of “Here are some other movies with the same theme.” I wanted an analysis of each of these movies and how each speaks to this theme separately. What is the significance of the usage of an “ancient Indian burial ground” to now bury only pets? Or the significance of the undead from that burial ground becoming murderous against their guardians? Or in Amityville Horror, the significance of the conflation of demons with the ancient burial ground and the Catholic Church as another force that the horror must stop? Or how about the general opinion that the parents made up the entire original story to get out from under a mortgage they belatedly realized was WAY too big for their finances? Or what is the reasoning for why the Native American genocide had its climax so long ago and we’re only just horroring about it in the 70s and 80s, as well as what it means that these three were all books first?

Dunno, because we don’t get into any extensive semiotic analysis of any cultural artifact within the bounds of this book. The lens through which we’re meant to be studying American imperialism gets forgotten quite a bit in favor of simply laying out and opining on the history of American imperialism.

Throughout his book, Poole implies a dual responsibility that Americans have, in tune with these occasional films that metaphorically present a select atrocity that has been committed by their country. Poole asks, are the movies meant to pacify us Americans, desensitize us to the real horror around us, and we should watch them and be pacified, or are the movies meant to motivate us, to break us out of our shells of ennui, and we should watch them and then revolt?

cupcake sharks circa 2009

Poole illustrates this duality via continued reference to Jaws (which he claims pacifies and desensitizes us) and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (which he claims motivates us to revolt). I think it’s interesting that out of the two, Jaws is a “family” movie that I’ve watched with my kids several times since they were small, once even with an entire themed family dinner that included, among other delicacies, blue Jello studded with Swedish fish and cupcakes with half a Twinkie on top, arranged and frosted to look sort of maybe reminiscent of a shark breaking out of the water if you turned your head and squinted juuuust right. Texas Chainsaw Massacre, on the other hand, I watched exactly once, mostly through my fingers, and do not plan to ever so much as be in the same room with again, much less screen for even my now-adult daughters, much less with themed snack foods. Although I have SO many great ideas--meatloaf and smoked sausage-heavy, but still--about Texas Chainsaw Massacre-themed snack foods!

ocean Jello, complete with whipped cream waves and a graham cracker crumb beach!

I thought the strongest parts of Poole’s book were his discussion of wars and conquests that were so overtly American imperialist that even a child could make the connection, and the films that were made by the filmmakers influenced by those wars. A director (George A. Romero) and a special effects artist (Tom Savini) who brought their experiences explicitly into the visuals they created is strong stuff, and one of the few insights that will make me watch some of these films with new eyes. On a similar note, I was stoked when Poole started writing about The Serpent and the Rainbow, a movie that I watched by myself on the floor of my den WAY too many times as an unwholesomely unsupervised child, and which probably now explains a lot about me, ahem, but I didn’t get a ton more from the discussion than I got from watching the movie a dozen times at the age of 13. It’s racist and sexist, and its depictions of Haiti are fucked up. Also, tangent: that’s a good way to describe JD Vance!

One of the more annoying and obvious flaws in the book, at least to me who loves myself a good recommended list, is the absence of an index that lists the movies and where they’re discussed. You would not believe how long it took me to flip through the book--three times!--to find the Poltergeist discussion that I remembered. And if Poole ever got back to that discussion I’ll never know, because I’d have to re-read the book to find it. And God forbid that he at least included a list of all the cultural artifacts discussed in the book so we can watch them for ourselves. It would also let us see the titles like Independence Day and Fight Club that were included in the book even though they’re not horror titles.

On the whole, I did think that Poole’s thesis question of whether we’re meant to be pacified or inspired is significant and relevant, and it’s something that I’ll continue to think about when I watch horror. Instead of this comprehensive-ish history that offers references to films, though, I’d rather have had deeper discussions of fewer, select moments of American imperialism, with more extensive film references and analyses intertwined. Some of these imperialistic moments are clearly more ingrained in our collective consciousness than others, and I think that the movies that speak to those moments are saying much more than Poole was willing to tell us about here.

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Valley Forge to Hopewell Furnace

I used to drag my kids out to every national park site that had a Junior Ranger program, and now I drag myself out to every national park site that has a passport stamp for my book!

Okay, but iron making is randomly really interesting, though?

I honestly did just want to hit up the Hopewell Furnace National Historic Site only so I could collect its passport stamp, but also, one cannot simply collect one's passport stamp and leave--instead, one must do and see ALL THE THINGS. 

So we watched the intro film, looked at all the museum exhibits--

--and then walked the grounds and learned about iron making!

Hopewell Furnace is centrally located for all of your iron distribution needs.

Okay, so first you've got to make your own charcoal to fuel the forge, and just like in Stardew Valley, you make it by burning wood:

Then you cart it over to the storeroom--

--which is another short distance away from the top of the furnace where you dump it in:

It's super clever that the forge was built on a hillside, so that you could feed the fire at the top of the hill and collect the molten iron from the hearth at the bottom of the hill:

A giant water wheel powers pistons that force air into the furnace:

Obviously, I would have come to see this place solely for the water wheel!

Because of its rural location and the 12-hour shift length, the furnace site was essentially a company town, although the park information painted it as pretty idyllic, with competitive prices in the company store and a desegregated school. 

My partner poked around all the tenant buildings, but I only wanted to poke around the garden:

There wasn't a ranger around to ask if the residents had a particular need for dye and fiber plants, or if this was just a fun themed garden:

What do we think these orange flowers are? I want some!

This site was actually a lot more interesting than I thought it would be! I'm still surprised that they managed to walk me through iron making in a way that I could understand, and I can't believe that all their marketing materials don't just have photos of that giant water wheel.

AND their passport sticker sets were nearly a buck cheaper than the ones at Valley Forge just 25 miles away, grr. Hopewell Furnace National Historic Site is in the 1987 set!

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I Read the English Heritage Book of Glastonbury Because the Spirit of a Medieval Monk Told Me To

English Heritage Book of Glastonbury by Philip Rahtz
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I wish I had read this book before I went to England, not after, because not a single person bothered to tell me about poor Richard Whiting, the final abbot of Glastonbury Abbey. During the Dissolution he was dragged across town and then up Glastonbury Tor and hanged, and THEN he was quartered and his head was mounted over the gateway of the Abbey!

Apparently people thought he'd hidden treasure in the Abbey? But the thing is that later they literally DID find a ton of treasure in the walls, but poor elderly Abbot Whiting probably didn't have anything to do with it.

Fun facts like these kept me fascinated by this history of Glastonbury, and I enjoyed reading the history through the lens of the texts and archaeological evidence that vividly illustrate it. I really liked the Lady Chapel when I visited, for instance, and it was cool to read that this spot is also the location of St. Joseph's Well, which is likely pre-Normanic and possibly the very first thing ever built on this site. 

Lady Chapel crypt, but the part with St. Joseph's Well is out of frame because I didn't know it was important, damnit.

I wish I'd known that when I was standing next to it--I would have taken a photograph! It's a bummer that the on-site resources didn't tell me all this interesting info, so thank goodness for archaeologists who write books for English Heritage!

The literal illustrations are also excellent, and now I get to pine for my own print of the works of Judith Dobie, who apparently has the coolest-ever job of creating illustrations of historical England. I wish *I* knew how to watercolor Neolithic long barrows! 

Embed from Getty Images

My teenager, who's very into Arthurian legends, really wants Dobie's print of the exhumation of Arthur and Guinevere from this book--you can actually see in the illustration both the monk who picks up Guinevere's golden hair only to watch it disintegrate in his hands (doh!) AND the monk who finds the lead cross that super conveniently is inscribed something along the lines of "Here Lies the Definitely Very Real Not Fake King Arthur."

Even though Rahtz is very much NOT a fan of the Arthurian legends like these that surround the place, which is a bummer because I think the legends are the most fun and that's why I went to visit Glastonbury myself, he still devotes time to mentioning them and other woo theories, including some woo theories that I hadn't heard about! I know about King Arthur and ley lines and Joseph of Arimathea, etc., but I did not know that in the early 1900s a wealthy artist also decided that the entire Zodiac was recreated in the topology around Glastonbury. What Rahtz says about her is probably my favorite quote in the entire book:

When Mrs. Maltwood died, she left a considerable sum of money to further the understanding of her ideas. The Trust which administers this has taken the liberal view that understanding of the Zodiac will be achieved only by a wider understanding of the archaeology of Somerset; to this end many grants have been made to archaeologists in the area (including the present author), for which we must be thankful.

Lol!

This is rivaled by my second-favorite anecdote, that of the director of excavation in the early 1900s (what was with the early 1900s and its woo?!?), F. Bligh Bond, who decided that archaeology probably wasn't as good of a way to get at the truth as sacred geometry and automatic writing guided by spirits would be. I mean, of course! He effed up a BUNCH of stuff before the Church of England finally got wind of his shenanigans and fired him. Rahtz sums up his biography this way:

In 1926 he went to America, where he lectured on Glastonbury, and on his psychic techniques concerning the 'Company of Avalon.' He returned to England in 1936, and died, very much alone, in North Wales in 1945.

I did some more reading up on Bond because he sounds so weird, but nowhere else have I seen the fact that he died "very much alone." Like... Rahtz, you got a bone to pick with this guy? He's already dead--you don't have to keep punching him!

The book ends with some excellent suggestions for further readings and a thorough bibliography, both of which I've picked through. I'm especially interested in the "Myth and Legend" sources that Rahtz gamely includes despite his abhorrence, and the Bond book entitled The Gate of Remembrance: A True Story of Psychic Archaeology. I want to see for myself what bonkers stuff he wrote via his spirit monk!

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I Read Caroline, Or, If Pa Ingalls Has No Haters In This World Then It's Time To Write My Obituary

Throwback to that time in 2014 that I slept in their backyard and then sat on their graves!

Caroline: Little House, Revisited by Sarah Miller
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Laura, Rose, their extended family and friends, and all their writings is one of my Special Interests, and I will never not be down to read anything concerning any of them. I am fascinated by the bits of fact that mix with their fiction, the bits of fiction that mix with their non-fiction, the hints at juicy family drama, and how palpably trauma informed their writings, their behaviors, and their relationships.

Also, I am Pa’s biggest hater, and I will happily see him trashed anytime!

I don’t necessarily love Caroline Ingalls, either--she messed up Laura nearly as badly as Pa did--but I see, perhaps because I, too, am a woman who had a childhood and has children, how her own childhood trauma informed her own behaviors and relationships, and I can’t make myself blame and shame her like I can Pa. Seriously, fuck you, Pa.

To that end, I kind of liked that Caroline was high-key annoying in this book. I firmly believe that she literally was an annoying person! Reading Laura’s fiction and non-fiction, I VERY much get the vibe that Caroline could have been exactly as introspective and contemplative as she was in this novel. To be fair, she was constantly left alone with multiple small children in a shack out in the middle of nowhere with no amenities and a ridiculous burden of menial labor--it reads totally real that she had nothing better to do with her mind than chew over her thoughts and feelings and hold up a mental microscope to her every bodily function. RIP, Caroline--you would have loved LiveJournal!

Throughout the book, I really enjoyed the small call-outs to the overall Ingalls history that a less-avid fan would breeze past: Carrie is always portrayed as smaller and frailer than the other children, and detailing all the miseries of a covered wagon journey full of privation and hardship during Caroline’s pregnancy with her goes a long way towards explaining why. Oh, and there’s also the time everyone got malaria when she was a baby and she nearly died of neglect and starvation!

Speaking of that road trip from Hell, I get why Miller would write Caroline as perceiving herself to have the agency to postpone that trip, because otherwise it’s just too depressing for words, but… I think the reality was really just too depressing for words! I do not think for a second that Charles would have postponed that trip for any reason, because he was a selfish pig and he wanted what he wanted exactly when he wanted it. I have read nothing about Pa, in Laura’s rose-colored fiction or in her more reality-based memoir or in what little we can find about him in other historical documents, that has painted him in anything but the most selfish and unflattering light. I loved all the small moments of resentment of Charles that Miller let Caroline feel, and it’s just too bad that I have also read nothing about Caroline that has ever painted her as anything but completely in control of her deportment at all times, because I would have loved to see her, all hopped up on pregnancy hormones, rip Charles to shreds just one time. I mean, for Christ’s sake, he bought window glass instead of food! He bought a big-ass plow instead of the land to use it on! The actual timeline of the sale of the Big Woods house and the Ingalls' various wanderings is unclear, but early on it was very clear that Gustafson was going to cut and run out on the mortgage. Charles moved himself, his pregnant wife, and two small children across the country IN A WAGON and had no Plan B! Like, it’s the 1800s--what if Gustafson had simply died?!? 

I can’t even with this guy.

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