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What does it look like if you keep going further?

It’s a banner day of banners around here. I laid out the photos and the videos and put in the appropriate segment pieces up and everything here goes under one of our old familiar pieces of art.

I got in a 21-mile ride this evening. It was one of those, What if I went straight at that one intersection, instead of left or right? Where would I wind up? rides. The best kind of ride.

Going that particular direction, you’re bound my geography anyway. The river is out there somewhere. But after I passed that intersection, pedaled through some tree covered roads and dodged a few potholes, I got to a new stretch of road.

What is down there?

It’s a wonderful feeling. You’re about to see something new. And maybe it’ll be regular fields and houses. But they’ll be new houses. And you’ll be able to wonder who is on their way to that house? Who is the light on for?

Or maybe it’ll be something surprising, big or small. There was a small surprise near the very end of that road. A lovely suburban farmhouse style home on a great big lot. Next to it was an oversized produce store. It looked like a family operation, perhaps the same people ran it as lived next door. At least that’s the way the landscaping felt. It was large and looked great. Better than most of the houses, and there were a few nice spreads on that road.

Here are two more brief clips from last week’s concert. “Yoke” was the last track on 2011’s “Beauty Queen Sister,” and it became one of my favorites in their whole catalog almost right away. It feels like an Amy Ray song. And Lyris Hung’s violin, which sounds like a circus organ, an ethereal cacophony, a mental high wire act. All of it just sticks in the head, not an earworm, but something even more potent. And this part, right here …

Again, we were about a quarter of a mile away, so please excuse the visual quality.

This one was the second single from their 1997 record, the second track on that record, and I’m pretty sure everyone fell in love with it in about two seconds of the first time they played it. It takes less time for a crowd to voice their approval when they play it live, and so they play it live all the time.

It’s a historically important song. When my lovely bride and I were just dating, we were on a trip and playing this song. It’d been a good weekend after a long week and the sun was shining and the road was long and actually using an actual map — as one did back then — and singing along.

I don’t sing in front of people. We’d only been dating for a few months and there was that barrier dissolved. Music makes you vulnerable. And now here we are, all these years later.

We return once again to We Learn Wednesdays, wherein I am discovering the county’s historical markers via bike rides. This is, I believe, the 45th installment, and the 77th marker in the We Learn Wednesdays series. This one is a new marker for an old site. It’s not even in the marker database yet. I visited it only because I saw it out of the corner of my eye while riding to another site a few weeks ago.

The history of this cemetery is not well documented. An article appeared in the January 6, 1941 Standard and Jerseyman that indicated that Mrs. Lydia Fox Kelty had paper records in her possession which showed that her father, Robert Fox, was a direct descendant of James McGill, who donated one acre of his farm to Alloway Township, in which residents of the township were to be buried free of charge. Research of family records reveal that Robert Fox was the son of Charles H. Fox (1845-1929) and Lydia Megill (1846-1897). Lydia Megill was the daughter of John Megill (1805-1883) and Elizabeth Margaret Shaw (1810-1881). John Megill was the son of James Megill (1780-1842) and Margaret Mower (1788-1824).

Per the newspaper article, James McGill was the great-grandson of Rev. James MacGill who came to America from Scotland in 1725. Several of Rev. MacGill’s grandsons settled in Salem, and one, Patrick MacGill, a blacksmith, settled in Allowaystown. James McGill, who gave the ground, was Patrick’s son. James McGill, his family and a number of soldiers of the American Revolution are buried in this old cemetery. Research of the June 1793 tax records confirm that Patrick McGill lived in Alloway.

According to the article, this gift was made by James McGill in the year 1810-11, when he learned that the owners of the cemeteries in this vicinity refused to allow soldiers of the American Revolution to be buried without buying a lot. This so incensed Mr. McGill, whose father and uncle had served in the Revolution, that he gave the aforementioned ground to the citizens of Alloway Township. Unfortunately, the deed documenting this gift could not be found in the Salem County archives. Burial records are incomplete and many of the early gravestones are no longer legible, and documentation has not been found to identify what Revolutionary War soldiers are buried here.

Some of the earliest known burials include: Elizabeth Bee 1768-1832, James Bell 1756-1830, Rebecca Sweeten Bell 1767-1806, Jesse Earley 1786-1867, Peter H. Emel 1778-1823, Esther Emmel 1786-1847, Martha McCormack 1777-1806, John Mowers 1760-1822, Lydia Johnson Mowers 1765-1807, Anna Simms 1798-1855.

There are still McGills in that community, and dozens and dozens more in the broader area. The cemetery has 158 memorials, but among the unknown things are if any stones have disappeared in the last 200 years. And while the marker and the people that put it together have come up short on Revolutionary War veterans that are buried here, we know at least 10 Civil War veterans and two WWII veterans are at rest on McGill’s old land. One of those Civil War veterans served for all of two-and-a-half months. He died, in camp, of a fever.

The rest are normal people. And that’s rather the point, isn’t it? In the end, we’re all the same. Husbands, wives, their families. Old and much-too-young. There are carpenters and farmers and a firefighter who died on the job. There are 158 markers and at least that many stories that have been passed down and then gotten blurry and then forgotten. The sign says it is still an active cemetery. I believe the most recent burial was in 2003, of a widow who outlived her husband by 43 years. She was 25 when she got married, and 39 when she lost her husband. She lived half her life as a widow, and made it to see 83 or 84. I wonder what it was like for her to go by that place, or go to that place, to see her husband. It’s been 21 years since she joined him, and you wonder about those memories. As far as I can tell, there’s no one in that community with their family name.

Rebecca Sweeten Bell, one of those earliest burials, in contrast, has a huge list of descendants in the region. The man who is recorded as the oldest member of the cemetery was John Mowers. He died at 62, but in just six generations we can get to a descendant of his who is buried elsewhere, having died just last year. You wonder how far the memories reached back, even as you know why they sometimes don’t. For in the end, we’re all the same, but it’s still a bit uneven.

Next week’s marker feature is still a mystery to me. You’ll just have to come back to see what I’ve found. If you’ve missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.

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27
Aug 24

Really got a lot in here

Do we have a lot for you in this post. Let’s jump right in! First, I just came in from watering the pothos plants, and I checked on the spider. She’s still out there doing her thing.

I’ve decided this is a she for reasons that don’t have any basis in anything, really. But he, or she, is one industrious spider. Every day that web disappears. Every night it returns. Almost in the same spot. The angle of it has shifted in the last few nights. Maybe this is better for catching things coming off the prize-winning plants back there.

Looked up how long spiders can live, and this is not a long-term location for my new friend. I’m going to wind up re-positioning this arachnid, if for no other reason than I’ll want this little section of sidewalk back. And also because this is too close to the house, and I don’t want it coming inside when the weather turns.

I bet she’ll have great success in the woods out back.

I got in a late evening bike ride. I started a little too late, which is funny because I’d just been mentally patting myself on the back for how well I time these rides. Usually, I’m back just as it gets dark.

It was still daylight when I started. Here’s the proof, this is about halfway through.

You know how those late summer evenings get, though. The sunset and the gloaming happen more quickly than you’ve lately been expecting. This photo was just four miles later.

And this was an accidental shot, but look at that blurry wrist!

The problem — if you want to think of it in those terms, and I don’t — is that soon after that last photo I made an impulsive decision to add on a few miles. Turned left to add a circuit, instead of heading straight in. That gave me almost six extra miles, which was nice. And about three miles into it, I had to pull the headlight out of my pocket and light the road in front of me.

I have a lot of light on the back of the bike for oncoming cars. But the other thing that’s nice is that I was on sleepy country roads. Over the course of the last six miles of today’s ride I was passed by five cars, and only two of them came by when it was truly dark.

Anyway, another delightful, slow, 22-mile ride is in the books.

You might recall we went to a rock ‘n’ roll show last Thursday. On Friday I wrote in this space about Melissa Etheridge. Today, and for the next few days, we’ll have a few short Indigo Girls clips.

This year they’re celebrating the 30th anniversary of Swamp Ophelia. And this is a deep cut, a tremendous song off a lush album. A song I don’t think I’ve heard live in decades, and apropos of the moment.

I’ve been in awe of that line about the summer since the 1990s. It’s not fair what Emily Saliers can do with a few lines of verse.

And here’s a 1997 classic to go alongside of that one.

That song — which went to number 15 on the US Adult chart, enjoyed a bit of air play on the radio and was in the last batch of videos I recall on MTV — was inspired by this documentary, which has become something of a classic on its own, while still remaining contemporary even as the sands shift around us.

That documentary itself is three decades old now. It’d be interesting to go back and see the modern version, just so we can marvel at what is and isn’t different.

I finished Walter Lord’s The Dawn’s Early Light. It is wonderful pop history, my first Lord book and I’m sure I’ll go find more of his writing later.

Militarily, his tactics are sparse, and written at a regimental level, but he’s not writing too much about the military action. It might be easy to get bogged down in that, or easy to get it wrong or be incomplete, all these years later, despite his excellent research. It’s a book about the time, rather than the conflict. He basically has it that the places the U.S. did poorly were down to bad organization and ineffective leadership. The places where we did better, Baltimore and New Orleans, were down to a key British army officer being killed and the Americans getting their act together.

And because it includes New Orleans, Andrew Jackson does become a minor character late in the book — a book which doesn’t sit on anyone for too long, come to think of it. Jackson has a few good lines in the text. This is, perhaps, the best one.

I’ve jumped ahead some 120 years in my next book. I’ve started reading about mid-20th century journalist and author, Richard Tregaskis. Updates on that text are something to which you can look forward. Also, more music tomorrow. And a swim! (Maybe … I’m trying to work up the nerve.)

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26
Aug 24

I did the pedaling thing, it was just like riding a bike

Since we didn’t do it last week, and shame on me, let us immediately get to the most popular weekly feature on the site. No one demands the weekly feature on the cats as much as the kitties. This is an important part of the schedule around here. We are quite regimented and, believe me, they know. They spend enough time hovering over computers; they can tell.

Here’s Phoebe, giving me a little judgement for the oversight.

She loves boxes, of course. It’s just baked in to cats. She has a west-facing afternoon window seat, and a while back we put one of the cat caves — it’s a small sleeping bag, basically — on it. She sleeps on that. Recently, we put the cat cave in a box and she is very pleased with this development. Almost as if she’s relieved we finally picked up her signals.

Here’s Poseidon, working on his aerodynamic position.

You can’t get more low drag than that cat. Gotta work on those ears, though.

So the cats, as you can see, are doing great, and thanks for asking.

I got out for a bike ride this evening. First one in almost two weeks, and just the second ride in three weeks. I blame my ear — which is very much improved by the way! — and the vagaries of life. Both have been getting in the way of the more important things, like this.

We have several standard routes. Two of them we have combined into a slightly longer route. Today I did that, but I did it in reverse. Really shook up the horses, who were busy frolicking around when I went by.

Later, I was buzzed by a CH-47 Chinook, probably on maneuvers from the base an hour or so away.

Of course, earlier in the day the house was buzzed by a C130 that belonged to the Egyptian air force. I wonder what it’s doing around these parts.

Around these parts began to look like this on the last bit of my ride.

I timed this just right. It got dark right as I got back in the neighborhood. Didn’t even have to turn on my headlight. It was a slow, quiet, peaceful 34 miles. Felt great!

I wonder where I’ll ride tomorrow.

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14
Aug 24

Night riding

This is almost entirely about this video. Except for the part that isn’t.

And if you’re paying attention — and why wouldn’t you be? — to the background, you might notice that this one deserves the special banner.

When I set out, this was the angle of the sun in the sky. I’d wavered for a while. Should I? Shouldn’t I? And then finally decided to get in a quick 20 miles. By then, and after I’d re-greased my chain and left my water bottle in the garage, it looked like this out.

I took a right to cut through some nice pastureland. Somebody is ready to put up their hay. Some of the livestock owners have hay leftover from last year, mild winter that it was. Maybe that’ll be the case again.

I pedaled through the farm lands, through two residential neighborhoods and a little town ready to stretch out for the evening. Then I was back in the farm fields again.

One left, and then a hard sprint to the next right, and then a charge up this hill.

Soon after which, I turned on my headlight. I love this thing, because it makes night riding possible. The best part of which are the quite roads I can choose. In the last half pf the ride just four cars passed me, and two of those were just at the end.

Equally usefully, is that you can ride at speed. Do you remember how you were taught to not outrun your headlights?

What?

You know, headlights have a certain limited range, a limited thrown, beyond which the light is too diffuse to be effective.

What do you mean, do I remember?

It’s obvious isn’t it?

I’m a narrative construct. I don’t know how to drive.

Right. Well, trust me. It makes sense, even if it isn’t the best advice. See where you’re driving.

Sure, if you say so. But so what?

Similar principle here.

OK, then.

I can pedal happily along at 20 mph and see the road in front of me. Somewhere after that it feels a little curious, but I’m not bombing down hills or doing a lot of sprints in the darkness. Tonight, this light allowed me to do the last five miles with confidence.

Note to self: Spend more time out here.

The gazebo is a nice place. Lots of lovely furniture. Fun lights. A delightful insect choir. And the weather, well now the weather is just perfect for it.

We return once again to We Learn Wednesdays, the feature where we discover the county’s historical markers via bike rides. This is the 43rd installment, and the 75th marker in the We Learn Wednesdays series. And this one is relatively new. It was installed just last year.

This was a thinly populated area. A couple thousand people lived in this broader rural area. It isn’t much more crowded today. The first school was in a house. Then came a building purpose-built as a school in 1845, and then the Lambert Street school. The modern school, after generations of consolidation and change, remembered the teacher at Lambert School for a long time. Mary Elizabeth Remster, who retired in 1943 after 48 years in the classroom, had a future school named after her. That building was consolidated in 1980, meaning it was likely that kids studied under Miss Remster and then saw their grandchildren go to a school named after the woman.

Continuity is important in a small town. When this building was no longer needed as a school in 1925, it became a home. A former student bought it. He married another former student. The Lambert Street school is still in their family, a century later.

Which means there probably aren’t any students still with us who remember the school, but the local historical society is keeping it alive. The man that bought the home was an artist, a craftsman, a businessman. He served in a medical unit in England and France during World War I. He and his wife both passed away in the 1980s. They had eight sons. Theirs remains a prominent family name in that area.

If you’ve missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.

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12
Aug 24

The chocolate was a bust — how often do you say that?

I tried a new smoothie today. Because we have a lot of peaches, you see. The go-to has been a simple peach, ice, dash of milk and honey. And, recently, I swapped out the honey for a bit of brown sugar. That’s been a hit.

Just to experiment, though, because when you have bushels of peaches and a powerful blender everything seems viable, I decided to take out the brown sugar and add a chunk of chocolate. It did not turn into a nice brown color, because it was a chunk that just turned into bits. Thousands of tiny little bits. I guess I was hoping I’d wind up with a peach flavored Frosty … which the people from Wendy’s should call me about … but that’s not what happened here.

It wasn’t the best smoothie ever, but it was a worthy experiment. That little chocolate bunny gave its chocolate life for me to find that out.

I think we have some jelly beans somewhere … maybe I should try those next …

I will not try those next. Why tamper with what works?

Let’s get right to the site’s most popular weekly feature. I know it is, because they tell me it is. They, of course, being the kitties.

I’m a sucker for whenever Phoebe sleeps on her paw. Not sure what it is, other than just about the cutest thing she can do while she’s napping.

I was telling a story on Poseidon the other day. It was a common tale around here. One where I get to blame him for whatever is going on. It’s a high percentage play because he’s usually very much the cause of things. And just as I told that story I had to go down to the basement to fetch this or that.

The basement is a wondrous place to the cats, because we don’t allow them down there. I know, for a fact, that if we let them come and go they wouldn’t be interested at all. But, while the basement is cat friendly, it isn’t cat proof. So they don’t get to go. And just as I was heading to the basement he made a run. He’s good at timing these things, but he didn’t win out this time. He covered it well, though. He wasn’t darting for the basement, you see, he just needed to rub his chin on the door.

Poseidon has also recently discovered an interest in corn husks, but they aren’t a good treat for cats. So the corn, even the fresh picked stuff, goes directly into the refrigerator. Which means he must try to also go into the refrigerator.

If we get too much corn, we are keeping it in the laundry room, because we have cats and when you have cats you put your corn in the laundry room. He, of course, needs to be in there constantly.

So the cats, you can see, are doing very well, thank you.

I’m getting pretty good at timing out evening rides. This is why I did not get in a ride this evening. I waited too late, doing other things. (Two of those things had to do with peaches.) On Saturday, however, I set out at 6:35 for a 25 mile ride.

That still left a lot of time to enjoy the views through the corn fields.

Oh, I had lights a plenty. There’s a blinkie on my seat post all the time. In my back pocket, in the evenings, I carry a little four buck triangle light that I got for Christmas last year. It shines right through the material so well I’m going to pick up some more the next time I’m at the hardware store.

For the front I have my trusty One80 bike light. I saw their head lamps on Instagram, a runner I follow swore by them. I bought the Yankee one, she loved it. I bought myself one. And then they pushed those bike lights. I got one for both of us. She doesn’t particularly care for night riding, but I do, and I think those lamps are so great I bought two more of them, just to keep on a shelf in the basement — where the cats aren’t allowed.

I passed one stunning barn on the way back — I took a different road, for the different views, and it turns out to have worked very well for that time of day.

So I was well stocked in illumination products, but it turns out I didn’t need them. Oh, I turned on my blinkie and the one I carry in my jersey pocket, a bit more visibility for the distracted drivers behind you never hurt anyone, but I figured I would get all the way back home before I needed to use much of my front light. If anything, I figured, there is one dark patch where it might be necessary.

A strange thing happened on the back half of my ride. I didn’t realize it until I was almost all the way back home, but my legs came back. I don’t know where they’ve been since roughly mid May, but everything else felt a little sluggish and even slower than normal since then. Saturday night, however, there was plenty of power and energy.

This is all relative, of course. Relative to this point in life, and all of that. But compared to the rest of the summer, the second half of this ride was great. And kinda almost approaching a reasonable speed.

I don’t want to say I was a super man, or anything. Maybe I was just inspired by this view. Because, as I looked to my left and saw that gravel drive and that farm and that sunset I thought, If a kid grew up there, he had a great chance to play Clark Kent.

And so I made it home with daylight to spare. Not much. But still.

Maybe my legs are returning. I bet its the peaches.