Right Whales Mating Off Cape Cod

It has been in the news and everyone is driving down to the Cape (the “other” cape) to see if they can get a glimpse. It is exciting news for whale lovers. Right whales, one of the most endangered species on the planet, are gathering off Cape Cod to mate. At last report approximately 70 of them were in the area. This is especially exciting because 70 whales constitutes about one-fifth of the world's population of right whales. And they are mating. Let's wish them luck at that!

Reports are that people are driving from all over New England, armed with binoculars and digital cameras, in hopes of spotting the 40 ton creatures. It is encouraging, at least, to know how many people know about this and are excited and thrilled to know what is going on. There is hope, spring is in the air and out at sea these great creatures may be procreating.

On Sunday I spent some time out on the back shore watching the waves roll in the fog banks moving back and forth. The two stone towers out on Thacher's Island kept appearing and disappearing in and out of the fog. I have lived here now for fourteen years and I never get tired of being out on the back shore with the waves and the gulls and the fog when it is there. I think about the whales all the time. I used to go on whale watches whenever I could find an excuse to do so but in the past few years I've cut back on that. Somehow I don't want to be part of the hoards of people who plunk down their money to ride out there and watch the whales. I understand why they do it and I don't begrudge them that right. It is good for the local economy. Maybe I just don't need that experience any more.

I'm getting older. Sixty isn't that far off and these days time seems incredibly precious. No matter how much I get done there is still so much more I want to do. Every Friday I have this incredible list of things I am going to accomplish over the weekend but I am lucky if I get a fraction of that done. It's not that I am not productive, it is just that there is so much I want to achieve, not really for entertainment or even reward, but just because I have all these ideas --- stories I want to tell, designs I want to create and record, projects I want to complete --- and I think it is taking me much longer these days to accomplish anything. For awhile I thought I was slowing down as I get older but lately I realize it is more because I have become much more exacting, taking greater pains with what I do.

The publication of my e-book and its subsequent success has been encouraging. Sales are still good and knowing that I can create something that others are willing to buy has been exciting. Plus the extra income has made it possible to look at a few more possibilities that I wouldn't have dreamed of before.

When I came back from my trek out the back shore on Sunday I spent the rest of the afternoon working on some knitwear designs and writing the patterns. I could her the foghorn off Eastern Point as I worked and it made me think about the whales. They continue to keep to their migratory schedule, mating along the way despite their dwindling numbers. I worry about the whales but I also worry about people and what we are becoming. The A&E program “Intervention” tempted me to write a blog about how we have turned the misery of others into entertainment. We have created a culture that is so alienated, so artificial, so exploitative that millions of us have become mired in addiction. We have created a culture where the cost of medical care is so exorbitant and insurance so inadequate in order to provide profit that those who most need help cannot get it. So, what is the solution? The families of the most addicted are only able to afford help for their loved one by exploiting them in the public arena for entertainment. People across the country can sit in their living rooms and play ain't-it-awful watching these programs much like Romans watching lions devouring Christians.

But then there are those who drive to Provincetown hopeful and excited that maybe the right whales will survive. They stand in the wet and the cold eager for just a glimpse, just flash of black along the horizon. It gives them hope.

We are strange people and lately time seems to be speeding up. I hope we all find the time to do what we need to do, whether it is write a book, conquer an addiction, or just see another whale.

Thanks for reading.

Introducing The Ravelry Shop for Patterns

I'm really happy to introduce my first venture in to making patterns for my knitted designs available through Ravelry. I just uploaded my first design to the shop, My Raspberry Beret, which is available free of charge to download in PDF format. In the weeks and months ahead, I plan to add more designs so please check back. The success of selling The Mermaid Shawl & other Beauties in e-format has encouraged me to try setting up the Ravelry shop.

All patterns will be free or affordably priced and will come with discounts for my books and for other items of interest to knitters (including Leslie Wind's lovely shawl pins and Tewelry.) The patterns will be published as part of my Knit Your Tail Off line and are all offered with tips and encouragement to use the patterns as a beginning for your own original works.

And, FYI, The Mermaid Shawl & other Beauties is off to press and will soon be available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other online booksellers in paperback format.

Knit Your Tail off wants ever item knitted to be as unique and lovely as the knitter who knitted it.

Thanks for reading.

My Sewing Room

People always say to me, "Boy, I'd love to see your sewing room." Nooooo, you wouldn't. It's a mess but that's the way productive rooms are, I suppose. Anyway, I was photographing some knitting projects and I took this. Annotated for your entertainment. (Click to enlarge)

Thanks for reading.

An Open Invitation to Area Writers

In honor of this area's remarkable literary heritage, I started a web site, Literary Gloucester, a couple years ago that pays tribute to writers in essays by writers. The site was just a labor of love on my part and I was pleased to receive three essays by Peter Anastas to get it started. He wrote essays on his friends Charles Olsen and Vincent Ferrini, as well as one on Lowell's Jack Kerouac.

My dear friend the late Mark S. Williams wrote an essay on Andre Dubus III that was added next. Then Theatre in the Pines Artistic Director and writer Nan Webber added an essay on T. S. Eliot. Then the site languished. I have been working on an essay on Nathaniel Hawthorne but I can't seem to finish it.

So I have decided to renew my effort to make this site happen by issuing an open invitation to writers from the Cape Ann area to participate. What I ask is that you email me an essay on a writer whose work has influenced, inspired, or in some other way gained your admiration. Please include a photograph of yourself and, if possible, one of the writer you are writing about. I would prefer that the subject of your article be from the area (at least New England) or who wrote here.

In exchange for your participation I'll add a brief bio and links to your books and where they can be purchased. I hope this will add to this project, promote the writing of contemporary writers, and create resource on the world-wide web for those interested in New England authors.

Thanks for reading.

Andy Warhol and A Local Mystery

When I was in high school I was kind of fascinated by Andy Warhol. Not because of his art specifically and certainly not because of the mystique of depravity that was so much a part of his persona and the people he surrounded himself with. No, my fascination with Warhol had to do with the fact that he was from Pittsburgh --- a place I knew well, had spent a lot of time in over the years of growing up and loved. The very notion that a guy from Pittsburgh, where there were skeletons of dinosaurs and a stuffed dodo bird and a weirdly beautiful aviary, could become a famous artist of all things just astonished me.

I didn't really know a lot about him but whenever there would be an article in any of the magazines my parents got --- Life and Look in particular because they had huge pictures --- I would read every word, save the pictures and hang them on the back of my bedroom door and spend a lot of time studying the art that he was so famous for. I didn't really understand it but I liked it.

Recently I watched a documentary called A Walk Into the Sea; Danny Williams and the Warhol Factory. I watched it because it was about Warhol --- sort of. Over the years I've gained a somewhat different perspective on him. I know more about his manipulative and self-aggrandizing behaviors but, maybe not too much to my credit, those things never bother me in artists. I've always figured that real geniuses have so much to cope with that they can't always be judged by more mundane standards but that's a discussion for another day.

What surprised me about the film is that the titular event, the walk that Danny Williams took into the sea happened right here in a place I know well. In a place where I have walked into the sea --- only I remembered to walk back out. Pigeon Cove is a beautiful place with a stone breakwater that shelters a small cove where lots of lobstermen moor their boats. I have spent a lot of hours there and both drawn and painted the fishing shacks that line the wall below the breakwater. There was one memorable fishing shack that was absolutely covered with climbing roses. Whichever lobsterman owned that shack had planted roses around it and it was a wonderful sight, this little fish shack drenched in roses with lobster buoys hanging from it. Peter Prybot writes about Pigeon Cove in his book, Lobstering Off Cape Ann.

So anyway in 1966 Danny Williams, a Rockport boy who had dropped out of Harvard to go to New York where he had fallen in with the Warhol crowd, came home to visit his mother in Rockport. One evening after supper he borrowed her car, drove to Pigeon Cove and parked it and was never seen again. Did he indeed walk into the sea? Or did he turn in another direction and hitchhike off into America. Nobody knows for sure but the first scenario seems the most likely.

The documentary, made by his niece, is an interesting piece of work. She interviews members of their family as well as some of the surviving Warhol luminaries --- luminous for little more than having hung around with Andy Warhol, with the exception of John Cale. Naturally none of them have an answer to what happened but there is a certain weird fascination in watching these aged hipsters sitting around reminiscing and, in some cases, venting their bitterness about lives that became relatively pointless once Warhol up and died. Cale is probably the most insightful when he refers to the Warhol crowd as a “bunch of nobodies” who leeched off of Warhol That's not entirely accurate.

The way I have it figured is that the Warhol Factory was a symbiotic relationship. Warhol supported a bunch of people who may have had creative potential but who lacked he ability to take that potential very far. He gave them importance and community and took a lot of ideas in return. Is this right? Who can say. It's gone on forever in creative circles from the studios of the great artists of the Renaissance through Gertrude Stein's salons into the present time. Wherever there is a lot of creative energy being generated there will be those who are drawn to that. Some will flourish and come out of it energized.

So Danny Williams, who may or may not have become a great filmmaker, became part of Warhol's crowd. There is also speculation that he and Warhol were lovers. And for whatever reason he left New York, came back to Cape Ann and disappeared. Now 42 years later all that remains of him, a few pieces of film and an interesting documentary made by his niece, just fuel another local mystery among the lobster buoys and the roses and the hulls of lost ships.

Thanks for reading.

Thacher Island: Ann’s Eyes

There is a mystique about lighthouses. I’m not sure if it is their proximity to dangerous places, their sense of watchful guardianship, their histories, or simply the fact that they are relatively rare. I see people walking around in jackets, sweatshirts, and t-shirts with pictures of lighthouses all over them and the local gift shops routinely sell out of miniature lighthouses. People are fascinated by them.

I took this on a recent summer evening from Nautilus Road.

Out here on Gloucester island we have six of them and none more lovely than the twin towers built on Thacher’s Island. I think it is safe to say I have seen them virtually every day for the past ten years and I still look for them when I am driving up Nautilus Road or around the back shore. I love the sight of them in the shifting play of daylight and the wink of their lights, known as Ann’s Eyes, at night.

I have been reading Eleanor C. Parson’s Thachers: Island of the Twin Lights which I got from the Sandy Bay Historical Society. It is a comprehensive history of the island beginning with a shipwreck there in 1635, through the building and re-building of the towers, into the present. A good read rich with pictures and sketches.

I have been to Thacher Island a couple times for visits and it is a beautiful place, much larger (50 acres) than you would think from land. The South Tower is still a working lighthouse and closed to the public but the North Tower, which once housed a herd of wild goats, has been cleaned up and is available for exploration. A bright, steady light burns in the tower at night.

(At left, the South Tower photographed on a trip to the island a few years ago)

The interior of the lighthouse surprised me for the beauty of the tile and ironwork there. I wondered that such a remote place, visited by so few people would have been built with such craftsmanship but that was how things were done back then. The original towers were built in 1771 and rebuilt as the 184 foot stone towers we see today in 1861.

In Ms. Parson’s book she tells the story of Maria Bray whose husband Alexander was a keeper there. On December 21, 1864 Alexander and one of his assistant keepers rowed into Rockport for provisions and medicine for the other assistant keeper who lay in bed with a fever. Maria was left on the island with two small children. A bitter storm grew throughout the day and Alexander and his keeper were prevented from returning. Maria was left alone to tend both lights. She climbed the 148 steps to the lightroom of the North Tower and replenished the oil in the lamp, then descended, walked the 300 yards to the South Tower in howling winds and driving snow, climbed it and refilled the lamps. She repeated this task three times - once every five hours - until her husband and the assistant returned safely to the island.

(At right, I took this photo of the South Tower through a window on one of the landings inside the North Tower.)

Having climbed the North Tower once I can tell you it is not something I would do again and cannot imagine doing it six times in one day in bitter cold. But Maria knew that keeping those lights burning was the only hope ships at sea would be safe - and the only hope her husband had of returning to her and their children.

In Mark’s book F/V Black Sheep he tells of bringing the Sheep pack from Nova Scotia alone after he bought it. Crossing 200 miles of the open Atlantic by himself he lost navigation midway into his trip and had to rely on his knowledge of bird flight patterns and dead reckoning to get back to Cape Ann. He was past the time he thought allowable to make the trip and had no idea where he was when he saw the two lights of Ann’s Eyes in the distance. As mariners have for over two hundred years he brought the Sheep around until the two lights lined up as one. Following that trajectory he was soon steaming past Good Harbor Beach were he grew up and has lived all his life.

Ann’s Eyes are beautiful on their own but even more so because they have guided so many safely home.

Thanks for reading.

P.S. You can help keep the Thacher Island Lighthouses in good repair by joining the Thacher Island Association. Thanks.
Note: This post originally ran on September 12, 2005. It is one of the most frequently visited posts on this blog and is being repeated for those who have subscribed to our new feed service.

The Lace Reader / The Mysteries of Salem

In the mid-nineteenth century a literary fad emerged in Germany and France which spread to the US. Steeped in the German romanticism of the earlier part of that century, the genre spawned a series of books that frequently contained the words “the mysteries of” in the title. This was followed by the name of a city and the books were often serialized in local newspapers. Today these titles may sound a little oxymoronic to our ears: The Mysteries of Detroit, The Mysteries of Cleveland.

One of the most notable and enduring was The Mysteries of New Orleans by Baron Ludwig von Reizenstein which appeared in a German language newspaper printed in New Orleans between 1854 and 1855. The book is still available in print --- I know this because I own a copy. It is really quite an amazing tale filled with all manner of sensational themes: sex, lust, the occult, demons, depravity, all that good gothic stuff that thrilled readers of the era and, earlier, inspired a writer like Jane Austen to create Catherine Morland, her gothic-obsessed heroine of Northanger Abbey.

What made me think of all this was reading Brunonia Barry's novel The Lace Reader. It had been recommended by some readers in one of the knitter's forums I participate in and I'll confess that I really loved reading it --- in no small part because so much of the landscape was so familiar to me.

Set in modern day Salem, the story revolves around a family of mostly women who have the unique ability to “read” the images they see while looking through pieces of Ipswich lace. The story is enhanced by quotes that begin each chapter from a book called “The Lace Reader's Guide”, ostensibly a manual that teaches the proper method for reading lace. Because I lived for several years in Salem and Marblehead, and the exact terrain described was an everyday part of my life --- most notably Peache's Point where I lived overlooking Baker's Island and the Misery Islands, and the Salem Willows where I often spent summer evenings --- it was delicious to get lost in this mysterious story that all took place in a landscape I knew so well.

The story is clever. Nothing is what you think it is. Well, that's not quite true. I admit I figured out pretty early in the narrative that the heroine and her sister were.... well, I won't give anything away. But the elements of a good gothic novel, as well as those of a contemporary tale of destruction and abuse, are all there. Witches, pagans, religious fanatics, a brave hero, a dastardly villain.... what's not to like? On a serious level Barry paints portrait of abuse and its effects that is all to believable. And on a fantastical level she creates a world that the readers of Baron Ludwig von Reizenstein would have loved. In a way it is the delicious cast of peculiar character and the background of a city that has not only overcome the horrors of its seventeenth-century misdeeds but developed a thriving tourist industry based on them, that saves this story from falling into that horrible miz-lit category. In the book's climax, when the contemporary religious fanatics gang up to attack the “witches”, the tourist crowds gather around to watch the goings-on quite sure that what they are witnessing is a re-enactment and not the assault by a crazed mob that it is. The basic story is a horrible one but the telling is brilliant.

So, as I reluctantly turned the last page, I could not help but think of The Mysteries of ... books. This is a good read. It faithfully and accurately paints a picture of the Salem and Marblehead I know. It effectively tells a story that is all too believable, and it does it all with wit, style, grace, insight, and no small amount of gothic thrills. I loved it.

Thanks for reading.

Montgomery Gallery Opening

Marine Paintings and Portraits by David Montgomery David Montgomery's charcoal drawing of Mary Ann was awarded the Ako Atsuta Memorial Prize for excellence in the current Sketch Group Show at the Rockport Art Association, which is up until April 5th. An exhibition of his recent work, including scenes from Montgomery's Boatyard and coastal views, as well as portraits, continues at the Sovereign Bank on Main Street in Gloucester until April 1st. The David Montgomery Studio and Fine Art Gallery will reopen to the public on April 4th.at Montgomery's Cove, 29 Ferry Street, Gloucester. Hours are Saturday, 1 to 5 pm. All are welcome. For information: 978.283.0262 or dhm@davidhmontgomery.com

Gloucester Sculpture by Moonlight

If you appreciate public sculpture, Gloucester is a good place to live. For a town this size we have some remarkable pieces of public sculpture partly due to the popularity of Lanesville–-a village on the far end of the island that is, in fact, part of Gloucester (no matter what they say)–-as the workplace of some distinguished American sculptors in the early part of the twentieth century. It is easy to take these magnificent pieces for granted, especially the ones you see every day.

Late yesterday afternoon, I had to run out to do a couple errands and, as I was driving around the statue of Joan of Arc in front of the Legion I happened to look up and notice the full moon rising behind the statue, even as the last golden rays of the setting sun were glinting off of it. Luckily, I had a camera in the car and snapped the picture at left.

This statue, created by Anna Hyatt Huntington who worked in Lanesville, features a Gloucester fire horse named Frank. Who the model for Joan was, I don’t know. Folks here in Gloucester like to joke about Joan being positioned so that visitors driving into town over the bridge are greeted by Joan and Frank’s backsides. They forget that Joan was created in 1921, a quarter century before the Piatt Andrews Bridge was built, and the only way into town was up Route 127 which Joan faces.

Joan is looking very good these days. In the year 2000 she was given a makeover and years of green patina was removed to restore her to the deep luster of her original bronze. My friend Rebecca Reynolds, who is writing her doctoral dissertation on Huntington, was instrumental in organizing a group of Girl Scouts to accomplish this task.

I first met Rebecca when we collaborated on a book about the Manship family of artists/sculptors who still have their gallery in Lanesville. Later we worked on a second book together about Gloucester sculptor George Aarons. Rebecca has recently moved into Walker Hancock’s old studio out in Lanesville where she plans to spend the winter finishing her dissertation.

As I drove down Middle Street to the Boulevard, the moon seemed to be following me and by the time I was passing Leonard Craske’s famous Man At The Wheel, he too was illuminated by the setting sun with the moon just behind him (right). I love this statue. Most of us in Gloucester do. I wish I knew more about it. Craske lived and worked on Rocky Neck where he created this statue in 1923. It was erected in honor of Gloucester’s 300th Anniversary and pays homage to the men of Gloucester who have earned livings and lost lives at sea. In his book, Mark mentions passing the statue every day as he steamed out of Gloucester Harbor into the North Atlantic to tend his lobster traps. After reading Mark’s harrowing experiences in that book and getting to know the man himself, my reverence for that statue and all it represent has grown a hundredfold.

Since it was a beautiful, warm evening, especially for November, and I was able to drive with the top down (always the barometer of a successful day–-like most convertible-drivers I judge life by “topless” days and non-topless days), I took a ride out along the back shore before returning home. The moon was well up and the sky a lovely rose-color. There, mounted on one of the back shore’s huge boulders was a third sculpture (left), this time by an unknown artist–-someone who, while passing by, felt compelled to create his/her own little work of art. It was lovely.

I don’t know what it is about Gloucester. People have been saying that for centuries. It opens your eyes and makes you see the world in a different way. Last night, as happens so often, I was again reminded of how much I love this place and how fortunate I am to be here. I hope I never lose awareness of that.

Thanks for reading.

Note: This post originally ran on November 11, 2005. It is one of the most frequently visited posts on this blog and is being repeated for those who have subscribed to our new feed service.

Viva San Giuseppe!

Today is the feast day of St. Joseph according to Catholic tradition. St. Joseph,as most people know, was the earthly father of Jesus and the husband of the Blessed Mother. Because I grew up in a Catholic family with a father whose middle name was Joseph and who was a carpenter by trade, St. Joseph, or at least the statue of him, was a part of our lives. Dad had a large statue of him downstairs in his woodshop and there was another one on top of the refrigerator in the kitchen. They are probably still there.

When I was a kid my Dad often took St. Joseph's Day off. He would go to Mass in the morning and then just take the day off. It was his own, self-declared holiday. I never knew of St. Joseph's Day as being anything more than my Dad's personal holiday until I lived down south and was spending a fair amount of time in New Orleans where St. Joseph Day was celebrated much the was St. Patrick's Day is celebrated in other parts of the country. Naturally, it's New Orleans, any excuse for a party.

Actually, it's not quite that flamboyant, after all it IS Lent. Some moderation must be employed. But here in Gloucester the feast of St. Joseph is celebrated by many of the local Italian families with a great respect for the traditions of their home towns in Italy. Viva San Giuseppe! The feast day is preceded by nine days of Novena and, of course, there is food. Lots of food.

When I worked in the fiber optics industry one of my favorite fellow employees was a guy named Joe who was one of the nicest, brightest, and most thoughtful people I've ever met. He grew up in a big Italian family in Revere and every day on St. Joseph's Day he would bring us zeppoli, a traditional Italian pastry made of a crunchy, crisp, flaky shell filled with delicious cream. He always brought two kinds, fresh and cooked. The fresh was rich whipped cream and the cooked, my favorite, was custard-like and utterly delicious. They make those pastries here in Gloucester at the Italian bakeries. I have had them from Cafe Sicilia and they are to die for.

Our good friend Jay Albert from Cape Ann Images has been photographing this year's festivities at the home of the Groppo family. The photos are on his blog. Last Saturday he attended the pasta making event where pounds and pounds of pasta are made in a matter of hours and then the family observes the Old Country tradition of serving the pasta by pouring it down the middle of the table, covering it with sauce, giving everyone a fork, and letting them chow down (Mangia!) The tradition originated in the farmyards of Italy where field hands and orchard workers were served pasta at noon from planks scrubbed clean and placed over saw horses in the yard. Later this way of eating became a tradition of thanks for a bountiful harvest.

Last night there was a Mass in honor of St. Joseph and today there will be more feasting. The traditions of making the altar, cooking the food, teaching the young to carry on the customs are being preserved and we can only hope that successive generations will observe them.

As for St. Joseph, we know very little about him. There is no record in the Bible or in Catholic tradition of his ever having said a single word. We know he was descended from King David and that he was a carpenter but little else. He is the Patron Saint of fathers, of carpenters, of social justice, and of the dying. Today is the day for remembering him through prayer, gifts of bread and this prayer: O St. Joseph whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt before the Throne of God, I place in you all my interests and desires. O St. Joseph do assist me by your powerful intercession and obtain for me from your Divine Son all spiritual blessings through Jesus Christ, Our Lord; so that having engaged here below your Heavenly power I may offer my Thanksgiving and Homage to the most Loving of Fathers. O St. Joseph, I never weary contemplating you and Jesus asleep in your arms. I dare not approach while He reposes near your heart. Press him in my name and kiss His fine Head for me, and ask Him to return the Kiss when I draw my dying breath. St. Joseph, Patron of departing souls, pray for us. Amen

Viva San Giuseppe!

Thanks for reading.

Ship's Figureheads

I've been writing again which is a good thing. I've started a short story that I am sort of in love with and it has occupied a lot of my time lately. I'm not going to talk about the story except to say that it requires a little bit of research on two of my favorite maritime art subjects --- ship's figureheads and sailor's valentines. So today I thought I'd blog about figureheads.

Shortly after I moved to New England in 1987 I became entranced by ship's figureheads. I'd never seen them before, outside of the movies anyway, and suddenly I was spotting them everywhere --- over the doors of shops and restaurants, in the gables of houses, in marine store windows. I began a sketch journal in which I drew them and documented where I saw them. I'm glad I did because a lot of them have disappeared which is too bad.

Probably one of the greatest collections of figureheads is in the Peabody-Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts (above). There are figureheads all over the place in that museum but the hall of figureheads shown above is enough to take your breath away. There is something kind of super-hero-ish about those figures and, I suppose that when you consider how many sailors counted on their ship's guardian to see them through storms, that is not an entirely inappropriate metaphor.

Actually, back in the days of sail, New England ships did not sport a lot of ornamentation for the simple reason that a good many of the ships were owned by Quaker businessmen who eschewed ornamentation. But from the Vikings on many ships, especially of European origin, carried some sort of figurehead. There is a good history of figureheads at The Figurehead Archive.

Over the years as I traveled around --- Mystic Seaport, Nantucket Whaling Museum, Halifax, Nova Scotia's Maritime Museum --- I kept photographing and drawing the figureheads I like. My favorites were the figures of women mostly because I loved to think about what their carvers had been thinking of when they carved them and what they came to mean to the men who sailed with them. The truth is some of the carving is really bad and clumsy but, in a sense, that makes them all the more fascinating. The figurehead at left is on the 171-foot Friendship of Salem which is a replica of a 1797 East India tall ship. While the figurehead is reasonably well-done, the facial features are not articulated. A common feature of early figureheads.

New Bedford is one of the richest troves for finding unexpected figureheads. They peak out from under the eaves of houses and canopies of shops. There was a shop called Moby Dick that had a wonderful little figurehead mounted over its door. The New Bedfor Whaling Museum has a fine collection including the figure at left which is the one I used as a model when I described the figurehead hanging over the bar in the Old Mermaid Inn in The Old Mermaid's Tale. Actually it is a combination of that one and a figurehead that used to hang over the door of the Rhumb Line Tavern here in Gloucester. That one was removed because it was too damaged by the elements but now hangs inside.

But of all the figureheads I have seen the one I am most partial too is a tiny little one --- only a few inches tall --- attached to the pulpit in the Seaman's Bethel in New Bedford (left). The pulpit is shaped like the prow of a ship and was so famously described in Herman Melville's Moby Dick. Every time I have been in the Bethel I am always awed by the sense of silence reverence that is held there. One cannot help but think of all the prayers that place has been home to for mariners heading out and mariners lost and mariners never-to-return. For some reason that tiny little lady with her hands crossed demurely over her breast seems appropriate as a symbol of hope --- such a tiny thing against something so vast as the sea.

Thanks for reading.

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Note: This post originally ran on July 8, 2008. It is one of the most frequently visited posts on this blog and is being repeated for those who have subscribed to our new feed service. The story mentioned in the blog, Sailor's Valentine, is now available at Heart Throb Books.

Meet Toby & Ernie

I have posted before about my friend Sharon who works at the zoo in Houston, TX. Every now and then she sends photos and I just cannot resist posting them so here are a few. This is what she says about them: Thought you might like to see a couple of photos from the zoo. Ever so often I get to take a break from cleaning and doing diets, and do something really awesome. Attached is a photo of our new Red Panda, Toby. He just arrived at the zoo from Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. The other photo is Ernie, one of our porcupines. He was born at the zoo and is about 1 year old. Most people don't believe this but he is actually very very soft. Won't throw his quills if he feels he is in danger, he only loosens them so if you come in contact with him you get stuck with them.

And Ernie:

And this last picture was taken on one of her trips to Africa to observe animals. That is Mount Kilimanjaro in the background:
Thanks for reading.

Swept Away

Saturday morning I finished reading PJ Piccirillo's Heartwood and logged on to Amazon to post my review as promised. I loved the book. It is not, as I said in my review, a contemporary page-turner but rather a deep meditation on a time and a place and a people --- that forms the background of my life. For the rest of the weekend I found myself drifting off remembering stories and experiences from my early life that were so very close to scenes in the book. It was interesting to me that the story and the descriptions could bring back so much.

In the book one of the characters builds a lodge deep in the woods near Marstadt where the executives of the carbon plant he works for can entertain businessmen and clients and treat them to a very elegant and upscale “wilderness experience” as we'd call it today. The author describes the lodges in detail and I found my mind careening back forty-odd years to Trout Run.

Trout Run was such a place just outside St. Marys deep in the woods where the owner of one of the big carbon plants had built it. When I was in my teens my Dad was hired by the family to do renovation work in some of the lodges there and then to build a house for the next generation of that family. The house was a replica of an Alpine Lodge and I remember how fascinated my father was by the architecture and the finishing work he was getting to do. Sometimes I'd drive down to Trout Run to take Dad lunch or to deliver something and he would give me a tour. It was a beautiful place. There were deep hollows with streams splashing through them, fir trees lining the roads, silvery waterfalls trickling down from outcrops of rock, and banks of pink-tipped white Mountain Laurel blossoms visible through the trunks of trees covering the hillsides. I can close my eyes now and smell the wood and the sap and the cedar shavings piled around the bushes that surrounded the lodges. And always the musky scent of woodsmoke, the peep of teaberries poking out from under their shiny, colorful leaves.

When I was a kid I loved teaberries. My brothers and I picked them in the woods that stood across the street from our house on Evergreen Road. One time when I was sick Jack picked me a whole bucket of teaberries. I don't know which made me better --- the teaberries or the love of a brother who would pick you a bucket of teaberries. All these memories have come bubbling up to the surface thanks to PJ Piccirillo's descriptive prose.

So, I went to Amazon and posted my review and then, because I am an author and therefore hopelessly vain, I went to check on my books and see how they were doing. And there, much to my delight, was a new review posted for The Old Mermaid's Tale:

Romance is back!, March 11, 2009

By	Elizabeth Payne "Damselfly Studio" - See all my reviews

A wonderful tale of romance, set in Northwest PA. Those that are from this area will appreciate the setting, particuarly if you are from the Great Lakes or the seacoast. Kathleen Valentine has skillfully woven the culture of the city of Erie (in her fictional city Port Presque Isle) and its rich cultural heritage into her tale of a young woman growing up in the early 60's. Claire moves from rural Ohio, to what is considered to be an urban area to go to college. She is intrigued by the mysterious waterfront, and its stories. She finds love, only to have him walk away to the water. But love is not lost for her, as she finds a soul mate with a mysterious, gifted musician, Baptiste, who is part of the waterfront scene of Port Presque Isle. The Old Mermaids Tale is also a story of redemption, and finding one's way back home. It is a beautiful tale, the characters are alive, and I hated to see the last page come. I look forward to reading more of Ms Valentines books in the future.

It thrilled me because here I was all dreamy and thrilled by the way Heartwood transported me and there is a reader writing about how my book transported her. It was just too perfect.

I don't know why every writer writes but I do know that some of us write in the hopes of preserving something that was precious to us in the hope that it will touch someone else. When that happens it is reassurance that we have done a good job. So I thank PJ Piccirillo for sweeping me away and I thank Elizabeth Anne Payne in Erie, Pennsylvania for letting my book sweep her away.

Thanks for reading.

Some Days Are Meant for Dreaming...

Creating Beauty / Enjoying Accomplishment

There has been an interesting discussion on one of the message boards I frequent about the “attitude” that some knitters encounter from non-knitters in their life about knitting. Many of the knitters participating in the discussion are half my age or less so I know it is not an age-ism thing. But what they are saying is that they have been subjected to snarky, snide cracks about their love of knitting. Comments range from things like, “Oh, you must have nothing useful to do if you spend all that time knitting!” to “What an earth are you going to do with all that homemade stuff you churn out?” It flabbergasts me.

I've been knitter and sew-er all my life and I know what they are talking about. Now, don't get me wrong, there are many people who have been supportive and who are delighted and touched to be presented with a hand-made (“homemade”) item. But I learned early on that not everyone feels that way. I've heard the cracks, too. Some years back I was working in a place where they had an annual Christmas gift exchange among staff. The first year I gave a hand-knit muffler and hat in a soft wool-angora in a color that I thought the recipient would like. She did and was pleased with the gift. However, the following year when we exchanged names my exchangee somehow found out I had her name and made several, loud comments about how she hoped she wasn't going to get another of my “homemade” things. Always funny but also pointed. So I went to Marshall's and bought her a cheap pair of gloves and she was happy. You have to pick your battles in this life. And why give one of your beautiful babies to someone who won't appreciate it?

I've been very pleased with the way my shawl book has been received. It is still selling in e-format and will be going to press soon for a paperback. One of the comments I receive over and over is not only do people love the shawls but they also love the photography. I have Gloucester to thank for that. On the evening we did the shoot for the Mermaid Shawl (above) on a hill overlooking Gloucester Harbor and Ten Pound Island, it was just a happy accident that the Lannon was out sailing back and forth always within range for the model. Tom Ellis didn't know what a favor he was doing me but I gave him a plug in the book anyway.

And where else would I have such an ideal setting at the Hammond Estate for the photos of the Shawl of Falling Leaves and Shooting Stars (left)? An autumn day with a red-haired model made that an easy shoot to show off that shawl. Still, when I finished the book and started talking about it I got some surprising feedback: “A knitting book??? You wrote a knitting book? I thought you were a novelist!” And: “Knitting? Well, I guess that's sort of artistic... in a way.” Sigh.

I made those shawls because I loved making them. The thing about knitting is that for me it serves two functions --- I can make something lovely and creative, AND it gives me space in which to think. You'd be surprised how much work I get done on my novels and short stories while my hands are busy with the needles.

Plus study after study shows that knitters (and other hand-crafters) have lower blood pressure, better concentration, are more relaxed, happy and focused than people who do not engage in a satisfying, creative endeavor. So, all those young knitters who feel like they have to defend their passion for the needles can take comfort in knowing that they are improving their quality of life and creating beauty at the same time. If others don't appreciate that, tough, tell them to go watch television and leave you in peace.

Thanks for reading.

Voices from the Past/Great-Aunt Mary's Keuchels

Sometimes something so unexpected happens --- and is so welcome --- that it just makes your day! In addition to this blog, I have a cooking blog that features mostly old family recipes from my grandmothers, aunts, uncles, parents, siblings, etc. I don't update it a lot but it gets a lot of traffic. Every now and then I get an email from someone from my hometown who has stumbled across it --- usually as they search for a recipe for soltz (sultz), keuchels, or liver dumplings, all of which are a.) St. Marys Soul Food and b.) on my blog.

Today I got a surprise when an email arrived telling me a new comment had been posted to my blog. I read: A fellow at work showed me where he got his keuchel recipe on the internet and I said, "That is a picture of my mother". Initially, no one believed me until they read the text. Great cook book site. The pictures brought back some memories. Jack Dippold

What a nice surprise. Jack is, of course, my cousin on my mother's side (all those first and seconds and removes confuse me, he's just my cousin). I remember him when we were growing up as being this handsome, pleasant, older boy who was always smiling. What a delight to know he found my blog. This is the recipe he is talking about and the photo of his mother, my darling Great-aunt Mary:

Great-Aunt Mary Dippold’s Keuchels

Keuchels (KEE-kulls) are wonderful things! They are puffy, round pieces of fried dough which are thick and chewy around the edges and thin and crunchy in the middle. Great Aunt Mary Dippold (right in 1919) was Gram Werner’s older sister and the most beautiful woman. She had round pink cheeks and snowy hair and she always reminded my of Mrs. Santa Claus. She lived across the street from the German Church in St.Marys and made the best keuchels. A proper keuchel should be about the size of a luncheon plate and be a lovely, golden brown color. The old Germans in St. Marys say they get their quaint shape because they are shaped by pulling them over your knee.

Mix well:
1 qt. milk
1 c. sugar
1 stick margarine or butter

Dissolve a yeast cake in ½ c. warm water.
Knead together 8 c. flour and 6 eggs. Add the yeast and the milk mixture. Knead well. Cover and let raise.

Pinch off pieces by the handful and shape into round, flat shapes that are thicker toward the edge and flat toward the middle. Drop into a fryer of hot oil and fry until golden and floating. Drain well and sprinkle with powdered sugar.

Gram liked to serve them warm with jam in the center.

Thanks for reading and thanks, Jack, for taking the time to write!

Listening to the Voices of Uncles Long Gone

I've mentioned before that I come from a family in which story-telling was a big part of family life. I had a lot of uncles and those uncles had a lot of stories and, because we were kids in a time when the media didn't have as much of a hold on us as it does on kids today, my brothers and I spent a lot of time listening to those stories. We loved them. Uncle Eddie and Uncle George were Mom's uncles. Both of them spoke with the Old Country “Dutchy” accents that one heard a lot in St. Marys, Pennsylvania back then. I don't know if there are any old timers left with that peculiar rich, clipped, “Ch-erman” speech pattern. When I was young I was pretty good at imitating it but it's been a long time now since I've heard it spoken. Still, I used to be able to make Uncle Gus laugh until his sides ached when I'd talk like Uncle Eddie. “Cheesus Christ. Gottdammit!”

Anyway, Uncle Eddie and Uncle George had both worked “in the woods” in their younger years. Which meant they worked in lumber camps. Gram, their younger sister, also told good stories about the lumber camp life because their oldest sister Lena had been married to a logger and had done a long stint as a camp cook in her younger years. She lived in the camps, cooked and washed and bore 13 children. She told stories of the lives of the loggers and of the tramps that haunted the camps once The Depression started. She told how they'd always make sure there were a couple of men in the camp all day to keep an eye out for the women and children. The only black man Great-Aunt Lena ever knew was the camp blacksmith who was her guardian through many a close call once the woods were being populated by more and more desperate men looking for work.

On Dad's side there were Uncle Harry and Uncle Walter who also worked in the woods. Uncle Walter was in his late seventies when I was a little kid and had been a “hick”, a logger, before the war (the first one). Later he became a bricklayer but he always loved the woods. He told the best hunting stories of anyone I ever knew. Whenever we went to Falls Creek, where Uncle Walter and Uncle Harry lived, Jack and I would beg for more stories. With Uncle Walter that didn't take much work. Jack remembered all those stories and could tell them just like Uncle Walter did with that strange accent that he had which, in retrospect, I recall as sounding almost Cajun. It is Uncle Walter's stories that served as the background for the character of Mick Hawking in my forthcoming novel, Each Angel Burns.

What has made me think of all of this is a book I am in the middle of, Heartwood, which was written by PJ Piccirillo who grew up in St. Marys, too. His grandfather was Fish Herzing who had a grocery store on Maurus Street (I think). That was back in the day of neighborhood groceries. That market was just down the street from where my brother-in-law, Andy Neubert, grew up. Andy followed in his father's footsteps with a market of his own and has long been revered as one of the best sausage-makers left from the old tradition of Bavarian sausage making.

Anyway, I got an email some time back from PJ who told me about his book and, when it became available through Amazon, I purchased it and then had a heck of a time trying to get around to reading it. Well, this weekend I sat down with it and got lost. It is a wonderful book written in a beautifully cadenced and lyrical manner that makes me think of Uncle Eddie and Uncle Walter. It starts out in the lumber camps and then moves in to the early days of the carbon factories in St. Marys, called Marstadt in the book. Uncle Eddie and Uncle George and, also, Gram all worked in the carbon factories “after the War” (the second one). I remember Gram bringing home odds and ends of piece work she did --- magnets and gizmos and widgets. We thought they were amazing.

In PJ's book there is also a character who was a “formula-maker” who worked in lab of one of the plants. Dad's youngest brother, Uncle Tom, also worked in such a lab. I remember him telling about the new stuff he was always learning. Anyway, I am a little over halfway through the book and am loving every page of it. As I lay on the couch watching the snow fall outside and turn the pages I can almost hear the voices of all those long-gone uncles talking. It is sweet and much valued.

Thanks for reading.

The Luminous Paint of Paul Strisik

Those of us who live on Cape Ann remark regularly on how fascinating the light here can be, and how fickle. There are days when the whole world seems infused with gold --- or coral, or violet or pure azure blue. For years now I, who possess a visual memory, have always thought of Gloucester as blue. Pure, clear sky blue. It is in the sky and the water, of course, but it is also the way that pure blue paints the land. How light and color paints the land is, of course, why artists have flocked here for generations.

Rainbow over Thacher Island by Paul Strisik

One of these was Brooklyn-born Paul Strisik who came here in 1955 and, though he loved to travel to paint, Cape Ann always called him back and he stayed here until his death in 1998. And did he ever paint Cape Ann!

His studio and home in Rockport soon became a mecca for artists. Throughout the years he lived there most of the artists who lived in or visited this area wound up at Strisik's studio. There were frequent parties and long discussions about art and life and just about everything else. His wife Nancy photographed many of these gatherings and has an enviable collection of photographs of these events. A few years ago she presented a slide show and chat with pictures of the many artists who passed through their home. It was a memorable night for me because, lover of storytelling that I am, it was a joy to hear the stories and then to have the other artists present add their own reminiscences and tales to the mix.

Blessing of the Fleet, Gloucester by Paul Strisik

And Strisik was known for his generosity and support of his fellow artists. Artist John Caggiano has talked to me about his memories of being a young painter in Rockport and how much Strisik's guidance and support meant to him.

But more than Strisik's generous nature was his ability to use his paint brushes to explore, examine, and interpret the light and how it touched everything. One of the first thing one notices in his marine paintings is the way he paints light entering and illuminating water. The way light carves out shapes whether it is of rocks or trees or buildings or just the curve of the land. His appreciation of and fascination with light has left an artistic legacy that is now more available than ever to the world.

Nocturn by Paul Strisik

Some months ago Nancy Strisik approached me with the idea of building an online gallery of her late husband's work. She wanted it to be both a place to offer his books, DVDs, and available paintings to the public as well as an archive of some of his finest work. We spent a long time developing this web site. One of the joys for me of the work that I do is that I often get to be a part of such a venture.

The Paul Strisik web site went live this past week and the comments so far have been good. Please take a few minutes and enjoy the work of this wonderful plein air artist whose love of Cape Ann is so poignantly visible in his work.

Thanks for reading.

WE DID IT!!! Vote to Recognize Gloucester

UPDATE! GLOUCESTER WILL BE ON THE NEW QUARTER!!! THANKS TO ALL WHO VOTED! 'Man at the Wheel' gets state's nod to be on quarter By Patrick Anderson Staff Writer Gloucester's Man at the Wheel statue has been chosen by citizens to appear on the back of a new Massachusetts quarter, Gov. Deval Patrick announced this morning. The iconic image from the Gloucester Fisherman's Memorial was chosen from 100 other finalist sites in the state in an online vote. Those finalists were chosen from a list of over 4,000 potential sites. The round of new quarter designs, which will feature nationally recognized sites from each of the 50 states, the district of columbia and the territories will begin appearing 2010. Each year, five new quarters will be released. While the state has proposed the Man at the Wheel based on the citizen voting, the U.S. Mint has veto power if the image chosen proves too difficult to reproduce. Alternate sites and voting runnersup are the Lowell National Historic Park, the House of the Seven Gables and the U.S.S. Constitution. The Mint, however, asked the states for their top preference. For more on this story, look back to this site later today, and to tomorrow's print and online edition of the Gloucester Daily Times and gloucestertimes.com. Thank you.

What's That Crazy Woman on the Beach Doing?

This has been a cold winter in Gloucester. More snow than I can remember in quite a few years. But the winter has been made somewhat warmer --- and more cozy --- by the ever-growing interest in handcrafts in these parts. Especially knitting.

Last fall when Rob Porter opened Coveted Yarn on East Main Street he wasn't quite prepared for what happened --- women began flocking to his store to buy yarn but also to bring their knitting needles so they could knit while they sit and talk. In a matter of months Coveted Yarn has become not only a great little yarn shop but a great little gathering place for knitters.

For years Leslie Wind has run a program called Know Your Neighbor, a monthly event that met in a variety of locations around Cape Ann where people could gather to hear a talk from one of their neighbors involved in an interesting job, avocation or hobby. This year Know Your Neighbor became part of the Sawyer Free Library's Lyceum Program. However, within a few months it became apparent that the knitting and handcraft programs were extremely popular. Thus Leslie and the Library created Know Your Knitting (K)neighbor as an off-shoot of the program. I volunteered to teach a class in entrelac knitting in February and over 40 knitters showed up!

SeARTS sponsored a Wearable Art Program at the library last fall and people were fascinated. Many of the local shops have now started carrying handcrafted garments. The Art Room on Center Street is a treasure trove of beautiful, unique, amazing handcrafted garments that are largely one of kind. It is exciting.

Which brings me to the photos in today's blog. On Sunday it was snowing but I needed to photograph a cocoon I made for a new knitting book project, a book that teaches the building blocks of entrelac step-by-step. My friend Clare Higgins - playwrite, artist, and owner of Modern Art Cats - has modeled for me in the past so Sunday, despite the snow, we headed for Good Harbor Beach.

I've been really happy about the response to my recently ePublished book, The Mermaid Shawl & other Beauties: Shawls, Cocoons & Wraps. In less than 2 weeks if has sold over 130 copies (the book has been purchased by knitters in Australia, Germany, France, Greece, the Netherlands and England) and is now being prepared for print. I pick up the proofs tomorrow. One of the responses I have gotten over and over about the book is that the settings for the shawls and wraps are so beautiful. Most were shot here in Gloucester. A few readers said they thought I meant Gloucester, England. They had no idea there was anywhere in the US that offered the settings in that book.

So, as I embark on the next one, I feel I have to do as good a job with the settings for this one. You can see the first pictures here. It is wonderful that Gloucester, so beautiful and with such long tradition of appreciating the arts, is now also home to the homely arts of handiwork and needlecraft.

The sweater Clare is wearing in these photos is an example of entrelac which was knit originally as a shawl. It is knit holding 3 strands of fiber together--- one of Blue Heron's silk in Indigo Seas and 2 of Handpainted Yarn's Lace, a fine wool that comes in many colors. After the shawl was completed I decided I didn't enjoy wearing it so, using the techniques taught in The Mermaid Shawl, I transformed it into the cocoon. Doesn't Clare look great in it?

And, for all you knitters out there, a week from tonight I will be teaching a knitting class at Coveted Yarn on an introduction to knitting lace. It is a free class, call Rob (978 282 8809) to register as registration is limited.

I learned my lesson at the library last month!

Thanks for reading.

Meet My Raspberry Beret

This Pattern is now available in PDF format, free of charge at Ravelry:
My Raspberry Beret (click to download)

The rain sounds so cool when it hits the barn roof
And the horses wonder who you are
Thunder drowns out what the lightning sees
And you feel like a movie star....

A couple weeks ago I bought a skein of the most luscious angora yarn from an eBay vendor, SpindleCraft. I love angora but the color was irresistible. It was labeled “raspberry” and I had no idea what I was going to do with it. Since I have been madly knitting gloves lately I thought about doing that but then, one day, out of nowhere, it hit me: What girl doesn't need a Raspberry Beret?

Because the yarn was a fine sport-weight it was too lightweight for the Le Slouch Beret by Wendy Bernard that I have been lusting over. So I decided to improvise my own pattern. And because I seem to be incapable of knitting anything that doesn't have some lace to it I added a bit of lace. And since I think everyone should have a Raspberry Beret, I decided to share the instructions. So here they are:

My Raspberry Beret

Yarn: Approx. 200 yards Sport/5 ply angora (I used Raspberry but there is nothing to stop you from using Peach or Cantaloupe or whatever tickles your fancy)

Needles: #2-16” circular, #6-16” circular, #6 double-points

Cast on 136 stitches on #2 circular. Join being careful not to twist your stitches. Place marker.

Work ribbing: K2P2 around until piece measures 2”

Next round: K one round increasing by 44 stitches (M1 stitch by knitting into the yarn between 2stitches) distributed evenly (approx. every 3 stitches) until you have 180 stitches. Place marker after every 30 stitches. Change to #6-16” ciculars.

After each Marker work as follows:

1. P1, K2, YO, K2tog, K2, P1, (K1, P1) 11x (Moss Stitch)

2. P1, K6, P1, (P1, K1) 11x

3. P1, K2, K2tog, YO, K2, P1, (K1, P1) 11x

4. Repeat Round 2.

Repeat these 4 rows until the piece measures 5”.

Begin decrease rounds: On every row work the Lace Pattern but instead of the last P1, work P2tog. Continue to work Moss Stitch in pattern but decrease as described. When the piece becomes too small switch #6 double-points. Work until you have 30 stitches left on your needles. Cut enough yarn to thread through final stitches, draw closed and secure.

And there you have your Raspberry (or Watermelon or Plum or Kiwi Fruit) Beret!

You look adorable!

Thanks for reading!