History

Connecting with Family History in Guilford, Maine

/ mariezhuikov / 11 Comments
The Piscataquis River in Guilford at sunset.

As you may recall, for our epic New England Road Trip, in October Russ and I flew from our home in Duluth, Minnesota, to New York to visit Russ’s family members there and in Connecticut, and then drove north, exploring sites connected with my mother’s ancestors. Guilford, in the Maine Highlands, was the culmination of our trip and was the spot I’d been wanting to visit for over 15 years, ever since I did an internet search on my Herring ancestors and discovered that Robert Herring (my great-grandfather to the fifth power on my mother’s side) was one of the founders of Guilford.

As if that weren’t enough, Guilford was the original home of the Burt’s Bees brand of personal care products infused with honey and beeswax. That company has since moved away and changed owners. Now, Guilford is home to a company that makes many of those cotton-tipped nose swabs that we all became too familiar with during the COVID epidemic.

Back when I made my discovery fifteen years ago, I was so excited that I wrote a history about Gilford’s founding and sent it to their historical society. I see that it has since ended up in the University of Maine’s Digital Commons! (“Early Town History: A Tale of Three Roberts.”)

A photo of Robert Herring. On the back, it says “Robert Herring the 1st,” so I assume this is Benjamin Herring’s son Robert, who was the privateer-turned- deacon. The photo was taken in nearby Dover, Maine. (Now known as Dover-Foxcroft.)

Privateers and a Deacon

My mother and her sisters compiled an extensive genealogy for our family before the era of computers. In it, they documented Robert Herring, his father Benjamin Herring, who was born in Gloucester, Massachusetts, in 1727, and his father Robert Herring, who immigrated from England in the early 1700s. But my mother and her sisters didn’t know about the family’s role in founding Guilford.

I found these ancestors interesting because Benjamin Herring was a Revolutionary War privateer who was buried at sea off Cape Sable Island, Nova Scotia. According to info I found on Wiki-Tree, Benjamin was the captain, and his ship’s name was the Princeton. His son Robert was also a privateer, but according to research by one of my California cousins, he gave up that life, became a deacon in the Baptist Church, and headed inland with his cousin Robert Low to found Guilford. Robert Herring’s son, Robert Lowe Herring, and his family followed soon after.

(There’s some question about whether there was an “e” on the end of Robert Low’s name. I’m leaving it off to minimize confusion with Robert Lowe Herring. But I’m pretty sure that RLH is named after his relative Robert Low.)

Brian and Cindy Woodworth.

I let the Guilford Historical Society know about our trip, and their president and treasurer, Brian and Cindy Woodworth, were good enough to notify other Herring relatives and to open the museum for us during our two-day stay.

Before our museum visit, we had a delightful chat with some cousins, who are related to the original Bennett settlers of Guilford and to the Herrings. We met at the Guilford Bed and Breakfast, where we were staying. They gave me copies of helpful information about the Herrings and privateers.

By the way, if you ever stay in Guilford, the Bed and Breakfast is the place to go! The colonial Victorian is run by John and Lisa McNamara, new transplants from Georgia. They’re also active members of the historical society and the community. They spoiled us with homemade gourmet breakfasts made to order. In the evenings, we enjoyed a cocktail in the inn’s Hummingbird Lounge when we weren’t curled up with a book in front of the library fireplace.

The Guilford Bed and Breakfast

We ate other meals at the Red Maple Inn. If you want a taste of “real backwoods Maine” and superb service, that’s the place!

Guilford Historical Society Museum

During our museum visit with Brian and Cindy, we were excited to meet a Herring cousin. She and I compared genealogical charts and figured out how we might be related. We were also happy to see the “mother’s chair” at the museum. When Robert Lowe Herring brought his family from New Gloucester, Maine, to Guilford via ox cart, this was the chair his wife, Mary (Polly) Wagg, sat on for the week-long trip. The chair was then passed down through the family and later donated to the historical society. I got to actually touch this piece of history!

The Herring “Mother’s Chair”

My newfound cousin showed us Herring photos that I had not seen before. Afterward, she drove with us to the cemetery was in town and showed us where some Herring graves were located. Then we parted. Russ and I drove to Guilford Center and toured the cemetery and Baptist church there. This is where the family first settled. We also drove across Lowe’s Bridge, a covered bridge named after Robert Low), and past Herring Brothers Meats store, which the family owns. We even took a walk along the Piscataquis River where Robert Lowe Herring built a sawmill. (I learned the hard way from locals that the river’s name is pronounced pis-CAT-a-qwis not PIS-cat-a-qwis.)

Lowe’s Bridge in Guilford. It’s been rebuilt a time or two due to flooding.

Both Robert Lowe Herring and his father had eleven children each. Robert Lowe Herring died in 1847, about a year after from the heartbreak of seeing his youngest son, Alvin, die in a tree-felling accident.

Historical accounts (Sprague’s Journal of Maine History) say that Robert Lowe Herring was “well-fitted for pioneer work. Robust in mind and body, no combination of obstacles and hard labor changed his course once he determined upon the accomplishment of a certain purpose. He enjoyed overcoming difficulties-the greater they were, the greater his satisfaction when they were surmounted. The sight of suffering, in man or beast, moved him to tears. No one was ever turned from his door unwarmed or unfed. No neighbor in difficulty or distress ever appealed to him in vain for aid.”

I found another good story about Robert Lowe Herring in the History of Piscataquis County. It involves his neighbor, Ephriam Andrews. This poor neighbor was “afflicted with a morbid and partially insane state of mind . . . Although surrounded with good neighbors, he would drive his plow team all day with an axe on his shoulder, fearing that some of them would take his life.” Ephriam was a Revolutionary War veteran, so it could be that his mental health issues stemmed from that experience.

Ephriam’s sons regarded him as dangerous. They “prepared a small cage and shut him in. But he was marvelously ingenious in contriving and making escapes. They would capture him and force him back, and this would aggravate his insanity and rage.”

The breaking point came one spring in 1814 when Ephriam escaped. His sons surrounded him, trying to recage him. “He had armed himself with a small axe, and brandishing it, bade them stand off at their peril. But his youngest son, Samuel, then about fourteen years old, not believing that he would strike, daringly pressed up. The enraged father struck him a full blow in the face with the edge of the axe – nearly a fatal stroke.”

Ephriam was then jailed. His son recovered but carried an ugly scar the rest of his life. After being released from jail, Ephriam’s wife left him. The one person he seemed to trust was Robert Lowe Herring. Ephriam gave him all his property, and Robert let him live with him and his family. The arrangement seemed to work.

“There he had a good home, lived in listless ease, and sought his own entertainments. . . He died suddenly on his ninetieth birthday in Mr. Herring’s house.”

Can you imagine having a would-be axe murderer living in your house?! It says a lot about Robert’s character that Ephriam trusted him and that no more physical harm ensued, even though Ephriam’s “evil spirit would at times return.”

Ancient Family History

One of my Guilford cousins directed me to a book in the museum (Connor Genealogy) that contained information about Herring ancient history. This info was compiled by Menzies Herring, a family genealogist who lived in Massachusetts years ago, and Jerome Campbell Herring. Menzies used to mail questionnaires to Herring relatives across the country and perhaps that’s where he learned the history. 

William the Conqueror image courtesy of History on the Net.

The family supposedly originated in Denmark. (My note: possibly in a town with a name that sounds like “herring,” which could either be Herning or Hjørring). They became Viking raiders and eventually settled in Normandy. A Herring ancestor was a “commander” in the Norman Navy under Rollo, the Norman chief who became the first Duke of Normandy. As such, this Herring was given the Norman title of Viscount. Generations later, another Viscount Herring supported William the Conqueror, who sailed from Normandy and overthrew the English King Harold II during the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Viscount Herring then remained in England to help William hold onto his new kingdom. He was then given the English title of Baronet.

That’s where the ancient history stops. It agrees with my genetic testing, which indicates Nordic ancestry in the distant past and then more recent ancestry from France and the British Isles. In recent research, I have found a number of Herrings on the British Peerage website; however, it appears that the records only go back to the early 1600s. These Herrings are associated with Lambeth Palace in London, and one Herring (Thomas Edward) was even the Archbishop of Canterbury (head of the church in England). Looks like I’ll need to do some sleuthing!

The Herrings in Minnesota

Getting back to the Maine Herrings, my branch of them ended up in Minnesota after Robert Lowe Herring’s daughter, Charlotte, married William Weymouth. They migrated with their daughter, Olive, to Ripon, Wisconsin, perhaps for the opportunity of timber or their own farmland. Olive married a Mainer named John Andrew Potter, and they were one of the pioneer founding families of Springfield, Minnesota, where my mother was born a few generations later. The family was known for their Hereford cattle breeding operation, and they owned the Potter Stockyards in Springfield.

Our bedroom at the Guilford Bed and Breakfast

I don’t know if we’ll ever have the chance to return to Guilford, but I was so thankful for this opportunity to connect more with my family’s history and to meet “new” relatives. After two days in Guilford, we drove to Bangor and then flew home. This eleven-day trip was epic on so many levels, and I’m a different person because of it.

Conclusion

I felt the most “at home” in Maine. That’s probably because the landscape is similar to Minnesota’s. It’s wilder and has more “natural” nature than states like Connecticut or Vermont. The land just “is” and doesn’t seem like it’s been specially preserved as natural. However, Maine and its kind people have a hardscrabble existence. Piscataquis County has the least densely populated area in Maine, just over 17,000 people (only 3.9 people per square mile), although it’s the size of Connecticut. Social challenges like drugs and poverty show in the houses and the people. There’s an underlying feel that the state is more like one portrayed in a Stephen King novel than a cozy seaside mystery novel.

I enjoyed reconnecting with Russ’s relatives and seeing sites related to his family. He feels a bit bad that his family didn’t found a bunch of towns like mine did, but I remind him that my ancestors made it here about a hundred years earlier than his. There were more opportunities to found towns then.

Seeing the sites involved in the beginning of our country has driven home the values that went into the conflicts. I’ve vowed to do what I can to uphold those values and continue the legacies my ancestors began.

This trip also brought a whole new meaning to my traditional holiday dish of pickled herring. (For some strange reason, Russ doesn’t share my delight in this culinary delicacy.) I have an enhanced appreciation for it now that I know more about my Herring ancestors.

That’s it. The trip’s done, finally! But the effects will reverberate for years to come, I’m sure.

The Guilford Historical Society Museum

Camel’s Hump Mountain and the von Trapp Family Lodge, Vermont

/ mariezhuikov / 13 Comments
Historian Brian Lindner. He treated us to lunch at the top of Mount Mansfield. Here, he’s in a ski hill gondola on the rainy way up to the restaurant.

The same day back in October when we toured the Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream Factory in Waterbury, Vermont, (previous post) Russ and I were chauffeured around town by local historian Brian Lindner. Brian has spent decades researching a World War II bomber training crash that my uncle David Potter died in near the summit of a local mountain named Camel’s Hump. (It’s really shaped like the back of a camel!) Although the crash took place in 1944, parts of the plane still lie in the bush on the mountainside.

Originally, we planned to hike up to the crash site with Brian’s guidance, but a steady light rain scrapped those plans. With my luck, I’d break an ankle again like I did in Scotland in 2024. Instead, we opted for a tour in Brian’s Jeep around town to see sites associated with the people who helped with the rescue operation. Then he drove us to the base of the mountain so we could view the commemorative plaque he had installed on a rock at the trailhead.

If you’re interested in the crash, you can read more about it in a two-part series I wrote last year: Part 1, Part 2.

The Camel’s Hump Mountain plane crash plaque.

While we were touring the area, I felt like I was in a Steven Spielberg war film. Seeing the historic places in the town and at the base of the mountain played like a movie in my mind. Standing in the colorful, damp fall foliage, we read the inscription on the plaque that listed the names of the dead. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. If my uncle had to die somewhere, perhaps a quick death at night on a mountainside wasn’t as bad as a violent death on a battlefield.

Brian grew up in Stowe on the grounds of the ski hill at Mount Mansfield. He’s worked on the ski patrol there for years, and as a historian for the hill and National Life Company in Montpelier.

As he drove us around, he kept waving to people as we passed. We thought he must know everyone, but then he explained it’s a Jeep “thing.” People who own Jeeps wave to each other in solidarity. It’s also a thing to bedeck the dashboard of Jeeps with rubber duckies. He wasn’t sure why, but it was awfully cute. Since I’ve returned home to Minnesota, I’ve seen a few Jeeps with rubber duckies on the dash, so apparently, it’s a thing even here.

The man knows everything about the area, and we felt fortunate to benefit from his expertise. He’s been a friend of our family for years, but this was the first chance I had to meet him in person.

The von Trapp Family Lodge and Resort

That evening, we ticked off another must-do experience: dinner at the von Trapp Family Lodge and Resort. If you’ve ever seen The Sound of Music movie, you know the von Trapp Family story. (It was the first movie I ever saw in a theater as a child.) When the family escaped Austria, they immigrated to the U.S. and settled near Stowe because the landscape and lifestyle reminded them of home. They’ve owned the land since 1942, began welcoming guests in 1950, and the family still runs the resort.

My quail dinner and lingonberry spritz.

We couldn’t afford to stay at the lodge, and timing wouldn’t allow us to partake in any of the special guest experiences they offer, but we could manage dinner. We made our reservations for their main dining hall a few weeks beforehand. They serve Austrian- and Vermont-themed farm-to-table foods. Russ had the Wiener schnitzel. I ordered a wild game dinner that featured venison and quail. However, they were out of venison, so I got two quail instead! To drink, I had a lingonberry spritz. For dessert, Russ had carrot cake, and I had chocolate mousse with hazelnuts. Everything was divine, and our waiter was attentive.

Because Disney owns the rights to the Sound of Music movie, the lodge can’t display any of that paraphernalia. But to me, that made the dining experience more authentic. The lodge is the family’s, and the surroundings celebrate their special heritage.

We ended our day with brains and stomachs pleasantly stuffed with Vermont history.

Next up: The Lost Kitchen, Freedom, Maine

A painting in the von Trapp Family Lodge and Resort.

My Connection to the Battle of Lexington

/ mariezhuikov / 12 Comments
The famous Minute Man Statue on the Lexington Battle Green. It’s in honor of one of my relatives, John Parker.

I became sidetracked from writing about our Epic New England Road Trip by my previous PSA post about author scams, but now I’m back on the road, so to speak. Our next stop was Lexington, Massachusetts. A few years ago, I discovered that one of my relatives was Captain John Parker, who was the head of the Lexington militia during the battle when the Revolutionary War began on April 19, 1775.

We booked a private walking tour of the Lexington Green from the Lexington Visitors Center, which is located near the green. As our costumed guide led us on our tour in light rain, he made sure we understood that the Americans who fought in the battle weren’t actual minutemen, as is often said. Minutemen were highly trained; the people who fought on the historic green were militia – more like regular folks with weapons. The term minutemen had more cachet, so I guess those references are a historic case of propaganda.

Our tour guide shows us the diorama of the Battle of Lexington that resides in the Lexington Visitors Center.

He led us to the Minuteman statue, which is modeled after John Parker. Our guide said that Parker was a wheelwright and farmer who was in his 40s and suffered from tuberculosis. He lived only a few more months after the battle. In contrast, the statue depicts a young, healthy man in his 20s or 30s. Yet another form of propaganda, but maybe Parker wouldn’t have minded this more robust version of himself??

John Parker’s cousin Jonas was killed in the battle, along with 7 others who are buried on the green. At least one of the houses near the green still has a bullet hole in the door from the battle. Our guide said the door is preserved for the history it shows.

John’s famous quote, “Stand your ground. Don’t fire unless fired upon. But if they mean to have a war, let it begin here,” is inscribed on a boulder near where the militia stood during the battle on the green.

Information about the battle itself is plentiful on the web, so I won’t go into it here. A good source is the National Archives, which offers a short slideshow with an overview of the Battle of Lexington and Concord. The main thing is that those involved didn’t realize the significance of their actions. It was the beginning of the American Revolution, which later inspired the revolutions in France and Russia. The gunfire on the Lexington Battle Green was truly the “shots heard ’round’ the world!”

Us, all cold and wet at a memorial on the battle green dedicated to those who died during the first battle of the American Revolution.

John Parker was Theodore Parker’s grandfather (the minister whom I described in my previous trip post). My family and I share a common ancestor with them: Congregational Church Deacon Thomas Parker, who immigrated from England in 1635.

Despite using umbrellas and wearing raincoats, Russ and I were rather cold and miserable. I think our guide took pity and gave us a quicker tour than usual. After visiting the green, we made our way to a nearby cemetery (behind a Unitarian Church) where there’s a headstone for John Parker. There is some question about whether his body lies there or on his farmland.

After that, we made our way back to the visitor center, which offers a museum about the battle. It features a diorama of the battle scene, complete with a figurine of Capn Parker, which was cool to see.  The center also has books and other interpretive materials and souvenirs for sale. (Parker is also mentioned in the Ken Burns documentary, “The American Revolution,” which we recently watched and recommend.)

John Parker’s headstone

The nearby town of Concord also offers interpretive facilities, but we focused on Lexington due to my family connection. When we were done, we made our soggy way to eat lunch at the Town Meeting Bistro, which is inside the Inn at Hastings Park. The décor looks like you’ve stepped into a town meeting hall: plain wooden tables, wooden wingback chairs, and a large fireplace.  

The diorama that features John Parker. He’s the one in the red/gray uniform in the middle.

I am a clam chowder aficionado. Throughout our trip, I sampled chowders everywhere we went. I am happy to say that the bistro’s chowder wins my best chowder award! (It even beat Maine clam chowder.) Theirs featured applewood bacon, quahog clams, and new potatoes. It was creamy and divine. My only complaint was that I couldn’t get a larger bowl of it!

Our lunch hit the spot and took the chill out of our bones. We had planned to visit Walden Pond and the town of Salem later in the day, but the weather discouraged us. We returned to our hotel to change into dry clothes and curl up with a good book.

Next up: Waterbury, Vermont

A cutout likeness our our tour guide in the visitors center. He was great!

Theodore Parker Unitarian Church

/ mariezhuikov / 15 Comments

The morning before we visited the Parker Tavern in Massachusetts, we caught a church service at the Theodore Parker Unitarian Church in West Roxbury near Boston. This site was the second ancestral “treasure” I uncovered a few years ago (the tavern was the first) while looking for something else.

I discovered that noted Unitarian minister and abolitionist Theodore Parker (1810-1860) and I were related through Thomas Parker, a Congregational Church deacon who immigrated from England in 1635. Theodore’s first church assignment just out of Harvard Divinity School was this church in West Roxbury. But the actual building where he preached burned, so the church we attended was not the original.

After nine years, Theodore left the church after being kicked out of the Boston Unitarian Brotherhood for his “radical” views on abolishing slavery and other religious matters. He also believed outrageous things such as women should be allowed to vote, and to become doctors, lawyers, and (gasp!) even ministers.

Theodore spread his views not only through his sermons but via pamphlets. He is credited with famous quotes later shortened and used by President Lincoln and Martin Luther King. The phrases are, “a government of the people, by the people and for the people” and “the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.” The former was used by Abraham Lincoln in the Gettysburg Address and the latter by Martin Luther King.

But as historical events played out, the moral arc of the universe must have brought him back into favor, because the church, designated a Boston Landmark, was named for him, and his statue was erected in front of it.

We arrived out a half-hour before the service began and had time to appreciate Theodore’s statue and wander around the outside of the church. Soon, a congregation member arrived, and we followed her to the old wooden front door. She took out a key to open it but had trouble. Russ and I looked at each other in dismay. We’d come all this way, and now we couldn’t get in!

Russ soon stepped in to help, and with his key-handling expertise, he was able to open the door. Soon, more people arrived. In chatting with them about why we were there, they pointed out two Theodore Parker historians who were in attendance. We were able to speak with them both. They affectionately referred to him as “Teddy.” They reinforced what I already knew and pointed out some things I didn’t, including artifacts saved from the first church fire: a clock, Theodore’s pulpit, and his chair.

Theodore Parker’s chair.

One of them also pointed out a trio of gorgeous 1927 Tiffany Studios stained glass windows that grace one wall. They feature irises and morning glories ringing a lake and mountain scene, with the words, “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help.” According to a sign about the windows, a stained-glass consultant called the design one of the studio’s “greatest.” It incorporates several signature techniques: plating, where three layers of glass are used to achieve depth of color; mottling, which recreates intense sunlight as filtered through leaves; and acid etching, which involves removing a layer of colored glass to reveal a clear or palely tinted base glass. Intense leading is used on the windows to depict the organic lines of flowers and foliage.

The outcome is dazzling. One church attendee told us she purposefully positions herself during services so that she can see both the windows and the pulpit for comfort and inspiration.

The service was conducted under the watchful eye of Theodore’s bust. We attend a Unitarian church in Duluth and were comforted by the similarities in the services. Everyone was super friendly, and we enjoyed hanging out with them afterward in the social hall.

Next up: Lexington, Massachusetts, and another illustrious Parker cousin who has his own statue.

The Parker Tavern, Reading, Massachusetts

/ mariezhuikov / 14 Comments
The Parker Tavern

If you have been reading this blog for about two years and have an excellent memory, you may recall this previous post about my search for Irish ancestor names in my genealogy before our trip to Ireland in 2024. I was unsuccessful in that quest, but I found colonial American treasure instead.

The first “treasure” was information about my direct ancestor, Caleb Parker. He was born in Shrewsbury, MA, in 1760, and was originally named Nathanial but was renamed by his parents after his presumed-dead-in-war brother. Caleb served under George Washington late in the Revolutionary War. Later, he was head of the Vermont militia. After he resigned his commission, he and his family moved to and founded Stukley, an eastern township of Lower Canada, not far over the Vermont border. Caleb died there in 1826.

That, in itself was pretty cool, but in following Caleb’s line back in time, I discovered that his grandfather, Thomas Parker, a Congregational Church deacon, immigrated from England and founded Reading, Massachusetts. I also found that the oldest surviving building in Reading is named after the family. The Parker Tavern was owned and operated by Thomas’s great-grandson Ephriam (who would have been a cousin of sorts to Caleb), and it has been turned into a museum. I vowed to visit it one day.

Well, that day came during our New England Road Trip. The first part of our trip was all about Russ and his family. The next part was all about MEEEE! (and my ancestors.) We left Russ’s relatives in Andover, Connecticut, and drove to Massachusetts. Our first stop that Sunday morning was to attend a church service at Theodore Parker Unitarian Church. More on that in the next post.

A painting of what the Parker Tavern used to look like.

Our second stop was the Parker Tavern in Reading. The tavern is on the National Register of Historical Places. It has been turned into a museum and is open Sunday afternoons from May to October. Due to our recent education about the importance of taverns at the Strong-Porter Homestead in Connecticut, we knew taverns were vital to colonial communities. They served as gathering places where information was exchanged and they provided food and lodging for travelers. As such, they were instrumental in the spread of revolutionary ideas, ultimately becoming hotbeds for political debate and organizing that led to the American Revolution. If you’re an Outlander fan, you’ll be familiar with this concept because characters in the books/movies are often shown scheming in taverns. Although the series is fiction, this depiction is based on truth.

Because they were such important spots, not just anyone could run a tavern. Managers needed to be in good standing in the community. Often, they were people associated with the local church, be they the ministers themselves or relatives of ministers. Given that Ephriam was from a ministerial family, it makes sense he was a tavern owner.

Like the colonial homesteads we visited the previous day, the Parker Tavern is a saltbox building, and it was built in the late 1600s. Besides providing lodging for travelers, the tavern also served as a jail of sorts. The docent told us that Sir Archibald Campbell, a lieutenant general for the British, was kept at the tavern from June 1776 to January 1777. He was a wealthy Scot who owned a lot of land in that country. At the time of his capture, he commanded the 71st Regiment of Foot, Fraser’s Highlanders. (For Outlander fans, another commander was Simon Fraser of Lovat.)

Sir Archibald Campbell image credit: George Romney, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Campbell was captured after a battle aboard a ship in Boston Harbor. At first, he was in solitary confinement in the Concord jail. But after complaining to his superiors, who brought Campbell’s plight to the attention of George Washington, he was moved to the tavern for more humane living conditions.

In researching for this blog post, I discovered that Wikipedia says that the tavern was owned by the jailer. Ephriam Parker owned the tavern from 1770 to 1785, which is during the time that Campbell would have been there. The docent told us that Campbell was thankful for the amenities the tavern provided and enjoyed his stay there, as much as a prisoner can enjoy his “jail.” He wasn’t alone, however. According to a Daily Times Chronicle story (Woburn, MA), he housed about twenty-five of his servants in a tented area on the grounds and possibly on nearby Scotland Hill to comply with the army’s prison requirements.

The same newspaper story states that Ephriam and his son were part of the 4th Company of Minutemen, which took part in the battle of Lexington and Concord in April 1775 that began the Revolutionary War.

After his stay at the Parker Tavern, Campbell was released to “freedom” within the confines of Concord. In May of 1778, he was finally totally freed in an exchange for Ethan Allen. He later became the governor of Georgia, Jamaica, and Madras. His tomb lies in Westminster Abbey.

The Parker Tavern dining room.

The tavern museum is filled with antiques and an interesting display of shoe-making equipment. The docent explained that shoemaking used to be a cottage industry and that many homeowners participated in this side business.

Touring the museum is free; however, we chose to support it by joining the antiquarian society that runs it. To find out more about the tavern and to see more images, visit their Facebook page.

We left the tavern with our heads stuffed full of information and with a greater appreciation for the role of such buildings in the foundation of our country. Later, we toured the town to get a feel for it, and walked the graveyard where Thomas Parker is buried. We didn’t find his grave, but we saw some great examples of Puritan gravestones and their distinctive three-lobed shape, symbolic carvings like the “death’s head” or winged skull, and inscriptions that reflect their beliefs about death and eternity.

Next up: Theodore Parker Church

For previous posts about our New England trip, view:

The Nathan Hale and Strong-Porter Homesteads

Wickham Park

The Katherine Hepburn Museum

Governor’s Island

A creepy doll in the Parker Tavern attic.

The Nathan Hale and Strong-Porter Homesteads

/ mariezhuikov / 13 Comments
The Nathan Hale Homestead in Connecticut

Andover Connecticut was our next stop in the Great New England Road Trip. Russ was having a mini family reunion there with his cousins, one of whom I hadn’t met yet. We stayed at his cousin’s home, which backed up to the Nathan Hale Homestead and state forest. After socializing, we decided on the spur of the moment to visit the homestead.

Because we hadn’t planned our trip well, the homestead museum was closed, but the grounds were open. Nathan Hale, Connecticut’s State Hero, was born on the property in 1755. After working as a schoolteacher, he was recruited as a Patriot spy but was caught and hanged by the British in 1776. He’s known for uttering his famous last words: “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.” Statues of Hale stand in the Connecticut state capitol, at Yale University, the headquarters of the CIA, and more. 

Hale’s dark maroon Georgian-style home has remained intact. If we had been able to go inside, we would have seen that it is furnished with family possessions and other period antiques. As it was, we wandered the grounds and enjoyed soaking up the colonial ambiance. It was easy to imagine a young Nathan frolicking in the nearby forest and working in the family fields.

The Strong-Porter House

Not far down the road we found a museum that was open. The Strong-Porter House was built by Nathan Hale’s great-uncle and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It was the same dark maroon as the Hale homestead. The oldest part of the saltbox-style house dates from 1710 and admission is free. The museum is open Sundays during summer and fall.

The dining room-turned museum in the Strong-Porter House.

The helpful docent showed us the dining room, which was filled with historical information about the importance of taverns in colonial times. We found this of keen interest because we planned to visit a historic tavern that’s associated with my ancestors the next day. (Synchronicity!)

The home’s floorboards were much wider than usual, a testament to the huge trees they were made from. The main parlor has exposed beams, wide paneled wainscoting, and a fireplace cupboard that suggests a much larger chimney once stood there. 

We left with a greater appreciation for the basic comforts and hardships people must have experienced during the early years of our country.

Next up: Theodore Parker Church and the Parker Tavern in Massachusetts

For previous posts about our New England trip, view:

Wickham Park

The Katherine Hepburn Museum

Governor’s Island

Grand Cayman Day 4: Blue Iguanas, Blowholes, a Mansion, and Frigate Birds

/ mariezhuikov / 17 Comments
A blue iguana at the Botanic Park. Image by Russ.

Our fourth day on Grand Cayman Island dawned hot and beautiful, just like all the previous days. Our first adventure was a visit to Queen Elizabeth II Botanic Park on the island’s North Side. Besides lush and gorgeous foliage, what drew us to the park was its unique mix of culture, natural history, and endangered blue iguanas.

You heard me: blue iguanas. This special species is only found on Grand Cayman Island. The park has a conservation facility where they breed iguanas – some for release in other parts of the island. If I would have been quicker writing this post, I could have had it done on May 8, which is National Blue Iguana Day on the island. As it was, we were still traveling around the island with no time to write!

Pretty border foliage on the Woodland Trail.

We bought our tickets and then meandered toward the Orchid Boardwalk. Not far down the path, I spied a small humpbacked brown animal that looked somewhat like a prehistoric horse. As it ran into the undergrowth, I realized that I had the good luck to see an elusive agouti. These rodents were introduced to the island years ago and eat fruit, leaves, and roots. That was worth the admission, right there.

An orchid on the Orchid Boardwalk.

When we arrived and walked toward the park visitor center, a wild blue iguana greeted us on the lawn. We joked that it had been placed there just for us, or that maybe it was a statue. But no, it had moved by the time we finished our visit, so I guess it wasn’t fake.

The park’s Orchid Boardwalk takes you through a jungle of epiphytes (air plants) and orchids, some of which are only found on the island. Our next stop was the Heritage Garden, which sports a traditional homestead and garden. By this time, we were pretty hot, so we hung out in the shade of the home for a while. Across from that was a Xerophytic Garden, which features plants that require little water. We also toured a Lily Pond and a Palm Walk. My favorite was the Color Garden, which offers flowering plants arranged by color.

A flower in the Color Garden.

Our final stop after a long (and hot) walk on a woodland trail was the iguana conservation area. Here the blue iguanas are housed in outdoor natural habitats and cages. Most of the captive iguanas were hiding but a large wild iguana wandered the pathways, and Russ was able to get a good picture of it without fencing in the way. From the interpretive signs, we learned that blue iguanas can live for 50 years, that 1,000 have been released into protected areas on the island, and that they only turn blue during mating season. Apparently, it was mating season because many of them were blue.

The Lily Pond in the Botanic Park.

Pedro St. James Mansion was our next destination but before we toured it, we enjoyed lunch and a view of the sea at its Thatch and Barrel Restaurant. Russ had bruschetta burrata flatbread, with tomato, burrata cheese, garlic, and a scotch bonnet pepper-infused balsamic reduction that looked outstanding! The restaurant is known for its locally sourced ingredients and cocktails that use 1780 rum, which is blended onsite. I had a refreshing 1780 colada and a luscious castle burger, which featured onion jam, brie, local red pepper jelly and greens, garlic jalapeno aioli, and truffle fries.

Russ’s flatbread dish from the Thatch and Barrel Restaurant.

Thus fortified, we bought our tickets to the mansion. The docent led us into a multimedia theater for an orientation. We were the only ones enjoying the show! The theater uses creative lighting, wind, water, and vapors to transport viewers into the early lives of Caymanian settlers. After that, we were free to wander the grounds and tour the three-story mansion. You can opt for a guided tour, but we chose self-guided.

Pedro St. James

Pedro St. James is the oldest surviving stone structure in the islands. Its verandas and shuttered windows reminded me of Earnest Hemingway’s house in Key West. The elaborate construction made it the Caymanian equivalent of a European castle, so locals often refer to it as Pedro Castle. The mansion has had its ups and downs and has seen its share of historic events. The first island parliament was held inside, and a proclamation ending slavery was read from its front stairs (somewhat ironic, since the mansion was built with slave labor). Once again, we were the only people touring the mansion.

There’s also an interesting International Scuba Diving Hall of Fame at Pedro St. James. It’s worth a look.

On the way out, I bought a small bottle of the 1780 rum to bring home. I’m here to tell you, it’s gone all ready! I’ve never tasted a rum so smooth – dark and rich, almost root beer-y. If you get the chance, buy this rum.

On our way back to our resort, we stopped at the Blowholes. These are holes in the rock along the ocean shore where the water sprays high into the air. There are only a few blowholes, but they were fun to see; kind of like the Grand Cayman version of Old Faithful.

A blowhole blowing.

We happened to be passing Tukka Restaurant (where we ate the previous day) at 5 p.m., when they feed the frigatebirds. We hung out in hammocks on the shore and watched the large and acrobatic black birds swoop down for restaurant scraps. Recycling at its finest!

Frigatebirds hover, awaiting handouts.

We cooked our own dinner that night in our resort room kitchen. We purchased king mackerel steaks, which I had never cooked before. But I found a simple recipe online and they came out pretty good – reminded me of a cross between tuna and shark – a firm, oily meat.

Next up: Art, Turtles, Hell, and Leaving our Mark

Three Neighborhood Bear Fiascos

/ mariezhuikov / 23 Comments
Photo by Tomu00e1u0161 Malu00edk on Pexels.com

My home on the shores of Lake Superior in Duluth, Minnesota, lies next to a large and wild city park. We’re often blessed by visits from local wildlife. While I was on a walk earlier this week, I learned a new bear story from one of my neighbors, and it reminded me of two other stories about neighborhood bears.

The story my neighbor told me happened years ago at the house next to mine. The incident involved honey, a black bear, and guns. Warning: things do not end well for the bear.

My neighbor said that the event even got written up in the newspaper, so when I returned home, I began a search. I found it! The headline from the Sept. 25, 1958, Duluth News Tribune reads: “Honey-Loving Bear Killed. Elaborate Trap Ends Bee Hive [sic] Raids.”

Ole Martinson used to live in the house next door. He was a beekeeper and had several hives. Oak trees also grace the yard, and bears are drawn to the acorns. That fall, a 250-pound bear was bulking up for winter and raided the hives. Martinson complained to his neighbors, who decided to help him with his plight. The article says that the residents, “had fired about 15 shots at the bear in three days, but never were successful in hitting the animal.”

Can you image people discharging firearms within city limits like that now? (Currently in Minnesota, it’s illegal to discharge a firearm within 500 feet of a dwelling or occupied building unless you have written permission from the owner or occupant.)

After the unsuccessful hunt, a policeman who lived at the end of the road (Royce Hanna), and another neighbor concocted a plan with Martinson. They strung a line of light bulbs from a garage to a field and a lookout was posted to whistle when the bear approached in the night. The whistle was the signal for the lights to be switched on.

According to my neighbor, who witnessed the event, the first night they tried this scheme, the lookout mistook moonlight glinting off the lightbulbs for the bear’s eyes and Hanna shot out a lightbulb instead of a bear. (Apparently, they didn’t turn the lights on before Hanna shot!)

The second night, the bear walked into the trap “with 35 to 40 spectators hidden nearby. . . Someone whistled at the right time, the lights flashed on and Hanna opened fire. The policeman’s first shot wounded the bear. His second killed the animal.”

My neighbor told me that Hanna almost lost his job because he had called in sick that day and then his boss read about it in the newspaper. I guess the lesson is, don’t give interviews to newspaper reporters when you’re supposed to be sick! He also said that someone else in the neighborhood had skinned the bear and kept the hide.

The second story happened last fall. The people who now live in Martinson’s house had multiple bear raids on their garbage can, which they unwisely left outside all the time. I could tell the culprit was a bear by the scat left behind. Have you ever seen bear scat? It can look like a pile of chocolate soft serve ice cream in a pile as large as a dinner plate, depending on the size of the bear.

To deter the animal, they rigged the garbage can lid with straps to hold it down, plus tied the container to a tree in their yard. I just laughed when I saw this. Like a few little straps would deter a huge bear! Here’s a photo of what their container looked like the next morning.

Score one for the bear! After this, my neighbors cleaned out their garage enough that they could fit their garbage and recycling containers in it. I’m not sure why they didn’t do that in the first place. Must be slow learners. Or maybe they thought it was only a racoon.

Anyway, knowing that the house next door has been a bear target for years is sort of fun. At least this time, the bear got away with its life.

The third story happened in my own back yard about fifteen years ago. We were eating breakfast when we noticed the bear. My former husband was so excited, he burst out of the house clutching some doughnuts AND RAN TOWARD THE BEAR. I ran after him, asking what he was doing. “I want to feed the bear!” he said. I must mention that my former husband was from Russia. I guess that’s just what they do.

The bear took one look at this crazy Russian running toward him and promptly turned tail. He climbed a tree in a yard a few houses away. Disappointed, my husband left the doughnuts at the base of the tree for the bear once he climbed down.

I don’t recall if the bear ever ate the doughnuts, but this story was forever cemented in the annals of family history. Remember that time your dad chased a bear?

The Red-Haired Mummy

/ mariezhuikov / 32 Comments

I received notification about new results recently from one of the DNA-testing services that I use. (Note: it is not the beleaguered 23&Me.) Through this service, I had my maternal (mitochondrial) DNA tested. One report offered is called “Notable Connections.” These are “connections based on direct DNA testing or deduced from testing of relatives and should be considered as fun facts.”

Included in my results were some Swedish and Danish royalty and some poor bronze-age blokes who were dug up in England when modern roads were built. One connection sent shivers through me, however. It was for an Egyptian mummy named Takabuti. Her remains are currently on display at the Ulster Museum in Belfast. We visited that museum this summer! We went there on our first day in Ireland.

I racked my brains trying to remember if we’d seen the mummy. We must have because it’s a major display. But I don’t think we paid her a lot of attention. I mean, I’ve seen King Tut’s mummy, and after that, everything else is small potatoes. I also recall a vague distaste at seeing a dead body on display. However, if I had known I was related to this mummy, you can bet I would’ve taken more notice!

Takabuti. Image courtesy of the Egypt Museum.

According to the DNA site, Takabuti and I shared a common ancestor 6,300 years ago. She died and was mummified about 2,600 years ago in Thebes, which is now known as Luxor. The striking thing about her is that she has red hair. It has lightened to a golden color now, due to light exposure since she’s been on display. DNA testing on the mummy showed that her mother was European – probably from the Canary Islands or Southern Iberia (Spain and Portugal). Red hair is not uncommon in that part of the world. It’s thought to come from the area’s indigenous peoples who were known as the Guanches. They were believed to have originated in North Africa, specifically the Berber people of the mainland African deserts.

Takabuti was the daughter of a priest of Ammon-Ra, the sun good and the major deity in Egypt (like Zeus was to the Greeks). As such, her family would have lived comfortably and enjoyed the benefits of high status. Later, Takabuti was the mistress of a great house, and held high social standing. Although she wasn’t royalty, she was mummified to expensive royal standards.

Tragically, Takabuti’s life was cut short between the ages of twenty and thirty. Recent scientific analysis revealed she met a violent end while running, killed by an axe blow to her upper left shoulder that was likely instantly fatal. She may have been trying to escape an assailant, possibly during a period of conflict – perhaps at the hands of an Assyrian soldier or someone from her own community. A magic poultice was packed into her wound to help it heal in the afterlife.

How did an Egyptian mummy get to Ireland? The DNA site says that following the Napoleonic Wars, during a period of active trade in Egyptian antiquities (known as Egyptomania), Takabuti was purchased in 1834 by Thomas Greg of Ballymenoch House, Holywood, County Down. (Perhaps, because of her red hair, he thought he was bringing her back to her homeland?) She made history as the first mummy to be unwrapped in Ireland, with this significant event taking place on January 27, 1835, at the Belfast Natural History Society’s museum. The unwrapping generated considerable scientific interest, particularly in Belfast, then the commercial center of the Irish linen industry, which took special note of her fine linen wrappings.

The cover of a book about Takabuti shows a reconstruction of her face and the face on her coffin.

We know so much about Takabuti because she was the subject of intense academic study. Her face has been reconstructed. A book has been written about her, and she’s also been the subject of a short story. I haven’t read that story yet, but plan to soon. (It’s in Matters of Life and Death by Irish/Scottish author Bernard MacLaverty. Yet another retirement project!)

I wonder if her unusual red hair contributed to her high status is Egypt. Although I don’t have red hair, my mother had it. But hers came from her Scottish/Irish ancestry. My relationship to the mummy is a fun link to history. You can bet if I ever visit Belfast again, I’ll stop into the Ulster Museum and pay distant, distant cousin Takabuti proper respects.

Slumber Party Magic

/ mariezhuikov / 30 Comments

Growing up in the 1970s, I had plenty of opportunities to attend slumber parties. One of my favorite party places was the house of my best friend up the street, Jody. (She’s the one who had a horse.) She had all sorts of mysterious things at her house like a fortune-telling 8 ball. You could ask it a question, shake it, and the answer would appear through a dark, watery window in the bottom. I always thought the answers were a little lame, but it was fun to feel like I was receiving some magical advice. My friend’s family also had a Ouija Board that could supposedly be used to talk to the dead like in a séance.

One of my least favorite slumber party games was Bloody Mary. In this game, you go into the bathroom alone with a candle. You light the candle, turn out the lights, and look in the mirror. Say “Bloody Mary” three times slowly. It’s supposed to make Bloody Mary (whoever that is) appear. I didn’t like this game because I needed to be alone for it. I didn’t want to be alone if and when a creepy person appeared! I don’t recall ever doing the game myself, but I may have watched other people do it. (We bent the rules on being alone.) I don’t recall any specter appearing in the mirror, but we were scared out of our wits, which I guess was the whole point.

One of my favorite games was Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board. We played the version where one person lays down (there’s another version where a person sits in a chair). Everyone would gather around under dim lights and placed two fingers from each hand (index fingers) underneath them. The goal was to lift the person off the ground. If we would try to lift the person at this point, it wouldn’t work because we’d be giggling and uncoordinated. But if we tried to lift as we recited the chant associated with the game, the person would rise as if levitating.

The first record of this game came from a British Naval administrator in 1665 who saw a group of French girls doing it. The leader of the game (usually the person at the head) says, “She’s looking ill.” And everyone repeats that in a call and response a few times. Then the leader says, “She’s looking worse,” in the same call and response. Then, “She’s dying,” and “She’s dead.”

This initial ritual is completed when everyone stacks their hands atop the liftee person’s forehead, alternating so that their hands are separated by the hands of another person. The leader then tells the group that they are opening the liftee’s body to supernatural influences and that outside spirits are entering the body to make it lighter.

After that, everyone puts their fingers back under the person. The leader chants, “Light as a feather, stiff as a board,” repeating the phrase many times. Then the group begins lifting the person slowly. Unlike the first lifting attempt, this one should happen easily and for only a few inches. Then the group lowers the person back to the ground.

The game was spooky, exciting, and mysterious. How could we all lift such a weight with only a few fingers? I did a little research and discovered the game is actually based on physics. The weight of the person is divided equally among each lifter. The stiffness of the lifted player also helps the trick work. As the lifters chant, the liftee will become stiff and focused. Their rigid, tense body makes the lifting easier. The supernatural references just make the game more fun.

As with many things in life, the ultimate secret to the “magic” of this game is the synchronization of the group. Many hands (in this case, fingers) working together makes for light work.

Did you ever play these games, or something like them?