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Wednesday

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10
Jan 24

Dry again

More high winds today. Another day of canceled dives. Another day slaving away under the shaded part of a quiet little beach. It’s not a bad consolation prize, reading and listening to the waves. But that’s four more dives lost to weather.

I appreciate the safety concerns — I am, after all, the most annoying safety first diver in the world — but the winds and choppy sees have now cost us 40 percent of our scheduled dives.

We’re here, though, enjoying the quiet of a not-at-capacity all inclusive resort. They put up good sunsets.

Yesterday it was obvious that the dive boats were having a difficult time getting to the dive shop. It occurred to me that the most dangerous moments in that’s boat life are probably centered around getting to, and leaving, the pier on days when there’s a lot of energy in the water. Today was better, but only by a bit. There were still white caps off the reefs and so the harbormaster said no.

Tomorrow we’ll go diving, if I have to wade into the water the old fashioned way. Can’t have boat problems if you don’t use a boat!

I love the brown bowl sponge (Cribrochalina vasculum). They’re just so intriguing from a distance. Are any critters inside? How big is this going to look? What is even the point of this thing? It’s always a mystery, every time.

Those few moments between seeing one in the distance and getting above it can be full of wonder. This is the same sponge.

And each one of them deserves to be explored, if only for a moment. But there are so many to peer into, and the currents on drift dives, like these, dictate many of the terms. So the mystery will always be there.

Sometimes there are fish hiding inside the sponge, just waiting. Maybe I’ll see some myself. Four more dives are on the schedule.

Tomorrow, we’ll see more fish. I’m certain of it.

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3
Jan 24

There’s not a word for it; it won’t matter tomorrow

I wanted to write about motivation but, really, who has the energy for that? It’s something akin to ennui that’s been afflicting me the last few days. Not ennui, but something close to it. If there’s a place where that feeling and paralysis by analysis might intersect, that’s where I’ve been living.

There is much to do, but it seems like a lot so …

You power through, because that’s what professionals do. But there isn’t a lot of joy in that. There is, instead, a tiny bit of fear: What if I messed up an important date, or sequence or things, because I found myself with a galloping case of Tuesdays that covered the first part of the first week of the new year?

Besides, he said on Monday, there’s tomorrow. Which is the same thing he said on Tuesday. And what he spent part of today saying.

Tomorrow, much work will be done.

Getting a good solid start, that’s the secret. It isn’t motivation; it’s momentum. Tomorrow I will create it. I will manufacture it. I will rip it from the air and these keys at my fingertips. I know the secret. The secret is to find the opposite of ennui, enthusiasm, in deadlines.

The self-imposed deadlines start tomorrow.

This is the 21st installment of We Learn Wednesdays. I’ve been riding my bike across the county to find the local historical markers. This one isn’t in the Historical Marker Database, but it’s the 40th one we’ve seen in this series. And the marker is about a now empty lot.

I can’t find anything with a few simple searches about that first academy. But the town’s high school was here, too, for a few years in the early part of the 20th century, before moving down the street and around the corner. I found a photo of the class of 1907. Someone wrote that it had 18 students, the largest the school had enrolled to that point. It also included the school’s first black graduate, apparently. If that’s true, it is interesting, since the marker tells us integration came later.

There were postcards featuring the Copner school. Here’s another one.

There were two generations of men named Samuel in the Copner family around that time. I believe that old school was named after the first. He was said to be an early and loud advocate for public schools in the area.

There’s also a black-and-white of the old Grant Grammar school.

Here’s the lot(s) today.

That church will come up in a future edition of We Learn Wednesdays. In the next installment, we’ll see a house that dates, in part, back to the 17th century. It has, as you might expect, a busy history. If you’ve missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.

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20
Dec 23

Marginally productive, for a Wednesday

After a morning spent doing work stuff, I went downstairs to ride the bike. This would be ride three this week on Zwift. I did two short rides Monday, then last night’s projects got away from me. So I was going to ride long today. I am trying to ride all of the stages in the game, which is something I started last year. I’m almost there!

And so today I was riding Surrey Hills, in London, when I hit the wrong button. The game let’s you do a lot of things as you ride. You can send messages to other riders, you can change the “camera’s” perspective of your avatar. You can take screen grabs and more. The later is how I get the images I sometimes share here. (And I won’t do that as much this year, promise.)

Another thing you can do is hang a U-turn. When you do that you end the route. So there I was, halfway through it when I hit the wrong button. Human error. But there were too many other things I wanted to do today.

First, after a late light lunch, because I did get in 25 miles, I got cleaned up and set out to take on the world. Things to do! Items to scratch off the list!

I took out the garbage. Third time I’ve been to the inconvenience center in the last week, I think. Then, I visited one of the local hardware stores. This is a small place. A mom and pop place. An everyone talks to you place. A no-one-rushes-you-at-quitting-time place. In the back corner I found some cotton rope, which I need for an upcoming project. And then, just to mess with the guy, I asked about the zip ties.

He told me where they were. I looked them over and then said, Nah. You don’t seem to have the industrial strength version I’m looking for. Maybe, I said as I arched an eyebrow while staring at the rope next time.

And then I got my haircut. Clumsy woman, but at least I still have both of my ears. I thought she was going to take my eye, and it wasn’t even when she was attacking the waviest part of my hair. But she was nice. She’s over Christmas music. No need for the standards at Halloween in her book. She likes Prince. She told me about trying to understand “Raspberry Beret” as a kid. She started telling me the story about asking her mother about the lyrics. But I don’t know this woman, or her mother. Am I supposed to ask about this? Prince, I said, was a clever one, and I left it at that.She still goes to the mall for her Christmas shopping. (Is that a thing people do?) I was hoping for some last minute tips, but instead I heard about her brother who is an expert at guessing about what’s inside each present. It was all a blur. They don’t waste a lot of time on a guy’s haircut. No need, really.

Come to think of it, she didn’t even show me the back of my head via the customary handheld mirror.

Be right back.

OK, it is still there.

And almost every task of the day was achieved! Things put off until today were successfully addressed! If I could do that two more days in a row we’d have momentum.

Sounds stressful.

What else is still hanging around? This brief snippet of a video that I shot earlier this week, but haven’t shared yet.

This is the 20th installment of We Learn Wednesdays. I’ve been riding my bike across the county to find the local historical markers. Including today’s installment, we’ll have seen 39 of the markers in the Historical Marker Database. This one marks a 19th century building.

It is appropriate that there’s only wonderful, and generic, National Register plaque. I can find almost nothing about the house or its original owner, John G. Thackeay.

It was built as residence and store. It features three stories in a T-shape, and parapet chimneys. There are transom lights, broad pilasters and paneled shutters. The Greek revival style building went up in 1847.

It could be that this wasn’t John G. Thackeay’s place. There’s a John G. Thackray that lived in the area during that time. The dates, at least, make sense. But in the marker database, and some ancient county document that’s been uploaded to the web, they use the E spelling.

Thackray, though, was listed as a merchant in the 1860 census. His wife and four daughters were there. Two teachers, a hat maker and a servant were listed at his address. In the 1870 census, his last, Thackray is listed as a retired merchant. This house was a story, maybe that’s our guy.

He was laid to rest about a mile away, and almost all of his family is buried there as well. Today, his place is a store again. Hardwoods and carpeting.

In next week’s installment of We Learn Wednesday, we’ll go to school. If you’ve missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.

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13
Dec 23

In the shade of history

Finals begin tomorrow. The emails should begin any moment now. The grading continues apace. Every time I feel like I have my arms around it, I find a new thing to look at. So I grade some more. Then I’m done. And then a late assignment rolls in.

Which will allow me to move effortlessly into the deadline talk as the big, final, speech of the class. Everyone will love that.

Something else just popped up for me to assess.

None of this is hard, mind you. It’s part of the job. It’s a bit like laundry, though: you’re never done, not really. All day long like this, and yesterday and most of Monday, too.

Oh, here’s two more things in the ol’ inbox now.

It was three degrees warmer today. The thermometer said 47, but the wind chill held things down to an uncomfortable 39 degrees. I went out for a bike ride at the ~~warmest~~ least cold part of the day. I quickly realized I was under-dressed. Wrong jacket. Also, I forgot the ear muffs. But my hands and toes stayed comfortable.

The wind was everywhere, and that’s what we’re blaming the whole thing on. It wasn’t that my legs were bad, it is that there was a headwind in every direction. I rode a big rectangle, so I rode in every direction, and there was always the wind.

And the close passers. Drivers were brutal today.

All of it was enough to make me cut the ride short. But I got in 20 miles, and I was able to see this, whatever it is.

There are fresh produce stands all over around here. They’re all empty now, of course. Some of the smaller ones got rolled away from the road at the end of the season, but most seem like semi-permanent fixtures. So, too, are a few of the homemade-built bus stands. I’ve found no little libraries, as yet, and I don’t know what’s happening here at Cedar Lane Junction. Maybe it’s a mini-pharmacy, or a bait shop, or both. I do know, from archival map photos, that sign has been slowing peeling away for a little more than a decade now.

Sometimes you see a stand of trees and wonder if they were left there, or planted there. Someone had a room with windows to the east of these trees and they knew there would come a day when they’d get tired of sunsets. Serious astrophysical prescience.

That’s a simple stand of two rows of trees. They are bracketed on each side by houses. And, no, that UAP to the right of the sun is not a Photoshop artifact. It’s in the raw photo, a lens flare within a series of them. That’s just going to happen when you’re shooting from the hip.

Anyway, I liked where the sun was and how the clouds were lined up, and I began to wonder about the chance nature of trees on old farmland.

A century ago this land was owned by a couple named Campbell. Asbury’s family could trace it’s roots back to the colonial era, right here in this community. Alice was the granddaughter of Irish immigrants. I wonder if they ever stood around that spot and stared off that way. I wonder what they dreamed about. The man died in 1992, not far away from here. She died in 1999. It looks like he served in World War I, but that’s a rabbit hole I’m saving for a different day.

I infer from the dusty old records that they sold the land in the 1930s, an all too common tale of the era, I’m sure.

Let’s go back even farther, though.

This is the 20th installment of We Learn Wednesdays. I ride my bike across the county to find the local historical markers. Including today’s installment, we’ll have seen 38 of the markers in the Historical Marker Database. And this one is pointing to one of the older moments the county recognizes. It’s colonial-era, even.

The fabled oak the sign references was about a quarter-of-a-mile away. It fell to the ground in 2019, having cast cool shade on man and beast for an estimated 600 years. That was the spot, according to the legend, where the original Quakers signed a treaty with the indigenous residents. That tree was in my grade school books. Probably yours too! Probably because it was one of the rare treaties with native populations that was honored. Beneath that tree was where the earliest white residents were buried. Indeed, Betsy Ross’ father, a third-generation immigrant from Wales, a man named Samuel Griscom, was buried there. He owned a lumberyard and was a master carpenter. (He helped build the bell tower at Independence Hall!)

Every town in the state, 565 of them, was given a seedling from the Salem Oak after it fell. (A follow-up story will soon be demanded.) Other groups of Quakers got still more seedlings for replanting at their meeting houses. This group, the Salem Friends, apparently maintained ownership of the tree and they were giving away leaves and small bits of the tree as keepsakes.

I’m glad I wasn’t here for that. I would have wanted a piece. Perhaps I would have gotten one. And then there would eventually be the desire to make something interesting with it. And great pains would be required to be sure it was done correctly. The curse of a not at all accomplished confident or competent craftsman.

When someone uses the old blood and sweat expression, this is what I think of.

I bet old Samuel Griscom would have known what to do with it, but I digress.

They had a memorial service for the tree. One of the Friends wrote an obituary that summer:

The Salem Oak’s life span was double the 300-year average of most white oaks. In that time, she witnessed the clearing of her forest home and many other events that history has forgotten. She saw Lenni Lenape, early Quakers, European settlers, free African Americans, and their descendants, grow, build, and gather around her. She watched as Revolutionary War soldiers marched through her peaceful town. She impressed Charles Lindbergh with her fall foliage as he flew over Salem on Oct. 21, 1927, on his way from Atlantic City to Wilmington, in celebration of his solo trip across the Atlantic Ocean. She saw travelers and shipments of goods arriving at the Salem port down the street, and witnessed the birth of industry in Salem, as a huge bottling plant was built behind her.

The mighty Oak watched generations bid farewell to their loved ones as they were laid to rest around her. She offered silent comfort to those who came to visit their deceased friends and family, embracing them with the shelter and cool shade of her vast canopy. She offered a peaceful place for sunrise services, social gatherings, and quiet reflection. She enticed hundreds of children to try to stretch their arms around her massive trunk and provided them with a giant prop to run around and hide behind while playing. And she inspired local artists to try to capture her beauty, her significance, her peacefulness, her impressive stature, and her sheer awesomeness, in every medium.

In 2000, she was bestowed the honor of being named a Millennial Landmark Tree, through the America the Beautiful Fund. This recognized her as one of the top 50 trees in the country with historical significance. In 2016, she was declared the largest White Oak in New Jersey by the Department of Environmental Protection. At that time, she towered 103 feet tall, with a circumference of 22 feet, 4 inches. She had a crown fit for royalty, spanning 104 feet.

It’s easy to see why people are romantic about trees.

In the middle of that oak’s life, all of the land around it was a proprietorship. The Quakers owned it for about 30 years, having purchased it from Sir George Carteret, who was strapped for cash in the 1670s. (And weren’t we all?) In 1702 it returned back to Queen Anne, as a colony. That’s an entirely different saga.

You wonder how that sort of thing weighed on the people who walked into this building during that time. These walls would look familiar to them, but so much that they would see from the doorway, today, would surely be a shock.

These were the people that sailed to the New World to find some freedom, so perhaps they would be pleased that their religious descendants are still here.

In next week’s installment of We Learn Wednesday, we’ll take a glance at a 19th century home and store. If you’ve missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.

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6
Dec 23

This took 223 years to write, and is incomplete

This morning was about grading. I paced things out perfectly. There was a big digital stack of things to read and comment on. Each item unique, each requiring some feedback. And that’s the thing, really. How much feedback? I, you’ll be surprised to learn, often have a lot to say. Hopefully some of it is useful. Hopefully some of it gets read.

So I read through and grade and give feedback on one assignment, then take something else off the list, and then back to that. It’s time intensive, but could be beneficial, so I approach it with great care, spreading them out a bit to bring the same enthusiasm to the last as I did to the first. I’ve been going at this since Monday evening. Today, I’ll finish them.

At lunchtime, I went downstairs for lunch, oddly enough. A study break. I had my sandwich and looked up into dark clouds. Storm cloud dark. And then this happened.

It was 40 degrees, I checked as that stuff was falling out of the sky. That changed my carefully planned out list.

I had two lists, actually. One on paper, and another in Word. The Word list got changed. So, more grading, and some writing, because there was no way I was going to go outside in the snow. Shame, too, I had figured out the whole day and had time for a nice medium-length ride. So organized was I! But it snowed for 45 minutes. It was just starting to gather in the grass when the cloud moved out. I did more school work while I waited a while to see if it was really over. To the northwest a sliver of blue broke through.

So I went for a bike ride. The plan was to combine the two usual routes. This would give me a pleasant 35-mile route, and I was going to enjoy all of that, me and my many layers of cycling clothes that keep out the wind. Here’s the last of those clouds moving off, during the first route, about 15 miles in.

I shot a little video soon after that. The last two times I’d been through there this time of day I saw deer running through the field into the tree line. Two rides ago, four deer ran alongside me, a race to the woods. Last time, I counted seven in a full-on sprint.

White-tailed deer can run faster than I can sprint, but I kept up with them. They might have been running at half speed. But, this time, I was prepared. I was going to round that curve and capture a bit of video of a whole herd of deer jogging to my left.

No deer showed up today.

Five miles later, on the second route, all of the old snow clouds were gone, and we were set to experience a beautiful sunset. This was actually going to be a problem though.

I started too late. The sunset came too early. I was still going the wrong direction. So I cut it short, turning south so I could eventually head back the other way. And then I started making deals with my legs. I would really like to make it back to the left-hand turn before it gets dark. Or, at least back to the red light at the crossroads.

I did both, but just barely. I saved about three miles by turning around early, and even so, my last mile tonight was in the dark. Good thing I cut the ride short.

This is the 19th installment of We Learn Wednesdays, where I ride my bike across the county to find the local historical markers. Including today’s installment we’ll have seen 37 of the 115 markers in the Historical Marker Database.

I did not find this marker today, but about a month ago. It was sunny and cool, but I didn’t linger long. The sun was headed to it’s home in the western sky and I had to get back on the road. But you have to stick around long enough to admire a bit of history.

We’re at the oldest AME church in the state, where members can trace their history back 223 years and was apparently the only church from these parts at the founding conference of the AME Church in Philadelphia in 1816.

Philadelphia had a lot of Georgian architecture, which influences the building here. Perhaps that has something to do with the early church leadership, as well. Rev. Reuben Cuff, the son of a former slave, began preaching in a log cabin out in the countryside a few miles away. Oral tradition has it that after the elder Cuff’s owner died, he might have married that man’s widow. The couple had three sons, who had some formal education, which wasn’t locally guaranteed. That last link makes some small leaps about Reuben and his brothers, based on the stories that have been passed down over the years. Like any personal 200+ year old story, it can seem plausible, if the base of it is accurate.

The rest of the story goes that Reuben had nine children with his first wife, and three with his second wife. He died at 81 in 1845. He’s buried in a small family cemetery, near his father. You can see his house here. That research finds he had the only stone house in the township, more than three dozen acres of land and a barn.

In 1839 an arsonist burned the old church building, but the congregation eventually rebuilt. This one, in the Classical Revival style, opened and took the Mt. Pisgah name in the 1870s.

A quick search shows me one photo of the interior of the church building. That organ has two sliders and 20 stops. It dates back to the 1960s.

There’s a small cemetery, which was established in 1860, attached to the church. A 20th century Cuff is buried there.

In next week’s installment of We Learn Wednesday, we’ll see a building that predates this church. If you’ve missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.

And now to work on some lecture notes.