Cemeteries

Mon-

Graveyards are an appropriate topic for Halloween week, and at this time of year they are often particularly attractive.  I should confess that I have always enjoyed walking through cemeteries, reading some of the tombstones, and meditating on life.  Something I picked up from my Mom, long ago.

We have four cemeteries that I know of within walking distance.  This is St. John’s, next to Hecksher Park.  Our town may be unusual in not having a church attached to any of these sites, but many of the places on Long Island are like this.  In the case of St. John’s, the congregation is now in the center of town, and this area, still maintained by them, also memorializes the original site of the church back in the early 1800’s.
Tue-

Huntington was founded in 1653, and some of the markers in Huntington Historic Cemetery at the end of town on Main Street date from shortly thereafter.  Not long ago this was a neglected and sorrowful place, full of weeds and fallen trees and irreverent litter, stones occasionally broken for some ill-conceived midnight prank by local drunken kids.  It has cleaned up a lot now, for the better.

Sometimes neglected graveyards are fun, but more often they are sad reminders of how even the most glorious lives sink into oblivion.  The more pretentious the memorial, the more ironic the setting.  But at some point, it is nice for the present to connect to its past, and for people to feel the weight of past generations and centuries and the deeds of those here before us.  That’s the meditative mood I want to achieve as I walk through the falling leaves here.
Wed-

I suppose it’s appropriately ghoulish to visit your own grave occasionally.  My wife assures me that we have the plot right here, next to her parents.  Since I will spend so much time at “rest” here, I feel it is only right that I walk around it occasionally as well.  Besides, who knows if we actually rest or not or if instead we chase rabbits for all eternity.

St. Patricks’ cemetery is about a half mile from our house, on rural Goose Hill Road.  It was the original location of a small church where the only catholic priest for Long Island in the very early days would make his rounds and have services here ever week or so.  Like many others, the church has moved upscale into the town.
Thu-

 

By far, the place with the best view is the Huntington Rural Cemetery rising high on sand hills on the south side of town, between to naturally carved routes into the interior of the Island.  This looks north, over the sound to Connecticut.  The graves are more recent _ mid 1800’s on _ and some of them, such as this figure, quite extravagant.  There is also an early  naval admiral _ a local celebrity _ with an old iron anchor on his stone.

It’s still active _ the latest area is dedicated to small children.  I love coming over here all times of year.  In spite of the motorcycle repair shop in the valley below, near the entrance, and the constant parade of trucks and cars on New York Avenue it can be calming and quiet and nearer heaven than the bustle below.  A good place to think and enjoy the trees spread out as if humans were hardly here at all.

Fri-

Around here, cemeteries are about as close as we get to public sculpture gardens.  Of course, the mythology is somewhat more restricted than it is in Europe.  Still, it can be a nice stroll in various seasons.

Our town has two other public statues, on Main Street at each end of the five block central area.  Up on the hill coming in from the west is a fairly bizarre bronze statue of Columbus, erected when the inhabitants went heavily Italian the middle of last century.  On the other end, more traditional near the historic cemetery and in front of the soldiers and sailors memorial is a clunky cement or granite carving of a civil war infantryman.  The local art museum is too sophisticated to allow anything representational near its grounds, of course.

Sat

The Rural Cemetery still has the old winter cold vault, where cadavers would be stored when the ground was too frozen to dig with picks and shovels.  This was common, of course, before back-hoes made the seasons irrelevant.  We take an awful lot of the power we command for granted, and forget how recently it became inexpensive enough to use for just about anything.

I try not to romanticize the past too much.  I doubt it was ever grand fun to be a pick and shovel grave digger,  even if you ran into Yorick.  I am certain I myself would rather be sitting in a warm back-hoe cabin than out in the nasty wet mud of March thaw.  Much too easy to pick and choose what we think it was like in other times, as we still do when we consider the ways of other cultures.
Sun-

 

Looking to the west from the top of the historic cemetery, the whole town is laid out in the valley before you.  Back in the old days, when most of the trees were cut down for farming, you could command a fine view all the way to the harbor.

Count Rumsfeld, on the British side, certainly thought so.  He knocked down the rebel tombstones and used them as the platform for his cannon “defending” the town.  This feat is well documented by all kinds of markers nearby, always ignored by the heavy traffic on 25A.  Some would say he had no respect for the dead, some would say he was just a practical man, but probably he was just ticked off at the locals.

   

Curiosities

Mon-

Hard to make out the snapping turtle on this magnification, but its nibbling on leaves below the 15 foot high dam at Hecksher.  About two feet head to tail, I guess.  I’ve seen at least one above the dam all summer, but hard to believe this would be the same one.  A few years ago, there was another a few miles away on the harbor beach.

So I guess it could be a breeding colony, or it could be a few here and there dumped in by lazy hobbyists.  Certainly it’s possible that this one-time native species is following the deer, foxes, river otters, and osprey and recolonizing.  Anyway, the first of a few curiosities.  
Tue-

How, you ask, is this bucolic scene in any way a curiosity?  Because it is almost the last of such formerly numerous places tucked anywhere around the harbor.  Somehow, this small slice of private property _ deeds dating back to the Revolution _ has escaped being leveled for a road or a marina, or turned into a private beach, or otherwise destroyed.  It is just about as it was fifty or so years ago, perhaps with different chairs.

Sadly, I know it will also go soon.  Neighbors complain about the fishing smell, the town covets it for a park, the owners rub their hands in anticipation of a sale.  It’s not that what follows will necessarily be bad, just that I miss an occasional undeveloped patch here or there.
Wed-

 

Some future marine archaeologist might snorkel upon this and think it a primitive alter on which sacrifices were offered to the gods. Alas, it is only an alter to upper middle class pretensions, burning wealth to the god of appearances.  Nevertheless, it is a cute little thing, around for many years now, from the prehistory of our own little neighborhoods.

Part of the fun of life is to sometimes take note of the little odd things rather than the most magnificent, whether for example fungi in the woods or the ornaments that folks put on their lawns.  Anything can be astonishing and lead to interesting mediations on life, meaning, and happiness.  But only if I work at it.

Thu-

The green structure is the Ezra Prime Octogon House, built back in the mid 1800’s. Apparently there was a craze for eight sided structures, which fairly quickly subsided after people found out have difficult it is to maintain a structure without right angles.  This one manages to hang on along Prime Avenue on one side of Hecksher Park.

We may not have the deep history of Europe or Asia, but there are a few centuries of history all around for anyone interested in it.  Fortunately,  we seem to be realizing it and preserving some of our heritage not so much to know who we once were, but as a relevant and living extension of who we are today.

Fri-

 

This is Huntington’s own version of a crooked house.  Built as a public training school, it has its handsome front squared up along Main street, but the walks wander back at an odd angle possible aligned with true North (I haven’t bothered to check.)  So from an angle like this, the side seems to disappear, leaving just a kind of old west façade surprisingly made of brick.

There obviously used to be a certain joy in architecture _ octogons, crooked walls, all kinds of turrets and gingerbread and towers _ that was all but erased in the boom from the fifties through a few years ago.  Hopefully, some of that playfulness will now return _ but for right now the homes are all boring boxy McMansions and the public centers are all monotonous heavy concrete and brick.

Sat-

 

The Valencia Tavern is one of the few remaining landmarks of a distant time when many of the town’s inhabitants went out for lobsters, fish, and clams for a living.  Which is to stay it dates from before the 1950’s suburban sprawl  and population boom that transformed everything.  Nobody knows how long it can hang around _ some forlorn baymen still end (or sometimes start) their day here, but there are no crowds and the regulars are sparse.

The fiberglass bull statue is an affectation of the owner put up sometime in the last three decades.  It is cute, and out of place, and has an affectionate place in many hearts, but it is fighting a losing economic battle.  Only some miracle fad of young people suddenly deciding for some reason it is a interesting place to be could save it now.  Like most of the old town, it will soon be gone, torn down or repurposed.  Nobody yet thinks of landmarking a bar.

Sun-

An obscure and neglected little park tucked in among the ramshackle Knutson’s boat works, built on what was formerly (and well before my time) a pottery factory which used local clay deposits since the time of the Revolution.  Once upon a time there might have been grand plans for it _ as this picnic pavilion now completely unused indicates.  Even this shed on the waterfront _ and concrete along the waterfront it faces _ is ready to go one winter or another.

No doubt, as at the end of the harbor, these picturesque old friends will soon be leveled for something shinier and more in keeping with what the town lawyers think is appropriate for avoiding lawsuits.  Most lawyers seem to pass Anti-Aesthetics 101 easily, so my guess is that the inevitable results will be pretty awful.

Nautical Procrastination

Mon-

With the cold season closing in, you might expect the boats to be thinning out a bit.  But it is just the opposite.  Some people suddenly realize they have not been out on the water all year, and try to squeeze in any few moments before the snow starts.  Those with boats already out keep hoping that there will be at least one more Indian summer day to cruise in warmth and sun.

So instead of fewer vessels out there, there are sometimes more.  The boatyards get ready for the rush _ the first hint of a fall storm or late hurricane will bring everyone at once.  In the meantime there is nothing they can do but wait.

Tue-

An awful lot of boats seem to be purchased in a fit of enthusiasm and then lie unused forever.  There are fads, sometimes sailboats, or canoes, or these kayaks, or lately stand-up-paddle boards.  But they all share a common element of being  taken out every day for a while, and then just stored somewhere along the shore as the weeds grow.  At least they provide some color.

By the time you get to mid October most folks around here _ not having Eskimo blood nor fortitude _ never venture out on small craft.  A few hardy souls will be there even in December, when the water temperatures actually start to make it dangerous.  But generally, it seems, pleasure vessels are mostly to be admired rather than take up too much of anyone’s valuable time.

Wed-

 

An assortment of craft used mostly by the town summer camp.  Pretty soon they’ll be collected by trucks and carted from the beach to some indoor storage facility.  Like the turning of the leaves, these seasonal changes work to their own rhythms.  Like leaves also, they have outlived their usefulness for this year.

Thu-

Cabin cruiser heading out for a late season spin.  Boats equipped this well, of course, could go out all year if they wished _ probably have TV and showers and who knows what else on board.  Usually, however, the only time I see a real parade is on holidays, not even weekends are very busy.  Maybe it is good enough to just show folks they want to impress what it looks like from the road, or maybe they hang out at the yacht club admiring their prize.

I’ve never developed boat envy _ I like my feet on dry land, thank you very much.  Easy touches of seasickness when I was young play a part in this, but mostly being cramped in a small place for hours drives me stir crazy.  A long cruise is one of my visions of Hell.

Fri-

Can’t resist a pretty picture, whether it fits the theme or not.  Life should be a bit chaotic; one of the worst faults I fall into is getting so wrapped in a train of thoughts that I ignore wonder.  That of course is very helpful in “real life” and work, but dulls and limits our experiences.

So there are no boats here, unless you squint, and not nautical themes except that any body of water is a potential nautical theme.  Sorry.

Sat-

Dingys are used to reach the clammers’ working boats beyond the tideline.  These are pulled up and tied to the guardrail along the shore road _ which results in a constant political battle between the town road department and the fishermen.  Sometimes there are annoying signs, sometimes chains around the struts, sometimes neon stickers screaming “this vessel will be removed!” .  Eventually an accommodation is reached, usually around elections, and things settle down for a while.

It used to be that nearly all the sailboats would be gone in November _ they are certainly never used in the winter _ but lately people have gotten somewhat lazy because the harbor rarely freezes thick enough to damage hulls.  No doubt the forest of masts will thin a bit, but it no longer vanishes completely as the snow begins to fall.

Sun-

Not everyone waits.  There can be a long line to get into the dock and have something as large as this lifted out of the water, cleaned with pressure hoses, covered in white shrink-wrap, and slowly driven across West Shore Road to the large sand pit where it is safely stowed row on row.  Unless, of course, a tree falls on it, but that’s a different story…

This marina stays busy throughout the year, even in the dead cold of winter something is going on, if only to clean the machinery in readiness for the next summer.  In some ways, these are the new fishermen, working long, cold, wet and dirty hours in all weather _ unfortunately with a lot of the romance and beauty stripped from their jobs.

 

 

 

Leaf Colors

Mon-

The next two weeks are peak colors around here, what there is of it along the harbor.  The vines go first, like this one draped along a fence.  The locusts are mostly bright yellow, everything else _ not so much.  Upland a bit _ say at Hecksher park _ there are a few bursts of brilliance.

In a way, it’s a time somewhat hard to focus on, almost a dreamtime.  It is still very warm and humid, even when the mists settle in.  Too late for swimming, and to tell the truth many of us are a little tired of heat and humidity.  Yet we also know that in another month we will be fervently wishing for the return of spring.  The problem, always, is to focus on today and experience it _ ignoring what will come or has been or might be.  Harder than it sounds.
Tue-

Mill Dam park, built on filled in salt marsh at head of harbor, has at least one sugar maple _ at least that’s what I assume it is, which stands out for its brilliance around now every year.  But as certain as the leaves are the organized fall sports and their parents sitting on the sidelines.  This is the great time for such activities _ the weather is pleasant, hopes for teams and individuals are high, everything is beautiful and possible.  In another month it has turned into a chore, in cold rain and wind, with a losing record or second string status, or parents  starting to realize that their seven year old might not be headed for a college scholarship after all.

Human activities constantly change, but I suppose there have been analogues to this through all societies in all of history and before.  The trees and seasons don’t care at all, and have been constantly marching on to their own rhythm.
Wed -

Hecksher Park is far enough removed from the water that some of the trees become pretty spectacular, this being an early example.  A little further on, the historic cemetery (with graves from well before the revolutionary war) has fantastic seasonal ambience (and sobering reflections) in late October.

The main thing is, it is fleeting, and not guaranteed.  The media now inform about the weeks of peak color, but peak color is only really there if the weather holds.  Sometimes the trees are just turning and get stripped by a storm before there is anything to look at.  You need to seize the day where you are, each moment, and not where you might go on some ideal weekend afternoon that may never come. 

Thu -

This view is far from timeless _ anchored in artifacts of exactly this time, from the chain link fence to the dock,  to the yachts in the marina.  Fifty years ago, this would have been pretty empty with no fence, no docks and maybe one anchored clamboat.  Fifty years from now, it is probably all under water.  We think the world goes on as we have known it forever, and what we have known has been there always, but that is never true.  We are truly dust in the wind.

Fri-

Storm clouds, light rain, wind, and a feeling of autumn even though the temperature is pretty warm.  The grasses are turning, the leaves are stripping off the branches, berries are ripe, and the goldenrod is in full force.  Yet almost nobody comes down here to the beach to see anything _ busy rushing somewhere on the highway above, they might simply note that the sun is not out today as they drive to their important engagements.

You have to live, and you need to do what you must to do so.  I myself have often driven by, only concerned with whether the rain would hinder my commute.  To comment on how people sometimes cannot appreciate the world fully is not to say they are doing anything wrong or could change today.  You can, after all, only take advantage of opportunities to see sights such as these if you actually have the time and energy and opportunity to actually do so.

Sat-

From the beach, through the grass, to the bathhouse on Gold Star Battalion beach.  The restrooms are locked and the staff and life guards long gone, but the windows still need boarding up against winter storms.  The big sandy stretch in front has been taken over by dogs and their owners. 

One of my great joys in these later days is to be able to go to the common places I go all the time, but to spend a little effort to see them in a different way, or find a slightly different perspective.  It does not take a trip to Egypt or Brazil to jog our perceptions out of their normal ruts, if we simply cultivate a sense of adventure and wonder no matter where we are and how familiar it seems.

Sun -

Poison Ivy is such a pretty plant in most seasons that it is difficult to avoid using it in pictures.  Were it not for its obnoxious qualities it would be used heavily in gardens _ but it is certainly hardy enough around here not to need much help. 

The amazing thing about ecology is how many things fit together.  Poison Ivy, precisely because it is harmful to humans, is a real benefit to wildlife, with berries and hiding places for birds and small mammals.  A reason to learn about the natural world is to appreciate how different things can work to make a larger whole, and to then apply those lessons to our own lonely inner self and occasional feelings of inadequacy.  There is a place, somehow, for almost everything and everyone in some meaningful way.