Spring at Mt. Auburn

Often I've taken a late fall stroll through the beautiful landscapes of the Mt. Auburn Cemetery, here in my home town of Cambridge.  Usually I do it around November 2nd, which is known as El Día de los Muertos or All Souls' Day. This is a time to remember the departed, and think of the transience of our brief lifetime.  In the Northern Hemisphere, we have the juxtaposition of this day of remembrance in the very season where we experience the colors of death in fall foliage.

But, this year I was thinking, what would it be like to take a spring stroll.  What would the contrast of rebirth, as seen in the flowering and budding of trees and shrubs, feel like in the context of a sacred grounds consecrated to the eternal rest of those who have passed on before us?

Spring includes the celebration of Easter, the resurrection from the dead of the Son of God, and the hope for eternal life.  "If we shared in Jesus' death by being baptized, we will be raised to life with him," so it is said in Romans 6.

What is this eternal life?  When does it begin?  Is it like this life?  These are questions that people have asked for centuries, but we still lack certain answers. My pastor has suggested that eternal life is something that has already been going on, even before we were born, and will continue after we die.  Our life in this world is but one chapter in it all.


When I was young, I remember thinking about this idea of eternal life, as something after the death of our body.  What would it be like to go on and on and on and on without end?  Day after day after day after day?  I couldn't fathom it.  But nor could I fathom it just suddenly stopping and then there would be nothing more.  In those days I felt that eternal life was obvious.  We could never just stop being.

As I got older, I've gone through stages of new, more complicated thoughts and, with them, doubts.  Also as I get older, I have started to get the sense of being "tired" a lot of the time, which has led me to think that, maybe at a time to come, I'll feel that I am ready for a long rest, much like we feel tired and go to bed.  Is it possible that life ending is like falling asleep a final time and then that's "a wrap?"

But much as spring is a sign that life is reborn after the winter of dormancy, the idea of life after death is persistently present in both religious teachings and philosophies around the world from ancient times to the present.   Rebirth in the spring inevitably comes about each year, no matter what we do.  So is this something about the nature of life itself that it is self-rejuvenating?  Is rebirth inherently part of the fabric of life?  Is all this an indication that life is, in some way, eternal, that death is not the end?

For now, I'm don't know for sure.  But, then again, spring is the season of hope - hope in rebirth and life itself, a life that is renewed and renewed and renewed, and therefore never ends.

I ended up with a bunch of good photos, some of which are included in a blog post in my photography blog, Urban Vistas.

A Train Trip Along the Frosty Coast

This has been a brutal winter up here in the Boston area. (Come to think of it, it's all been in February!) Well, in the midst of snow on snow on snow on snow, I traveled to Philly an a frosty day. You know it's been cold when the salt water of the bays and estuaries freezes.

Getting around Boston had become tough, with the transit system we call the T essentially having a melt-down:  shut down for days and limited services when it was up and running.  But fortunately, Amtrak was still running, so I got to Philly and back with some reasonable days.

I always take a seat on the left side, so I can see the coastline:  the beaches and saltmarshes and estuaries that stretch from Rhode Island through the meadowlands of Jersey.  

Even the sky was frosty on the 18th of February, rendering the photos in a natural sepia tone.  Despite the cold and snow all around, there was special beauty in frozen waterscapes that passed by my window.

Since many of these vistas are far from urban, I'm sharing them here (instead of my photo blog, Urban Vistas).

A diffused and haloed sun shines through a frosty sky in Rhode Island

Crossing the frozen Pawcatuck River, leaving Westerly, RI and entering Pawcatuck, CT

High above the frosty waters, a bird of prey has a great view of the Little Narragansett Bay approaching Stonington, CT

Frozen estuaries near Stonington, CT

A weak sun shines over a sepia landscape of bare trees and frozen waters.

Open waters near Mystic, CT

Riverfront walkway next to the tracks at New London, CT

Reconstruction the Boardwalk at Niantic, CT

Frozen estuaries near Guilford, CT

Another frozen stream approaching Branford, CT

Crossing the Hutichenson River, entering the Bronx

Steam clouds rise from power plants in Queens, seen from crossing the viaduct to the Hell Gate Bridge

Frozen  Jersey meadowlands with the Pulaski Skyway in the background

A Mayor for the People

This weekend, Boston is remembering the passing of its longest serving mayor, Thomas Menino. He served for over 20 years, from 1993 to 2014.  He started out in local politics as a City Councilor.  When Major Ray Flynn was offered the post of Ambassador to the Vatican, Tom Menino became Acting Mayor.  Beginning in 1993, he won and unprecedented five elections for mayor.

He was always a low-key guy. It was never "all about him" but more all about the city. He knew it well, the neighborhoods, the people, the diversity.  

When he saw a need, he did something.  He saw young people with nothing to do during the summer.  So, he started a camp for any kid from the city, for the affordable price of $5/week.  When the Morning Star Baptist congregation in Mattapan could not get a loan to build a new church, he stepped in and talked a bank into making the loan.  On Sundays, parishioners triple-park along Blue Hill Avenue to attend the largest church on what some call the "Avenue of God" for its numerous places of worship, small and large.

He also presided over a time of great investment and development in the city.  Here, he did wield the power to be the deciding vote to approve or deny a project.  The city continued to flourish.

While development continued downtown, the demographics of the neighborhoods were changing.  For the first time, the Boston became a majority minority city.  But, he was a major for all the people.  What was most telling was the outpouring of praise for their former major from leaders of the minority communities.  On Thursday Nov. 30th, after the mayor's passing hit the news, the evening service at Morning Star Baptist Church became a memorial service for the major. He truly served all the people.

He was not always the smoothest public speaker.  Nicknamed "Mumbles," sometimes you weren't quite 100% sure what he just said, I recall hearing him speak at the funeral of the late Mayor Kevin White, and having to listen very carefully!

His heart was always with Boston. After the marathon bombing, he left his hospital bed to speak to the city, to give all strength and hope. 

But, all in all, I think his legacy will be that of a mayor of the whole city.  He was a good and faithful public servant. Unfortunately, he had so little time to enjoy life after office. May he rest in peace.

Jeter

The classiest and hardest playing Yankee is hanging up his cleats.  In his last at-bat at the Stadium ("Yankee Stadium" is redundant), he did what Jeter always seemed to do:  come through in the clutch.  In this case, he got the game-winning hit.

Before I continue, I have to say I've never been a Yankee fan.  Born in New York City, I leaned to hate the Bronx Bums at young age.  Despite my mom being a Bronx-born Yankee fan, my uncle "brainwashed" his daughter and I to be Mets fans, taking us to see the 120-game loosing 1962 team in the Polo Grounds.  Of course, they lost.

But even a 120-game loosing team that wasn't the Yankees was a good thing, so we routed for them year after loosing year.  Later I would move to Boston, where Red Sox fans shared the true hatred of the Yankees that I learned.  While I wanted the Mets in '86 to win in 7 (and they did, following Mookie Wilson's most famous at-bat), I eventually transitioned to being a Sox fan.

I still feel the classic Sox-Yanks rivalry was at its peak in the 2003 and 2004 season.  Both teams had great lineups where anyone from leadoff to 9th could take it out of the park.  Add some great pitching on either side, and there were many memorable games.

What I remember from the 2003 playoffs is the game where Pedro maybe stayed on the mound too long.  Late in the game, with the Sox ahead by a run or two, I recall Jeter coming up to bat.  No one on base.  But there was that gleam in his eye.  The gleam of hope.  The gleam that says "I think I can do something here."

Problem was, we know Jeter was a clutch hitter.  He didn't hit for batting average.  He didn't hit to win the game in one swing (although he could at times).  He just tried to do something.  Something to shift the balance of the game, to shift the momentum just enough.  Just enough to give the pitcher a little something else to think about.  Just enough so he might loose a bit of focus so that he might give the next batter something to hit.  Before you knew it, a run or two would score, and you lead was gone.

He had that inside-out swing the could just barely lift the ball just over the head of the shortstop or second baseman and then drop dead in the outfield just enough so that now you have Jeter on 1st, no one out, and that gleam is still in his eye.

In the 7th game of the 2003 playoffs, Jeter is up in the 8th with the Sox up 5-2.  Mr. Clutch got a double.  It was a 3-run inning and the game went into extra innings.  And you guessed it, the Yanks won.  Jeter and the gleam in his eye shifted the momentum.  And that's all it took.

Although I can never admit liking Jeter, I can say that I respect him.  For his class, for the effort he always showed.  For being more about the clutch hit than average or other stats.

Jeter was our opponent.  But we have learned to respect him for his integrity.  May he enjoy his retirement.

The Tinge in the Leaves

The tinge of color can be seen in the trees.  The  first mini-season of Autumn is upon us.  The chilly breezes are beginning to blow. Our love affair with the warmth of summer is ending. It is a sad parting.

The music of Autumn is melancholy.  It is the season of separation, of leaving, of dying.  The lyrics were written by  Joni Mitchell, and sung (in my head) by Tom Rush:

    "I get the urge for going

      When the meadow grass is turning brown

      Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in."

The song speaks to the loss of separation that comes with the season.   The separation of a friend who is leaving, of the changes in nature, with birds and geese migrating, and the grasses in the meadows dying.  

It is not yet officially Autumn, but the signs of the season are upon.  

The leaves are turning brown.  
Summertime is falling down.  
Winter's closing in.
Winter's closing in.

A Peninsula near Freeport

Sitting on a peninsula between the rocky shorelines on Casco Bay and the Harraseeket River, about 3 miles from downtown Freeport, Maine is a 200-acre park of varied ecosystems, including climax white pine and hemlock forests, a salt marsh estuary, and craggy beaches.  Contrasting with commercial bustle of the outlets and restaurants is the quiet and relative seclusion within the park.  Wolfe's Neck Woods State Park was a gift of Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence M.C. Smith in 1969.

Following our hikes earlier in July at Crawford Notch and Mount Monadnock in New Hampshire, our July 26th hike was well within the category of "easy."  Our hike started along the shoreline of Casco Bay, which featured sedimentary rock outcroppings, gravely beaches, and an osprey sanctuary on a near-shore island.  The second half was the cross-peninsula Harraseeket Trail, which skirted above the banks of the Harraseeket River.

The Casco Bay Trail
Skirting the shoreline, the trail connects to the rocky beaches on the bay.

The gravely beach along Casco Bay.

The rock outcroppings on the beach, with Googins Island in the background.

Marine growth on the outcrops in the intertidal zone.

Closeup of the layers of the sedimentary outcropping.

The Harraseeket Trail

The cross-peninsula Harraseeket Trail traverses a relatively flat terrain mostly in a mixed canopy.  After crossing Wolf Neck Road, the trail approaches the river, staying 20 to 30 feet above the shoreline.

Hiking through the woods of Wolfe's Neck.

Fern groundcover in a sunny break in the forest canopy.

Glimpses of the Harraseeket River 

The Harraseeket River as seen from the namesake trail

Return to the Mountaintop!

Mt. Monadnock, on the clear day of
our previous climb, July 5, 2009.

One of my goals for this summer was a return to the mountaintop.  We had a little warm-up the week before climbing the Frankenstein Cliffs trail at Crawford Notch in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  But I really wanted to return to Mt. Monadnock in southwestern New Hampshire.  So, 5 years and 6 days after our last climb, my son and I returned on July 13, 2014.

Quoting my previous post:  "With a height of 3,165 feet (965 meters), Mount Monadnock is said to be the second most frequently climbed mountain in the world, after Mount Fuji in Japan. Located in southwestern New Hampshire (USA), on a clear day, one can see 100 miles (160 km) from the mountaintop. What makes the views so spectacular is the bare rock summit above the treeline and in the midst of unique alpine vegetation."

Here I am in the wind and the fog at
the summit.  

Well, the views on July 13, 2014 were not as spectacular.   In fact, a storm front was moving in and the summit was enshrouded in clouds, with 60 mph gusts and visibility of, maybe 500 feet.  The summit was closed shortly after I began my descent.

Oh, well.  Missed the views but it was still great to be up there with the wind and fog and moisture hanging in the air!

I had to include the following photo from our 2009 climb, to demonstrate how spectacular the view can be.  The rest of the photos were from this year's climb.

View from the mountaintop, July 5, 2009

The White Dot trail starts out so deceptively flat.  But not for long!

Rocks, roots, uneven ground:  always need good footwear!

The first view from a small rocky ledge about halfway up the trail.

Hazy view a little further along the climb.

Ferns form a understory in the thinner forest part way up.

View from the tree line

The craggy mountain above the tree line.  A good bit of climbing from here up is on the sloping rock face.

After over an hour of climbing, the first view of the summit comes tells you there's still a long way to go!

Above the tree line, the strong winds keep the vegetation stunted

Little ecosystems in the pools that form with the rocks near the summit.

Views just below the summit.

Hikers on the foggy summit

Trail map:   Both times, we too the White Dot trail for the climb and the White Cross for the descent.