We explored Dublin, feeling more connected to this land after our previous day’s adventure seeing where Russ’s ancestors lived. Our first stop was the National Museum of Archaeology. We saw golden artifacts and a huge dugout canoe crafted over 4,000 years ago (the Lurgan canoe). But the things I most wanted to see were the bog bodies.
Gallagh Man
If you’re not familiar, bog bodies are the corpses of unfortunate people who were either murdered or ritually sacrificed and buried in the boglands of Ireland and other countries. There are five bodies (or parts of bodies) on tasteful display in the (free to enter) museum. I’d only seen photos of them in magazines before. I wanted to see the bodies in person because I wrote a short story about a bog body, which will be featured in my book that’s slated for publication this fall. I’m in the middle of editing the manuscript and wanted to see if this museum experience would give me any new ideas.
I only took photos of two of the bodies: Gallagh Man and Clonycavan Man. Gallagh Man was a six-foot-tall, healthy man with reddish hair who lived sometime between 470-120 BC. He was found in County Galway, Ireland, in 1821 by laborers digging peat for fuel. The twenty-five-year-old was most likely strangled before being buried in the bog.
Clonycavan Man
Clonycavan Man was found in County Meath in 2003, also by peat harvesters. Alas, they were using a machine that cut the body in half, and only the upper torso and head remain. He was between 20 and 40 years old when he died sometime between 392-201 BC. At five-foot-two, he was shorter than Gallagh Man. One of Clonycavan Man’s most distinguishing characteristics was his hair. He had what may have been the first man bun! Perhaps it made him look taller. Scientists even discovered an ancient form of hair gel in his hair, made of plant oil and pine resin. The presence of this gel indicates he was fairly wealthy during his lifetime; it was made from materials found in France and Spain. His injuries suggest a grisly death, which may have been the result of torture. I’m not going to go into them here!
One theory proposed is that these men were failed kings or failed candidates for kingship who were killed and placed in bogs along tribal boundary lines. Their bodies served as offering to the goddess of the land to whom the actual king was “wed” in his inauguration ceremony.
I was particularly excited to see Clonycavan Man’s hair bun, since I gave the bog body in my short story a similar attribute. Seeing the bodies did not give me new ideas; rather the experience enforced what I’d already written. But it was very interesting to see them up close.
Next door to the museum is the National Library, which offered a free exhibit on William Butler Yeats, one of my favorite writers. We saw his copy of “Walden” and learned more about Maud Gonne, his muse who refused to marry him several times. I also learned that Yeats was heavily into spiritualism (think seances). I had not known that before.
In an interesting coincidence, later that day, I ordered water at a restaurant. It came in a bottle sporting Yeats’s photo. The brand name was W.B. Yeats water. Imagine, naming a commercial brand after a writer! We don’t do that enough in the U.S. I will happily sell my name and likeness to anyone who wants to use it for commercial purposes. 😊
After touring the library, we walked through a drizzle to the famous Temple Bar. It’s known for its live music, ambiance, and large whiskey collection. It was too crowded and noisy, so we satisfied our curiosity with a mere stroll through it.
We had more Dublin adventures that day, but I’ll save them for the next post.
The town of Armagh and St. Patrick’s Church of Ireland Cathedral as seen from the steps of St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic Cathedral.
This day was a big deal for us. We’d been working for six months with My Ireland Family Heritage, a small, family-owned company that does genealogy research and tours. This was the day for our tour of the lands of Russ’s ancestors!
Our guide, Ian, picked us up from our hotel in Belfast. Our first stop was the small town of Armagh near where Russ’s ancestors lived. We had requested a visit to St. Patrick’s Cathedral there, but once we reached the town, we were surprised to learn that there are two of them! The oldest one (year 445) is Protestant and the more recent one (1840) is Catholic.
Armagh owes its association with St. Patrick to the old church, which is named St. Patrick’s Church of Ireland Cathedral. It stands on a hill overlooking the town. The hill (Ard Mhacha or Height of Macha) is where the city (Armagh) got its name. Before the church was built, it was a major ritual site and an ancient royal center. The Book of Armagh states that St. Patrick decreed that the Armagh church should have pre-eminence over all other churches and monasteries in Ireland, a position it holds to this day. The present structure was built in 1268 but it has been restored several times due to fires and worship needs.
Inside St. Patrick’s Church of Ireland Cathedral, Armagh.
Across the way atop another hill is the other church, St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic Cathedral. It’s the seat of the Catholic Archbishop of Armagh. We could easily see it from the steps of the Protestant church. Of the two, the Catholic one is the fanciest, probably owing to its more modern construction.
Us at St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic Cathedral, Armagh.
Russ’s great-great-great grandfather James Henry Thornton lived just outside of Armagh in the small township of Foybeg. He came to Ireland from England with the unenviable job as a tax collector for Lord Lurgan (Charles Brownlow or Baron Lurgan), an Anglo-Irish politician who represented Armagh in the U.K. Parliament.
James Henry was married twice, but we didn’t know the names of either of his wives. James Henry had two sons, James and John, one with each wife. Besides being a tax collector, his occupation is recorded in church records as a farmer. Ian told us that Foybeg is known for the growth and weaving of flax into linen. It was the “cash crop” of the time, much like coffee is for Brazil today. So, he could have been a flax farmer.
His son James eventually moved to Australia. Russ is related to John, who was his great-great grandfather. He is described in family records as at least six feet tall. He loved horses, hunting and good whiskey, but hated work. He always carried a cane and had at least two dogs following him at all times. He was educated to teach school in Northern Ireland.
John married Jane Berry and they had eleven children. One of them was Russ’s great-grandfather, William John Thornton, who went by the name John Jr. After he emigrated to America, he married an Irish woman, Sarah J. Fox. She grew up near Foybeg.
Ian, our tour guide, outside St. Paul’s Church.
After lunch, Ian took us to St. Paul’s Church, which was where Sarah’s family worshipped and were buried. We saw lots of graves with familiar family surnames (Fox, Johnston, Berry) but did not come across anything significant. Inside, there was a “new” baptismal font on display. The old one was shoved underneath a spiral staircase. Could that have been used for Sarah Fox or her family?
The old baptismal font in St. Paul’s Church.
Our next stop was the Drumcree Church of the Ascension, where we hit the jackpot! This was the church (Church of Ireland denomination) where the Thorntons worshipped and were married/buried. The church is surrounded by cow pastures and apple orchards and even has an apple tree depicted in a stained-glass window.
The apple tree stained-glass window in Drumcree Church.
Besides the ancestral connection, Drumcree Church was significant during Ireland’s “troubles.” For several years in the 1990s, this Protestant church drew international attention as the scene of the Drumcree standoffs. Each year, the Protestant Orange Order marched to-and-from a service at the church on the Sunday before the 12th of July. Residents in the nearby Catholic district prevented the march from continuing through their neighborhood. Thousands of Orangemen and British loyalists gathered at Drumcree and violently tried to force their way through, but were held back by security forces, who built large steel and barbed wire barricades. These yearly “sieges” of Drumcree ended in the early 2000s.
Drumcree Church and graveyard
As we strolled around the graveyard, which smelled of manure from the cows nearby, we noticed a broken headstone propped up against the low stone wall that borders the yard. It was the headstone for JamesHenry Thornton and Mary. Mary must have been James Henry’s second wife! The last line on the tombstone says something about their son James Thornton, who was thought to have lived in Australia. Maybe he returned home to Ireland, eventually? The church member who let us into the building for a tour said that the stone must have been broken in the past, so that’s why it was leaning up against the wall and not over their gravesite. He said they do that instead of just getting rid of the broken ones.
Our exciting graveyard find!
As if discovering this significant gravestone wasn’t enough, our talkative guide Ian next took us to the homesites of Russ’s ancestors. Two out of three weren’t accessible or there was nothing to see but an orchard, but the Thornton homesite was different! We peered down a driveway that led to a modern house. Between the driveway and the house was an old white building with red doors and a rusting metal roof. This was where Russ’s Thornton ancestors lived! It looked more like a shed or a barn now than a home.
The Thornton Family home in Foybeg Township, Ireland.
We only had time to take a few photos before Ian wanted to leave. You see, he is a Catholic from the Republic of Ireland to the south. We were in Northern Ireland, which is mostly Protestant. He did not feel comfortable hanging out in rural areas for fear of a confrontation. (People can tell where he’s from by the license plate on the van.)
Once we were back in the van driving away, Russ said a lady had been out in the yard. I would have loved to have had the chance to speak with her to see if she knew anything about the past inhabitants of her place, but I did not see her when I was taking pictures of it. Russ took the geographic coordinates of the location, so perhaps, if we ever return, we will have more time to explore and chat. Russ said that this was his favorite part of the tour.
As the ancestry book that the tour company put together for us says,
What was once a home where children played a hive of activities stands quiet now, a home for spiders and field mice. In the corner of the eves an owl hoots every evening . . . People lived and died in this cottage. Its walls could tell you stories, happy and sad. Children grew up here, some stayed near, and some traveled far and wide to the other side of the world. They packed their memories to start a new life, new beginnings, and new memories, leaving this little cottage to nature.
Russ’s great grandfather, William John Thornton emigrated to the U.S. He settled in Manchester Connecticut and married Sarah. They had four children. At the time of his marriage, William John was employed as a “velvet finisher.” He also worked as a coachman and a laborer later. Unfortunately, William John was an alcoholic. He died in 1917 from freezing to death in a drunken state in a roadside ditch. Sarah lived until a ripe old age, dying in 1964.
Tour over, Ian drove us to Dublin, the site of our next adventures!
Belfast was where the Titanic and its sister ships, the Olympic and Britannic, were built. We’d heard that because of this, the Titanic Museum was mainly about how the ship was built and not so much about the sinking, but we found this not to be true.
I was thankful for that because, of course, the sinking is what the Titanic is known for. Although I don’t care to watch the movie version of the sinking ever again (all that death made me ill!) I was interested in seeing the museum version of the tragedy.
A model of the Titanic in the Titanic Museum
The museum was well worth the entry price. Pre-booking of tickets is required. The displays were built in various ways that appeal to all types of learning: audio, visual, reading, entertainment, experiential, and probably a few others I don’t know about. Talking holograms of passengers and crewmembers offered interpretation along the way. There were models of the Titanic, and even a ride in these funky, boxy cars that took visitors through the experience of building the ship. Outdoors, the yard where the Titanic and other ships were built is visible from the museum.
A replica of a first-class state room on the Titanic, complete with hologram passenger and staff member.
My favorite part were the displays that dealt with discovering the ship’s resting place at the bottom of the North Atlantic. Visitors can walk over a glass floor that simulates walking above the wreckage on the ocean’s bottom. That was so cool!
Marie, striking a typical Titanic pose.
After our tour, we popped into the museum’s Galley Café, which had food just about a delectable as a first-class passenger’s on the Titanic. I ate a wonderful chowder and topped it off with trifle for dessert. Trifle is a parfait made with cake cubes, vanilla pudding combined with whipped cream, and interspersed with berries and peaches. The café’s trifle was not as good as the one I make, but I wasn’t going to complain. I was impressed that they even offered it as I’d never seen it on a menu before (especially in the U.S.).
Afterward, we meandered outside and toured a ship in dry dock called the Nomadic. Like the Titanic, it was built by the White Star Line and was the tender ship for the Titanic. This means it ferried passengers and supplies to it. The Nomadic is the only surviving White Star Line ship left. Entry onto it was included in our ticket price for the museum. That was fascinating to see, especially a few pieces of original oak paneling that are left in the women’s bathroom sitting room, and how the various classes of passengers were kept separated.
The Nomadic, Titanic’s tender ship.
After that, we hopped onto the Maritime Trail in a light drizzle. It goes right past the museum, so a stroll along it was a no-brainer. In addition to interpretive signs about the city’s maritime history, there were “Game of Thrones” stained glass displays. The TV series was filmed in Ireland.
A cute seal that was on the Maritime Trail.Look at those eyes!
As the drizzle increased and our feet got sore, we tried to order a cab to take us back to our hotel but had no luck. The problem was Shania Twain. The singer was in town and all the cabs were booked by her fans. We trudged back to the Titanic Museum and were able to nab a cab that was waiting in front for passengers. Our driver said that Shania is of Irish descent, along with Taylor Swift and Mariah Carey, so they’re all big deals in Ireland.
The main reason we decided to visit Ireland was to explore Russ’s heritage. Like the famous singers, Russ is of Irish descent (as well as French and German). His great-great-great and great-great grandfathers and grandmothers lived there, and the female line goes back even farther. In the next post, I’ll describe what happened on Day 3, which involved a genealogical tour to his ancestral homelands outside of Belfast.
Also, one of the main reasons we were visiting Scotland later on our trip was to investigate my ancestral heritage. Since the last time I was in Scotland eight years ago, I discovered (thanks to my cousins) that we’re related to Robert the Bruce, first king of Scotland. (He is my great-grandfather to the 21st power.) While we were backtracking to the museum in the rain, one of our plans on that account came to fruition. I’d been trying for months to book a tour of Broomhall House outside of Edinburgh, which is the family home of the Bruces, and it was only recently opened for public tours.
We got news that those plans were a “go!” That lightened the misery of walking with tired feet in the rain. We only hoped that our luggage would finally arrive so that we’d have something nicer to wear than blue jeans and stinky underwear to Broomhall.
We capped off our evening with supper at Ryan’s Pub. This was a second visit for us because it was within walking distance of our hotel and the food and drinks were grand! I was introduced to a whisky sour there (topped with a sprig of mint), and it has quickly become one of my favorites. As if that weren’t good enough, when we arrived back at our hotel, our luggage was waiting for us!
To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive, and the true success is to labor. — Robert Louis Stevenson
A typical street in Belfast
I’ve been radio silent for a while. That’s because Russ and I have been meandering around Ireland and Scotland for three weeks. Like Stevenson’s quote above (which I came to learn on this trip), our travels involved a lot of labor and lost baggage, but we remained hopeful and didn’t let it get us down. The good experiences we had far outweighed the difficult.
Belfast was the goal of our first travel day. Alas, we only made it from Duluth to Minneapolis. We boarded our Belfast-bound connecting Delta flight in Minneapolis, giddy that our long-awaited trip was finally happening.
After we backed away from the gate, the pilot announced that one of the engines was doing something weird. He ran some tests and then needed a new part or a sensor, so we got off the plane until that arrived. The clerks kept saying we’d reboard in the next half hour, then it was the next half hour, then the next. By this time, it was past midnight. Suddenly, the announcement came that the flight crew had timed out, so we weren’t going anywhere.
After spending an hour in line to get rebooked for the same flight the next evening, making a reservation at one of the hotels Delta recommended, and then being denied our luggage because the baggage handlers had all gone home, we caught a hotel shuttle. We flopped into bed, bedraggled and bemused at 2:30 a.m.
The next day, we arrived back at the Minneapolis Airport in plenty of time. We explored the shops and probably walked down every gate there was just for some exercise. We even discovered we could have slept overnight in the airport had we wanted. On the second floor, there’s a “Quiet Room” with sleeping pads and cushions. Good to remember should we ever find ourselves in a similar situation! But I’m glad we had a hotel room.
Once we arrived in Belfast, our luggage was missing. After filing a report, we made our way to our hotel, even more bedraggled and more sad than bemused. Little did we know, it would be two more days before our luggage showed up.
We felt like we needed to make up for lost time, so our first day in Belfast was very active, despite jetlag. Our first stop was the Botanic Gardens, a free activity that we could walk to from our hotel. A statue of Lord Kelvin greeted us once we passed through the gate. He was born in Belfast and is best known for his discovery of absolute zero. The gardens have a Victorian feel to them and offer several greenhouses to walk through, and even a Ferris wheel to ride.
On the edge of the gardens is the Ulster Museum, another free venue. If you’re not aware, the term “ulster” translates as ‘Land of the Ulaidh,’ the ancient kings and their people that ruled over most of the north of Ireland in pre-Norman times. The region of Northern Ireland is known as Ulster. Its proximity to Scotland made it relatively easy for many Scots to migrate there.
The museum explores the past, present, and future through art, natural science and history. It sported huge wicker dragons, a replica of an extinct Irish elk, and two famous paintings by Caravaggio. Apparently, pick pockets patrol the room where patrons are distracted by these paintings. The docents asked us to put our backpacks on the front of our body to discourage theft.
Back at our hotel, we booked a cab to Belfast Castle, which is situated high on a hill overlooking the city. Unfortunately, we couldn’t go inside it because the castle was booked for a private event, but we were satisfied to walk around the grounds and eat scones for lunch in the cellar café.
Belfast Castle
One of the blogs I follow offers great information about the castle, if you’d like to learn more. It also features a photo of the interior. We loved the cat-themed garden.
Back at our hotel again, we asked the concierge about booking a Sectarian taxi tour. These tours take you into the heart of the parts of Belfast where “the troubles” erupted in the late 1960s and lasted until the late 1990s. Both Russ and I had read, “Say Nothing,” a book about the troubles and were interested in seeing the areas described in it.
The concierge said she knew someone who could take us and that he had “a very nice van.” And that he would answer all our questions. He did, indeed, have a very nice van (a Mercedes) but his presentation was a bit jumbled. It didn’t help that he had a food smudge on his cheek the whole time and that spit balls gathered on his lower lip. That made it hard to listen to him, but he did tell us many personal stories about growing up in those times and he took us to all the different areas: Protestant, Catholic, and Loyalist. He also told us that everything he said was “deniable,” so, it was hard to know how seriously to take him.
The Peace Wall in Belfast, one of the sights on our sectarian taxi tour.The wall separates Protestant and Catholic neighborhoods in the city.
Back at the hotel again, we walked down the street in search of some supper. The place we chose was right across from the Belfast Police Department. The police are housed in a very impressive structure. All it lacks is a moat. I’ve never seen such a well-fortified modern building! But, of course, they’ve needed the security with all the conflicts of the past. There’s peace now, but as our tour guide and several other people told us, it’s an uneasy peace.
Whew! That was quite a first day in Ireland. Next up: The Titanic Museum and the Maritime Trail.
I traveled to Madison, Wisconsin, this week for a water symposium on the university campus. As I walked back to my hotel from the event, I passed the university’s botany garden. On a whim, I meandered off course a few steps and entered.
Although it was too early in the season for everything to be blooming, enough flowers were showing to keep me moving through. Sculptures with botany themes were scattered throughout the small but pretty garden.
One plant and plaque stopped me in my tracks: a picturesque apple tree surrounded by a fence. The tree sported white blossoms and looked older than its 23 Years. Reading the sign, I learned that the tree, planted in 2001, is a direct descendant of the original tree that bore the fruit which inspired Sir Isaac Newton’s Theory of Gravitational Forces.
Huh. I always assumed that the whole apple falling on Newton’s head thing was a myth. But now here was living proof that the tree from which said apple fell not only could be identified, but its offspring was living in Madison!
The plaque said the original “Newton Apple Tree” grows on the grounds of the National Institute of Standards and Technology. But that institute is in the United States (in Maryland). I thought Newton made his discovery in England.
So, in writing this post, I did some digging. The institute tree the Madison tree is grafted from was a clone. Alas, the clone fell over and died about a year ago “due to unknown reasons” according to Wikipedia.
Tulips and a crabapple tree were in bloom in UW-Madison’s Botany Garden. The person in the image is taking a picture of the tulips from below.
The actual original Newton tree grew in the 1600s on the grounds of the English manor where Newton was raised. The Woolsthrope Manor tree has died, but its descendants and clones live on at the manor and many other places around the world.
The story of the apple inspiring Newton’s theory gained public visibility when Newton’s niece related it to Voltaire, who included it in an essay. The apple, however, did not fall on Newton’s head. That is a silly myth.
The Madison tree was planted in honor of F. James Sensenbrenner, chair of the U.S. House of Representatives Committee on Science (1995-2000). Sensenbrenner was a Republican congressman from Wisconsin and a graduate of UW-Madison. From the plaque text, it sounds like Sensenbrenner presented the tree to the university himself in hopes that “the fruit of this descendant inspires others to partake in scientific discovery.” This strikes me as rather self-aggrandizing, but it was a nice gesture, no doubt accompanied by some additional funds.
As if having a copy of the Newton tree isn’t enough, the UW-Madison Botany Garden was the first in the world to be based on the new Angiosperm Phylogeny Group system of molecular classification of plants. I don’t really know what that means but if you visit the garden’s webpage, there’s a chart about that.
As I continued my walk through the garden, I envied the Madisonians their warm breezes and blooms. In northern Minnesota, our daffodils are just beginning to show. It will take us about three weeks to catch up to the plants in Madison. Sigh. But this way, lucky me experiences two blooming seasons and that’s just fine.
I exited the garden, glad for my little educational and botanical detour and that I’d have something to share with you. And now you know more than you probably ever wanted about Newton’s apple tree!
When last we met, Russ and I were in Grand Marais along the shores of Lake Superior for an afternoon photo reception at their local health facility. We decided to stay overnight after the reception and take a little photo expedition the next morning to a scenic spot on the harbor.
As we ate supper at the Gunflint Tavern, I came up with the bright idea to do a reconnaissance mission to the spot to prepare for the next day’s shot. I hadn’t been to Artist’s Point in several years and wanted a refresher. The sun was still up so we’d be able to see okay to walk along the break walls and rocky coast.
I must admit that I had a glass of wine with supper and then for dessert, a brandy old fashioned cocktail. Although the food at the tavern was lovely, that cocktail was truly memorable! A brandy old fashioned is made with muddled (smashed) maraschino cherries and orange slices. (For a photo, see this post.)
I don’t know what kind of cherries the tavern used, but they took the drink to a whole new level! They were dark maroon and tasted divine. I know they weren’t Amaro-soaked cherries because I’ve had those before. I wish I had asked our waitress what they were, but I didn’t.
Thus fortified, and wearing high-heeled boots, I ventured with Russ to the harbor. I didn’t even have my Nikon along (that was back at our inn), only my cell phone.
I clambered up on the break wall, but Russ refused. He’d had a drink with dinner, too, and didn’t trust his balance enough to join me. I, however, found that my dessert made me not really care that I was up on a rocky wall in high heels. Plus, the views! I immediately became inspired and started snapping away on my phone, wandering this way and that for the best views.
What was intended as a simple reconnaissance turned into a photo shoot in its own right. Here’s a gallery of my results.
I clambered off with wall none the worse for wear and we headed to our inn for a rousing card game. We slumbered until Civil Dawn – that time just before the sun rises. In our case, that was 5:30 a.m., much earlier than we usually wake.
We quickly dressed in gear appropriate for temperatures in the mid-40s. I gathered my tripod and camera and we drove down the hill a short way to Artist’s Point. The area is named for its picturesque views. Painters can often be found there.
The sky over Lake Superior began turning a light orange as the sun prepared to make its appearance. Songbirds were singing, mallards quacking. Shorebirds flitted from rock to rock in front of me on the beach. The air was calm.
The sun wasn’t rising close to the island where I hoped it would be, so I set up my tripod on the beach and started taking photos. As the sunrise progressed, I found some large rocks and old wooden pilings that made for an interesting foreground. I crouched for the best angle.
I stepped away from my camera a few times to enjoy the sunrise in its own right, without a viewfinder in front of it.
Then I made my way out to the point and the break wall. Russ stayed back again. By this time, the sun climbed higher, but it was too bright for a good photo against the island. Instead, I focused my efforts in the opposite direction — on the lighthouse in the harbor, which was lit by the reflection of the rising sun. As I shot, a gray fishing boat left for the deeps of the lake with a raucous chorus of gulls following in hopes of sharing the bounty to come.
As I was finishing, I noticed a man off to the side on the harbor shore. Was he a photographer, too? Was he seeing something I wasn’t? (Every photographer’s nightmare!)
Then I noticed he wasn’t holding a camera, but a fishing rod. Just an angler out catching breakfast before work.
My cold fingers told me it was time to stop taking photos, so I clambered off the wall and met up with Russ. We returned to our cozy inn, peaceful, inspired. Happy.
Cullen Skink soup, homemade bread and tea served at the Laird’s Kitchenin Delgatie Castle (2016).
I know what you’re thinking – that is an unappetizing name for a soup! But there’s a reason behind it.
Back in 2016, when my friend Sharon and I traveled to Scotland, we became acquainted with Scotland’s version of chowder, thanks to some friendly people in a café in Gardenstown. The soup is called Cullen Skink and they said the best place to find it was Delgatie Castle, which was not too far away.
We took them up on the advice and ate lunch at the café in the basement and then toured the pinkish castle. We tried the soup, which is made with smoked haddock, potatoes, and onions – thus, a very white dish. It was served with homemade white bread slathered with butter. More whiteness!
Delgatie Castle, Scotland, where I had my first Cullen Skink.
The soup was very creamy and good. I am a chowderholic, so I loved it. The café is also known for its scones, which were lovely. The soup was invented in the Scottish town of Cullen. It was created from deprivation and want. The skink part of the name is usually reserved for soups in Scotland with ingredients like a shank of beef or ham. Having none of these on hand, smoked fish was used instead, but the name of “skink” stuck to it.
Cullen Skink has been described by The Guardian newspaper as “smokier and more assertive than American chowder, heartier than classical French bisque.” I agree.
The Scottish are proud of their skink, holding an annual Cullen Skink World Championships competition. The most recent event was just a couple of weeks ago in a hotel in Aberlour.
Kellie Spooner, excited winner of the 2024 Cullen Skink World Championships. Image courtesy of NE Scotland BBC.
During our trip, Sharon found a recipe in a travel guide and took a photo of it. I recently came across the image and decided to follow up on my long-ago plans to make the soup at home. The only problem is that smoked haddock is impossible to find in my neck of the woods. So, true to the original nature of Cullen Skink, I had to make do with what was at hand, and that was a Lake Superior smoked whitefish.
To make the soup even more white, I substituted white pepper for black pepper. For the milk, I used Carnation brand evaporated milk because it was on sale. But I had forgotten I can’t have it due to my intolerance to corn and any ingredients derived from corn. Carnation contains dextrose, which is derived from corn.
I had migraines for two days as I ate the soup and its leftovers, until I figured out the culprit. So, if you have a corn intolerance, keep that in mind! The generic brand of evaporated milk at my store is free of dextrose, so I will use that next time.
If you want to introduce a bit of color into the soup, I suggest using B-sized (new) red potatoes and not peeling them. The parsley also adds color.
I forgot to soak the smoked fish overnight in the milk beforehand, but it still came out tasting great! If you love chowder but are looking for something different, this is the soup for you.
Here’s my version, which I have named Lake Superior Skink to honor the fish from Lake Superior that I used. If you use a local fish species, feel free to call this recipe your own geographic version of skink. For instance, a version containing catfish could be called Mississippi River Skink. Yet another appetizing name!
2 Tablespoons butter 1 onion, diced 2 pints evaporated milk (approx. 3 cans) or whole milk 1-1/2 lbs potatoes, peeled and diced 1 lb smoked Lake Superior whitefish or lake trout 2 teaspoons dried parsley sea salt and white pepper, to taste lite sour cream
Soak fish in milk overnight to infuse extra smoky flavor into the broth.
Melt butter in a pan, add the onion and cook gently for 7-8 minutes until it is soft but not browned. Pour in the milk and bring to a simmer. Poach the smoked fish for 3-4 minutes until it is cooked and will flake easily.
Carefully lift the fish out onto a plate and leave it to cool slightly. Add the diced potatoes and simmer for about 20 minutes until soft. Blend some of the potatoes with a stick blender to thicken the soup a little. If you have a regular blender, put about a quarter of the soup into it, blend, then return to the pan.
When the fish is cool enough to handle, break it into flakes, discarding the skin and bones. Return the fish to the pan and stir in the parsley and spices. When serving, add sour cream as desired.
One of the Croftville Cottages near Grand Marais, MN
When Russ and I made reservations for a cabin on the shores of Lake Superior months ago, we envisioned a weekend getaway filled with cross-country skiing and listening to the roar of waves.
Well, we experienced only one of those things. Thanks to El Nino we have NO SNOW in northern Minnesota, or at least very little. We have not been skiing ONCE this season.
The living room of our cozy cottage.
I thought I was cross-county-ski starved when I wrote this post in 2014, but that was nothing compared to what I’m feeling now! If it gets much worse, I might have to pay to ski on artificial snow at our local ski area.
So, we had to cast around for other things to do during our stay in Croftville and Grand Marais, MN. While researching, I discovered that Grand Marais is having a month-long hygge festival. What is “hygge” you ask? It’s pronounced hoo-gah and is a Danish word that means “creating a warm atmosphere and enjoying the good things in life with good people.” In fewer words, it means “cozy.” The events included a lodge fireplace tour, art shows, and saunas.
That sounded good to us, so off we went. We stayed at Croftville Cottages, which is just outside Grand Marais. Besides a main building with lovely condo-like apartments (where I’ve stayed for work) they offer three cottages on the lakeshore. Ours had two bedrooms and a full kitchen, plus two gas stoves for heat. We fell asleep to the roar of a gray and foamy Lake Superior crashing onto the black rocks.
The log-powered sauna at Thomsonite Inn.
We brought our own food along, so after a leisurely breakfast at the cabin, we headed into town to visit bookstores and chocolate shops.
Laden with books and maple truffles, we returned to the cabin for lunch and then drove a few miles to the Thomsonite Inn for a free sauna, courtesy of the Hygge Festival. I had been in touch with the inn beforehand via email to ensure that we didn’t need a reservation, and they said we could just show up.
When we arrived at the inn, the office was closed. Never having been there before, we weren’t sure where the sauna was located. But we found it after referring to a map posted near the office. A short walk down a trail toward the lake led us to the sauna, which was made from a shipping container and it sported a wood fireplace.
A group of twenty-somethings were exiting just as we arrived. Their bodies steamed as they toweled off in the twenty-eight-degree breeze. They said that our timing was perfect and that we’d have the sauna to ourselves.
The sauna offered a view of Lake Superior.
Russ and I looked for a changing room, but there was none. One of the young women said she just walked into a clump of nearby trees to change. Hmph! And did I mention that it was twenty-eight degrees outside??
We ended up changing behind the sauna. The ground was frozen, so I laid my winter coat down and changed atop it, wearing socks for the short trip to the sauna door, taking them off before I went inside. Although changing into our swimsuits outdoors was chilly, we had some hygge to look forward to!
The “youngsters” had added a log to the fire when the left, so the sauna was warm and toasty. For me, it was a bit too toasty. I had to step out every few minutes to cool off before going back inside. A large window looked out at Lake Superior, which had calmed during the night.
When we emerged, steaming, we felt lighter, somehow – both emotionally and physically.
A large Thomsonite rock. Image courtesy of Lapidary Adventures.
The inn sits on a beach known for its Thomsonite, a rare mineral formed eons ago via volcanic activity. The rocks are pink, tan, white, red, and brown — kind of like agates. Those with green or gray backgrounds and green “eyes” are the most prized. The beach was icy, so we didn’t plan to rock hunt, but I did manage to take a few shoreline photos once our sauna was over.
We drove back to town and visited two art galleries that feature local artists. So many talented people live here and it’s always inspiring to see their works.
After a quick stop back at our cabin for my camera, we drove north to Tombolo Island, which is located down a short section of the Superior Hiking Trail off the highway. Another photographer was there, also hoping to catch the sunset. He had a loud, mean dog that quickly made itself known to us. The photographer’s wife (I assume) came running after it to clip on a leash.
The Tombolo is a popular photo op. I think it has something to do with the curve of the beach, the dramatic rocks, the waves, and relative ease of access.
The other photographer was already set up with his tripod, so we walked behind him to another spot that wouldn’t be in his way. Then we waited for the sun to do its thing. Russ and I arrived plenty early since we had never been here before and weren’t sure how long it would take. I had forgotten my hand warmers, so after taking off my gloves a few times for practice shots, my fingers were plenty cold. I had my camera set up on a tripod and then walked around with my cell phone, taking photos from other locations that struck my fancy.
Tombolo Island on Lake Superior’s North Shore
The sun took its sweet time. The colors were muted but icy rocks provided some nice contrast and drama. I took pictures until my fingers insisted that it was time to go. Famished, we walked back to the car, looking forward to a homemade dinner at the cabin.
We cooked up a porterhouse steak and baked potatoes (with sour cream and chives). For dessert, we made a chocolate lava cake for two, complete with vanilla ice cream. Heavenly!
The next morning, after a short walk on the road along the shore, we headed home. Although we didn’t have snow to play in on our trip, at least we had hygge, and that was plenty good.
This is one of my favorite photos from a recent meander north to Grand Marais, MN. I was hoping for good sunset photos, but the colors weren’t cooperating. After standing outside in the frigid cold for an hour, and with fingers beginning to numb, I snapped this one last photo of Tombolo Island in Lake Superior.
I love the blurry water and the placement of the driftwood. The cynical part of me wonders if some other photographer placed it on the shore for effect. All I know is that I didn’t do it! So I’ll pretend that it just washed up on the rocky beach.
No sunset colors? Turn the photo into a black and white! So moody. I love this lake and hope that shows.
Phoenix’s Musical Instrument Museum. Image courtesy of the Musical Instrument Museum
During our recent meanderings in Arizona, we visited the Musical Instrument Museum in Phoenix. Russ and I enjoy music, both listening and playing, so the museum naturally intrigued us.
This musical museum offers two floors filled with 4,200 instruments from across the world. The CEO of the Target department store corporation founded it to highlight more than just western classical instruments (which are found in many other museums). Robert Ulrich wanted to focus on instruments played by everyday people across the globe. The museum’s motto is: Music is the language of the soul.
Marie getting it on, banging a gong.
The museum delivers on its mission and motto in spades! We could have easily spent an entire day perusing the exhibits. The upper floor has instruments from different geographic regions such as Asia, Europe, and Latin America. Tours are self-guided with an audio headset.
The lower level contains two of my favorite galleries. The Artist Gallery highlights famous musicians past and present, such as Prince and Johnny Cash. Each display features photos, music audio, and memorabilia. Prince’s had a purple piano from one of his tours. One unusual exhibit focuses on the theremin, an eerie electronic instrument played without any direct physical contact by the performer. Clara Rockmore was a theremin “virtuoso” featured.
My other favorite was the Experience Gallery. We were allowed to unleash our inner musicians in this room, which offers banjos to pluck, drums to beat, and gongs to gong.
The museum’s Mechanical Music Gallery shows self-playing pianos and the like. We arrived just in time for a demonstration of a wall-sized instrument called an orchestrion. It’s powered by compressed air and is like having a whole orchestra at the ready.
Until fall of 2024, the museum has a special exhibit called Acoustic America, which displays 90 iconic guitars, mandolins, and banjos that shaped American music since the Civil War. If you’re a stringed instrument-lover, you’ll have to check that out.
If you can’t just pick up and head to Phoenix, the museum provides this virtual tour.
We left the Musical Instrument Museum with many songs in our hearts.
Marie's Meanderings 