About Me

My photo
Hi, welcome to my blog. I'm a writer of poetry, prose and plays but my best known work is children's fiction. My most popular books are the Selby series and the Emily Eyefinger series. This blog is intended as an entertaining collection of thoughts and pictures from here in Australia and from my travels in other parts of the world. I hope you enjoy it. (For more information have a look at my website.)

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Boston Strong

A week ago I took a short walk through the streets of Boston, my home town. I started at The Boston Public Library in Copley Square, the site of the  Boston Marathon bombings last April. In case you missed it, three people were killed and 264 people were injured near the finish line of the annual Boston Marathon. The bombers were Chechen brothers, one of whom died in a shoot-out with the police and the other is on trial.

Bolstering moral or cashing in on a tragedy?
No sooner had the smoke cleared but two enterprising Emerson College students started producing T-shirts that said simply, "Boston Strong". The slogan went viral and now it's everywhere in Boston, Massachusetts, USA, leading to wrangles about who "owns" the slogan but also about the message itself. Where's the verb? 

The scene of the first bomb.

Surely they could have added a simple "is" on their T-shirts to make it "Boston is Strong" or "was" strong or "will be" strong. Linguists and grammar pedants remain perplexed. Is "Boston Strong" a noun followed by a modifying adjective or an adjective modified by an attributive noun? My choice would be for "is". This could save more bloodshed from punch-ups in university cafeterias.
Boston Public Library entrance is across the street from where the first bomb went off.

Why did the slogan catch on so quickly? Probably from previous advertising. There was Lance Armstrong's charity "Livestrong" and the US Army's recruiting slogan, "Army Strong". And then there were two recent hurricanes, Irene and Sandy that left the mottoes "Vermont Strong" and (New) "Jersey Strong" in their swathes of destruction. 

Arlington Street Church with tributes to the victims of the bombs
written on scraps of cloth.

The Boston Marathon is the world's oldest marathon, having been run every year since 1897 and won by such runners as Australia's own Robert de Castella in 1986. You may be thinking, hang-on a tick, how about Ancient Greece, the original Olympics and the Battle of Marathon? How about the story of Pheidippides who ran from Athens to Sparta and back, a distance of 240km (150 miles) said, "We won!" and then dropped dead. Well I'm sorry but, if the story is correct (and let's face it, it probably isn't) that would be an ultra-marathon. Today's marathon distance is now standardised at 26 miles and 385 yards (42.195 km).

A Boston Strong message.
(There were some unprintable messages to terrorists.)

From Copley Square walking down Boylston Street I came to Arlington Street Church, This church has been the focal point for social issues for many years whether it was the 1967 Vietnam War draft card burnings or, more recently, the first state-sanctioned same sex marriage in the USA in 2004. Tied to the railings beside the church are hundreds of messages relating to the Boston Marathon bombings.

One of the Swan Boats with real swans nearby pretending not to notice.

Across the street is the Public Garden, the first public botanical garden in America, The highlight for kids has for many years been the Swan Boats that glide silently around the artificial pond under pedal power provided by a driver who sits in the swan. The swan boats were built in 1877 by Robert Paget who had been inspired by the image of the Knight in Wagner's opera, Lohengrin, riding a swan across a lake. 

The book that spawned the brood.

The Swan Boats make appearances in two children's books: E. B White's The Trumpet of the Swan and Robert McCloskey's Make Way for Duckings.

The ducklings rarely get a break.

The latter is now such a Boston icon that there are statues of the ducklings in the Garden. The ducklings are beautifully polished by the millions of kids who come to sit on them. I tried---and failed---to get a kid-free photo of the hen and her ducklings.

Even the ice cream van is cashing in. The image on the back is from the book.

Crossing the street I was in another big park, the Boston Common. This dates from 1634 and is the oldest park in America. The early Puritan settlers used it to graze animals but also as a place of public execution. In school we were taught that the Puritans fled from England to the Massachusetts Bay Colony to avoid religious persecution. What we didn't learn was how intolerant they turned out to be. They not only hanged witches in the park but even people such as Mary Dyer who made the mistake of preaching Quakerism.

The execution of Ann Hibbins, alleged witch.
etching by Frank Thayer Merril (Public Domain) Wikimedia Commons.

The Common has a long history and many monuments such as the wonderful memorial designed by the sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens to the 54th Regiment Massachusetts Infantry, one of the first African American units to fight in the Civil War.

Make way for Duck Tours---the street are clogged with these amphibians
giving tours by land and sea. 

During my time the Boston Common has been a place of political rallies such as demonstrations against the Vietnam War in the 1960s and 1970s and various Civil Rights demonstrations.

Boston Common bandstand the place of music and protest---sometimes
one and the same.

Martin Luther King addressing a Civil Rights rally on April 23, 1965.
He's in that circle. (Sadly, I had a very basic camera in those days.)

On the Park Street end of Boston Common is an exhibition of globes called "Cool Globes: Hot Ideas for a Cooler Planet". The tone was fun but the object is serious: to heighten awareness about global warming.

Australia, and the rest of the world, covered in frogs.

Quite apart from a trip down memory lane, my real objective was a mural painted on an air intake structure in front of Boston's South Station. The mural was painted by the Brazilian identical twins, Otavio and Gustavo Pandolfo, who paint under the name  Os Gemeos ("the twins"). The brothers began as break-dancers and then graffiti artists of the hip hop culture and this image was undoubtedly designed to stir up controversy---which it has done.

Terrorist or hip hop graffiti artist?

In a city sensitive to Muslim terrorists (the Boston Marathon bombers were Muslim) painting a huge masked figure was bound to bring the anti-Muslim bigots out of the woodwork. Whether it is a terrorist or just a graffiti artist with a scarf to protect his or her lungs, I don't know. Either way the controversy surrounding it must have attracted a crowd to the brother's current exhibition at Boston's Institute of Contemporary Art.

I like the utility door through the feet.

Sadly I didn't have time to see the Os Gemeos exhibition at the ICA but I did see it through the ether. If you can't be in Boston to see it in person before it comes down in November, have a look at this link and watch the video. It's a pity the mural will also be painted over in November and not made a permanent piece of public art.

Note to Australian muralists and graffiti artists: there's an air intake structure at Darling Harbour in Sydney just crying out for a mural.

Me finishing the Boston Marathon before the
bombings---40 years before.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

Maine lobstah

The lobster catch is down this year because the water is colder. Through the winter the lobsters go into deep water and hide in mud. When the water gets to a certain temperature they come in closer to shore, start foraging and get caught in lobster traps. If they're big enough---but not too big and not an egg-bearing female---they could end up on a dinner plate.

Lobster sweatshirts and live lobsters for sale at Shaw's Restaurant in New Harbor, Maine.

The only legal way to catch lobsters in Maine is with traps of a specific design, by lobstermen with the right licence and then there are volumes of regulations depending on which area is being fished. As with most commercial fishing, it's hard, cold and dangerous work and the people who do it are from families who have been doing the same for generations.

A typical Maine lobster boat.

I've visited the coast of Maine since I was a kid so I've seen the lobstermen working and I've bought many lobsters. A few years ago my curiosity got the best of me and I managed to get invited along with a lobsterman for a day, working as his sternman. This was a real privilege. The local lobstermen have always had an uneasy relationship with people "from away" (those who haven't lived in the town for a hundred years and, worse still with "summer people"like myself). And lobstering isn't the sort of thing they want an outsider to see at close hand.

The South Bristol Co-op.
This particular lobsterman---friend of a relative who is a local---said he could use a hand for a day. His wife was his usual sternman (men and women are both called "sternmen") but she said she didn't want to go out into John's Bay during the "roly-poly". A strong swell had been predicted for the next day.

Lobsterman looking for his buoys.
The lobsterman finds his buoys (the local pronunciation is "boo-ee" and never "boy"), pulls the traps into the boat, and throws the small lobsters, crabs and bottom-feeding fish back in the sea. The sternman takes out the old bait if there's any left and throws it away and then re-baits the trap. On my day the bait came from a barrel of very ripe alewife, a kind of herring. It was my job to spear them with a bait needle, weaving a string back and forth through each fish and then tying it in place in the trap before the trap was thrown overboard again.

Sorting the catch at the end of the day.
Click here to watch lobstermen sorting a day's catch. 

We set out sometime between four or five a.m. I'd asked before hand what I should wear and the lobsterman hesitated before saying in his very slow Down-East accent: "Nothin' good".  I hadn't intended to wear smart casual but when I got to the boat he handed me bibbed overalls to put over my grungy jeans and sweatshirt. For a short time I think I could have passed for the real deal. Well, at least to someone from away.

A customer at the South Bristol Coop.

Once we hit the roly-poly---and it really was---I began to realise why Mrs sternman wasn't so keen on this gig. It is a real art to staying upright when using both hands to spear fish and bait traps when it's wet underfoot and the boat is constantly turning broadside to the waves. It also wasn't long before I started regretting my breakfast of hash browns, bacon and eggs. I noticed that the captain only nibbled the odd dry cracker all day long. I spent hours sliding around like a drunken jitterbug dancer while struggling not to do the old technicolor yawn and reprise my breakfast.

The wooden half-round traps of my youth have been exchanged for
rectangular wire ones. This display is at the Maine State Museum in Augusta.

Lobstering is not only a skill bordering on a black art but it's also a very clannish profession. There are only so many lobsters down there and the thought of letting a newcomer drop traps in the lobstermen's yard is not always a welcome one. A turf war a couple of years ago in Maine ended in a couple of lobstermen shooting each other.

Once in a blue moon a blue lobster is caught.
In addition to the very restrictive rules and there's etiquette. For example: you don't drop a string of traps in an east-west orientation when others have set theirs north to south. Lines can get hopelessly tangled and much valuable time lost sorting things out.

We asked my grand niece not to play with her food.
Buoys are colour-coded and most lobster boats display one of their own buoys so that other lobstermen can see that they're only pulling their own traps. And god help anyone---especially a total outsider---who pulls a trap that isn't their own.

The Bath Maritime Museum has an excellent exhibition on the lobster industry.
And it has a lot more. Well worth a visit.
For those in the business who break a rule of etiquette there can be warnings. Back in the village nothing might be said to the offender but if he finds a simple half-hitch knot in his buoy line he can be sure there's a reason for it. If warnings go unheeded, a lobsterman might be "cut". The errant lobsterman goes out and finds his buoys floating free and his traps stuck irretrievably on the bottom of the ocean and goodbye investment.

Inland Mainers (not "Maniacs") hated the lobster licence plates. There were
also those who thought a dead animal was inappropriate as a state symbol.
There is now a choice of images.

On my day out, I'm guessing that we would only have caught forty or fifty lobsters, a lower than usual catch, I was told. When you consider the overhead of maintaining a lobster boat, it may not have been a break-even day.

At today's prices and exchange rate, the average lobster
costs about $A15.00 per kilo.

This is the cost of lobster at the Sydney Fish Markets. And they don't even
have front claws where the best meat is.

Lobsters used to be so plentiful that the local Native American's---okay, Indians---used to put them on their crops as fertiliser. And from the early 1600s when there were English fishing stations on the off-shore islands, it was cod, not lobster, that they were after. In early colonial days the lobsters were fed to the help because they were cheap. At one point servants in Boston rebelled and refused to eat lobster more than three days a week. It's a delicacy now but I can't imagine being forced to eat lobster all the time.

A happy gathering...although maybe not so happy for the lobsters.

Friday, August 9, 2013

Monhegan---Out-To-Sea Island

The ferry ride from New Harbor, Maine, was a smooth one-hour ride to our destination: Monhegan Island, twelve miles (22 km) out to sea. There were eleven of us---all relatives or friends---in search of hiking exercise and a restful day of meandering around this very pretty little town (population around 75).

The Monhegan mailboat ferry from where it leaves in New Harbor.
Monhegan---the name comes from Monchiggan meaning "out-to-sea island" in the local Algonquian Native American language---has a small lobstering fleet that works most of the year. But in summer the island is a tourist mecca populated on a good day by a couple hundred people who arrive from New Harbor, Port Clyde and Boothbay Harbor. Like us, most are day-trippers who leave on the afternoon ferries.

The town of Monhegan.
It's mostly a day-tripper island and the first and most famous day-tripper was English explorer and colonist, Captain John Smith who arrived in 1614. Smith is probably the best-known explorer of that time in the East Coast of what would eventually become the USA not only because of his exploits (he brought Pocahontas back to England) but because of the somewhat exaggerated accounts he wrote about his voyages. He claimed to have been captured by Native Americans and was about to be killed when Pocahontas saved his life. From one of his accounts:

Pocahontas threw herself across his body: "at the minute of my execution, she hazarded the beating out of her own brains to save mine; and not only that, but so prevailed with her father, that I was safely conducted to Jamestown". 


The Island Inn is the big building in the background.
In fact when he brought his ships into Monhegan Harbor there was already a fishing station there and it had already been visited by another Englishman, Martin Pring, in 1603, Samuel de Champlain in the same year, "English" explorer John Cabot (born Giovanni Cabotto in Italy) and maybe various Vikings around the year 1000. And of course "discovery" takes on a new meaning when we consider that native Americans had already been living in this area for tens of thousands of years.

Very New England cedar shingle patterns.
Next year the Monhegan Islanders will be celebrating the 400th anniversary of Captain John Smith and if it's anything like Chowderfest (clam chowder) that we happened across this year along with the Island Brewery's Beerfest, it should be a lot of fun.

Burnt Head
The tiny town is on one side of the island and, under Maine law, is a "plantation" which is a local government category between a town and a township. Most of the island is parkland and never to be developed. Typical day-trippers to the island (us) land in the town and then walk around the rugged other side for a couple of hours before seeking out art galleries, chowderfests and beerfests before the ferry leaves again for the mainland. You don't want to miss the sailing because in summer there will be no room in the inn.

The undeveloped side of the island.
A brief raspberry stop on our walk.
Since the late 1800s, there many artists have either lived or just visited the island to find inspiration. Winslow Homer, George Bellows and various Wyeths were there but my favourite---at least as an eccentric personality---was Rockwell Kent who lived there year round for a few years. While living here, Kent painted a painting called "The Wreck of the T D Sheridan". It was good to find the wreck in much the same condition it was in 1949.

Rockwell Kent's 1949 painting "The Wreck of the D T Sheridan".
After 64 years the wreck has held up well.
So we walked, picked raspberries, saw whales and seals, bought a couple of paintings and filled ourselves with clam chowder, beer, coffee and blueberry muffins before returning to the mainland. A great day out.

We spotted a whale from here.
Among the other events on Monhegan is the annual circus. It began in 1912 and this year it will be on August 17th. By then I'll be back in Australia but I'd have loved to have seen it.

The view towards the mainland.
It's difficult to walk on the island without tripping over an artist's easel.
Here are some of the acts as advertised on the 1913 poster (designed by artist, Frederic Dorr Steele):


A seal pup sunning itself on a bed of seaweed.

Volunteers handing bowls of clam chowder and other food for Chowderfest.

Anyone who has dipped a toe into this water will know that jumping and
diving into it is a serious act of bravado---or stupidity.

Another week and a bit and we could have seen Monhegan's Cardboard Regatta.
Could it have been inspired by Darwin's Beercan Regatta?
Not quite Munich during Octoberfest but Monhegan Brewing Company
had its own beerfest for two hours on the day we were there.

Waiting for the ferry back to the mainland at The Barnacle.