Storms

Last August, I went to the beach when a hurricane was lurking over the Florida Keys. This may seem silly. It certainly wasn't a beautiful day by most people's standards. but the forecast made it clear that the storm - Hurricane Isaac - would cross over into the Gulf of Mexico.

It was a big storm, as you can see from this image of it (below) as it made landfall, so the effects were felt for hundreds of miles. But we weren't likely to get too much rain or devastating wind, and the beach can be inspirational, even in lousy weather.

So I went.

Days like that offer great opportunites to think, and to appreciate. I stopped at the Titusville causeway, and saw dozens of pigeons huddling under the leeward side of the bridge. I guess that's what they do during hurricanes. I wish I had taken a picture.

I also saw an older man who was by himself, sitting in his car watching people fishing by the boat ramp, even in the damp wind. On the trunk of his car was a breast cancer awareness sticker - one of the ribbon things that have become so popular. His license tag was a Florida specialty plate that showed his support for hospice care. It dawned on me that those two things were probably related. And that, together, they explained why he was alone.

I made it to the far end of the beach, and, of course,  no one was in sight. There was an old shirt tied to a stick that had been jabbed into the sand, some sort of primitive wind gage. It was a bit spooky to be alone in a storm, in an area where there is almost no evidence of humanity. It was also spooky to see how high the ocean was.

The strip of land that separates the sea from Mosquito Lagoon is narrow here, in some areas less than a hundred yards - not far past the green peak of the dune on the left in the last two photographs (below). In years past, there was much more sand here; the ocean's edge was sometimes a hundred yards from the dune. If the ocean ever gets over the dune, it's downhill from there to the river. Once that happens (and I'm sure it will, at some point), the landscape and seascape here will be altered dramatically.

For fear of being cut off by the sea, I didn't continue past this point. Technically, a back country permit is required to go past the sign, although I've never seen that rule enforced.

Days like that are different from the usual beach day. It's normally such a happy place for me, so it  was a bit unnerving to see it so gloomy and disturbed. Each time I visit, as I watch the sand slipping away with the tide, and the sea creeping inexorably to its reunion with Mosquito Lagoon, I can't help but think in cliches because they are so true. Things change. Nothing is certain.

Eventually, I went back over the causeway, grabbed a beer at Crackerjack's, walked the fishing pier in a slight drizzle and watched the birds take shelter from the wind.

A few hard-core regulars were there, probably because they had nothing better to do. There were a few people fishing, too, probably because they had to catch dinner. Or go hungry.

There is something about the ocean, even when it's raining, and the wind is gusting, and the sun is obscured by clouds. It's so easy to just sit and enjoy.

Late in the day at Crackerjack's, a woman approached me, and introduced herself as Maggie. She had noticed me one day a few weeks before, she said. Rather than sit at the tiki bar with the others, I had walked down to the dock, and relaxed on one of the benches by the boat slips.

She had been curious about me ever since.

She remembered that I just sat with my feet up and watched the sunset. She said she'd never seen anyone else do that. I told her she must be hanging around the wrong people. I did it all the time.

Even during storms.

Once again, it was hard not to think in cliches. I'm sure I told her that the sunsets were often amazing there. That it was nice to get away from the meaningless chatter at the bar. That dolphins often frolicked there in the late afternoon. That anhingas stood on the end of the dock drying their wings. That even the smallest things could make you smile, if you stopped to pay attention.

She left after a while. She had ridden there with friends, and it was time for them to go. But I'm sure I'll see her again. The whole afternoon reminded me of the one thing I always think to myself every time I watch the sun set on the water. Every day is a gift.

Get Off Your Ass

The results of a survey recently completed in Australia have been reported in mulitple sources, and the conclusion is not surprising; sitting around doing nothing is bad for you.

For each hour per day you spend watching television,  you have:

~ an 18% increase in the risk of death from heart disease

~ an 11% increase in risk from all causes of death

~ a 9% increase in the risk of death from cancer

If you spend more than four hours per day watching TV, you have:

~ an 80% increase in the risk of death from cardiovascular disease

~ a 46% increase in the risk of death from all causes

Even when researchers factored in other risks from complications such as smoking, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and poor diet, the results were the same.

While the resesarchers focused on TV viewing, I think it is safe to assume that the risks are the same if you spend too much time knitting, reading, staring at the ceiling, or even blogging!

In any event, the message is clear. Get off your ass.  Live longer. Live healthier.

[Photo stolen from the internet]

Unfinished DC Business - Ft. Stevens

In July of 1864, the Army of the Potomac was applying considerable pressure on the defenses around Richmond.  Confederate General Robert E. Lee detached his Second Corps, under the command of General Jubal Early, to reclaim the Shenandoah Valley, a vital food source for the Confederates, and, if possible, invade Maryland from there.  All of this would be done in the hope that the mere presence of the Second Corps in the area would pose a threat to Washington, DC, and force Union commander Ulysses S. Grant to recall some of the troops around Richmond in order to protect his own capitol.

Early won an engagement at Lynchburg, Virginia, and then another at Monocacy, Maryland.  At noon on July 11, his troops arrived just outside of Silver Spring, Maryland, and began scouting the Union positions.

They ran into the northern portion of the ring of forts that protected Washington, DC.  More specifically, they ran into Ft. Stevens.  (A complete account of the battle can be found HERE).

 I mention all of this because, one day, as I drove down Georgia Avenue - the most direct way into the city from where I lived - I saw a sign: Ft. Stevens.  I turned left and drove up the hill.

(Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress)

As it turns out, Ft. Stevens is important for three reasons.  1)  A portion of it still exists.  2) The battle there was really the only significant time that the ring of defenses around Washington, DC was tested (Early decided the defenses were too strong for his force, and withdrew, but he had accomplished his chief aim.  To bolster the Union defenses, Grant had sent his VI Corps and XIX Corps from the outskirts of Richmond).  And 3), President Lincoln himself rode out to watch the battle develop, since it was just a few miles north of the White House.  As he stood on the earthen ramparts, a Union surgeon nearby was hit by sniper fire.  Officers scurried to get the President under cover, but it was one of only two times that a U.S. president has come under enemy fire while in office (the other being President Madison's brief escapade during the Battle of Bladensburg (Maryland) during the War of 1812).

The restored part of the fort now looks like this:

The rock monument that is somewhat visible behind the far cannon in the picture below allegedly marks the spot where Lincoln stood as he observed Confederate forces maneuvering for position.

The fort was a terrific way to start a Sunday drive into the city, and it was my introduction to the the Civil War Defenses of Washington. 

In Washington, DC, it doesn't take long to realize that, throughout the capitol's relatively short history, there have always been planners and thinkers who wanted the city to be a grand symbol of the world's greatest democratic experiment. 

After the Civil War, the city's defenses were abandoned and fell into disrepair.  But, in 1902, instead of selling off the many strips of land for private development, a special congressional committee, with unusual foresight, recommended keeping the derelict earthworks and half-buried trenches and converting them into lands reserved for public use.

Thus was born the substantial ring of green space around the city that is sometimes known as the Fort Circle Parks.

From the National Park Service website:

On forested hills surrounding the nation’s capital are the remnants of a complex system of Civil War fortifications. Built by Union forces, these strategic buttresses transformed the young capital into one of the world's most fortified cities. These forts remain as windows into the past in the midst of D.C.’s urban green space, offering recreational, cultural, and natural experiences.

From the original circle of fortifications, nineteen parks remain (in red on the map below) and are administered by the National Park Service.

The Sea...

Once it was apparent that I would have to leave DC and head back to Florida, I became impatient. I missed the people and places that had been familiar to me for so many years, and I felt that staying for the remaining days on my lease would be time and money wasted. As much as I liked the DC area, and had explored it and gotten familiar with it, I sometimes felt like a guest who had lingered a bit too long.

During the last full weekend in August, I decided to do some preliminary organizing in the hope of making an orderly departure. I cleaned. I threw things away. I packed. Before I knew it, the only task remaining was to load up the Raft (my car) and go. On Sunday, August 23, I was done. I decided not to wait. At 4:15 in the afternoon I drove down Layhill Road to Georgia Ave, and, from there, turned on to the ramp for the Beltway (I-495) which would take me to I-95. I thought I would drive as far as I could go. If I got tired, I'd stop. If not, I'd continue on.

As it turned out, I stayed as alert as could be expected on a thirteen hour, eight hundred mile drive, and, somewhere along the way, had a great idea; I would continue past the turn-off that would take me to Gainesville, stay on I-95 until I reached St. Augustine, and arrive in time to watch the sun rise on St. Augustine Beach.

There was one thing I hadn't counted on when I settled in DC for the summer - I missed the beach.

In retrospect, I shouldn't be surprised. Many of my favorite childhood memories come from the considerable amount of time I spent at my grandparents' summer home on the South Shore of Massachusetts. Life revolved around the beach, the marina, the town pier and the harbor (pronounced hah-buh). Even after moving away from there, I lived in a coastal town in South Florida before shipping off to Gainesville for college.

Toward the end of my stay in DC, despite all the fantastic things there are to do, I began to crave the sand and the sea. Ocean City, Maryland was 160 miles away, and I'm told it would disappoint those accustomed to Florida beaches. Virginia Beach was well over 200 miles away; not a distance meant for day trips.

So it was that, at 5:04 on the morning of August 24, I crossed the bridge to St. Augustine Beach, anxious for a cup of coffee, an ocean breeze, and the sound of the rolling surf.

The sea has always felt like home to me, even during the times I've been away from it, and I'm surprised now that I never considered that fact before I decided to make a move. I snapped a picture with my phone camera; it was the only suitable device I could pry out of my packed car. The beauty of the image - even on a lousy camera - tells you how fantastic the sunrise was.


I had breakfast at the Beachcomber, propped my lounge chair on the beach, and fell asleep. I wasn't back in Gainesville yet. But I was home.

Stained Glass and Good-Byes...

The weather today was lousy. Angry clouds and drenching rain all day. It was the perfect opportunity to clean up and start packing. I am anxious now to be back in Florida, to see family and friends, to enjoy familiar surroundings, to move on.

My experience in Maryland has been extremely stressful, partly due to events beyond my control, but largely because of circumstances I created for myself. I realize now that it was more about time than place. I moved to the Washington, DC suburbs because I genuinely like the area, and the city itself, but what I really needed was time to enjoy the things I like about myself, and time to examine the things I don't like. What do you do when you discover that the person you have become is not the person you want to be?

There is no easy way to change direction when you have been in the same town, working the same job for years and years. I wanted to break all routines of behavior, disrupt all patterns of thought, and keep the strongest parts of the old life structure while adding to it new features that will make it more durable, and more functional.

The process is nowhere near complete. I'm only now beginning to understand that the New Clothing Enterprise will last as long as I do. But I've noticed differences in myself. And I like them.

I find that waves of warmth flow over me when I see loving parents cuddling a happy toddler. I eat slowly, and enjoy my food. I sip drinks. I stop when I see flowers or trees or patches of blue sky that remind me how great it is to be alive. I will literally stand and smile, and enjoy the sight, and let it register in my mind. If you can't find happiness in such things, where will you find it? Never surrender your right to live in the moment. Who knows how many moments we have left?

I no longer get upset when I make wrong turns, especially if it's a road I've never been down before. How many wonderful things and places have been discovered by accident? I talk to animals now. Not far from where I live, there are two areas that always attract deer at dusk. When I walk past them as I return from the train station at the end of the day, I have made it a habit to say, "Hi deer," and then chuckle to myself. You should try it. It works. Don't worry, the animals haven't started talking back. Yet.

After doing some preliminary packing, I went up the road to the Stained Glass Pub. It's the nearest place to get a drink and watch sports with a boisterous crowd of regular patrons. I went there often when I first arrived here. People were immediately tolerant, if not downright friendly. I had chatted with a handful of them. I had gone four weeks without a visit there, four weeks without any alcohol at all, actually, and I think they missed me. Now I had to say good-bye.

Before I left the house, Jun Li, the young Asian guy who lives across the hall, was stocking the fridge with a 12 pack of Heineken. He always has beer. I asked if the box of wine that had been chilling in there for weeks belonged to Cynthia, and tried not to make a face at the mere thought of wine in a cardboard container. No, the wine was his, he said, in case of emergencies. I laughed and wondered what would constitute an "emergency."

After I shuffled through a slight drizzle from the car into the Pub, I hadn't been at the bar for more than twenty seconds before Murat slid a cold mug of Stella in my direction. He's good about that.

Hunter stopped to chat. He is a crusty old guy who manages the kitchen during the week, but works weekend shifts as a server for extra money. His throat is ravaged from years of smoking and drinking, but he is a character. It is karaoke night in the other room, and he sees me wince as someone hits a sour note. Karaoke originated in Japan, and I wish it had stayed there. Seeing the expression of painful disapproval on my face, Hunter leans in to my ear and whispers, "Next to the CIA and a handful of others, I'm one of the few who knows that karaoke is covert, long-term payback for Hiroshima and Nagasaki."

He walks off to one of his tables, and then looks back. His eyes sparkle in the dark room when he turns to see me still laughing. He looks tired, but I know he is enjoying himself.

Another man, whose name I can't remember, walks by. He's wearing a T-shirt that tells you everything you need to know about him. It says: No sense in being pessimistic. It wouldn't work anyway.

I stayed for three beers and the end of the Redskins game, then I was ready to go. I thanked Murat for his kindness, smiled and waved at a few others, and left.

Next stop: Florida.

The New Clothing Enterprise continues...

Escape...

I was so taken by the setting of Ft. Washington that I decided to return there, but I felt like I needed another excuse to justify retracing some of my steps. So I decided I would search for the first two stops on the escape route of John Wilkes Booth.

The Booth Escape Route (you may need to click the photo and view the enlarged version)

Most of us know the story (if the details are sketchy in your mind, you can find information on Lincoln's assassination HERE]. On April 14, 1865, Booth, acting somewhat in conjunction with a handful of others, shot the president, and fled across the Navy Yard bridge into Maryland. He stopped, initially at a home owned by Mary Surratt in Clinton, Maryland.

This modest plantation home had done a variety of duties. The Surratt's ran it as a tavern, boarding house and post office. John Surratt, Sr died in 1862, leaving behind considerable financial difficulties, and Mary rented the home to - oddly enough - a policeman, and moved into Washington, DC to run a boarding house. It was there that she and her son, John, Jr, met John Wilkes Booth.

As Booth fled the capitol on the night of the assassination, he met up with co-conspirator David Herold, and stopped at the Surratt house to retrieve weapons and supplies that had been stashed there.

The Surratt House

I will add one interesting side note; according to the Surratt Society website [Link HERE], Mary Surratt - as a result of whatever role she played in the whole affair - became the first woman executed by the United States government.

Of course, as we now know, Booth had broken his leg while jumping from the president's box seats to the stage below. He and Herold went to visit Dr. Samuel Mudd, where they spent the night.

The Mudd House

The house still belongs to the Mudd family, and has limited visiting hours.

I could have continued south from the Mudd House, following the rest of the Escape Route to the edge of the Potomac, where Booth eventually paddled across to Virginia, and then was trapped and killed by Union soldiers, but I had gone far enough for one day. It was time for my own escape, and the reason I ventured back into this area in the first place.

I drove to Ft. Washington. After all, it was a Fee Free Weekend! I wanted to sit and relax as the day came to an end, and really enjoy the beauty of the place. This time, I brought fresh whole wheat bread, cheese, grapes, and organic iced tea with spearmint. And I had picked out the perfect picnic spot the day before...

Forts (Part 2)...

Here's a test. Name a battle from the War of 1812. It's okay. Take your time.

Give up? Most people will eventually remember the Battle of New Orleans (probably because of that stupid song), and, if you think long enough, you might come up with Ft. McHenry, since it led to the birth of our national anthem. Beyond that, the war is largely a black hole in American history. When the enemy captures and burns your capitol, it's not likely to be remembered fondly.

The British, you see, were fighting the French. I know, when were they not fighting the French? (Answer: When they were fighting the Spanish!) The king (possibly still bitter about the whole revolution thing) was mad that the former colonies were continuing to trade with the French despite the fact that the former mother country was at war with them. The Americans, it seems, had become rather fond of champagne, perfume and fancy underwear. The tension eventually caused an outbreak of hostilities in 1812, although the British weren't terribly interested until 1814, since, by then, they had finally defeated Napoleon, and banished him to the island of Elba.

I mention this because the War of 1812 was the first time that the site of Ft. Washington came into play, and Ft. Washington was the next fort I visited after Ft. Foote.

[National Park Service site HERE]
[Google aerial view HERE]

Ft. Washington was originally called Ft. Warburton. It was a very simple structure, completed in 1808 to protect the Potomac River approaches to the cities of Alexandria, Virginia and Washington, DC. When, on August 19, 1814, British forces landed at Benedict, Maryland on the Patuxent River, and began moving toward Washington, DC from the southeast, the fort's commander, Captain Samuel Dyson, was naturally quite concerned. After winning the Battle of Bladensburg - 6 miles east of Washington, DC - on August 24, the British spent a restful night in the nation's capitol, but not before taking time to set fire to the government buildings.

On August 27, as British foot soldiers retraced their steps toward Benedict, the British fleet sailed up the Potomac and approached Ft. Warburton. Dyson had a garrison of just 49 men, and, faced with the enemy land forces behind him and the enemy fleet in front of him, he did what any sensible commander would do under the circumstances; he used his 3,000 pound store of gunpowder to blow the fort to smithereens, and then ran screaming into the night (a court martial later found him guilty of abandoning his post and destroying government property).

From there, the British turned their attention to Baltimore, were repulsed at North Point, and at Ft. McHenry, about which Francis Scott Key wrote a moving poem, and the rest, as they say, is history.

But it was from this inauspicious beginning as Ft. Warburton, that Ft. Washington was born. As early as 1794, the great general and the nation's first president had recognized the need to construct fortifications on the high bluffs at this location, partly because it offered a terrific field of fire that would discourage enemy ships from advancing up the Potomac, and partly because it was right across the river from his house.

The War of 1812 had shown the young nation that real coastal defenses, capable of actual resistance, were necessary. Where they existed, such as at Ft. McHenry, they had been successful. By 1824, Ft. Washington was completed on the site of the less fortunate previous fort, and, I have to tell you, for a visitor, Ft. Washington is fabulous.

Before I continue, I should note that, by some miracle, I had stumbled on another Fee Free Weekend at a national park, and was thus robbed of one more opportunity to use my Annual Pass.


But, as you can see, the location did not disappoint.


The purpose of the structure was simple: to contain and shelter as many weapons as possible, almost all of them pointed at the Potomac River. Coupled with Ft. Hunt on the Virginia side, this would have made a considerable gauntlet for invaders intent on sailing up to Washington, DC.



The early fort was improved in the 1840's, and again in the 1890's when eight concrete shore batteries were added to supplement the original casemate fort.


The fort was abandoned twice along the way - it was empty for nearly twenty years after the Civil War - but was reoccupied whenever foreign hostilities arose.


Finally, the site was turned over to the Department of the Interior, in 1946, right after World War II.


At some point, a small wooden lighthouse was constructed where the rugged spur of land extends furthest into the river. I wandered around for a few hours, and then found a spot on the bluff to watch the sun fall behind the distant trees. If only I'd thought to bring champagne...