Mongoose of Mystery

The Maple Kind?

2012-01-19T18:52:00.000-05:00

I've resisted re-posting this for as long as I can. I don't know why I find this so funny, I just do. Apparently the whole entire internet knew about this and I didn't. Happily, I befriended the author of "Never Suck a Dead Man's Hand" and she shared it with me, since we have a mutual crazy love for dogs. She's a lovely person, but let's stick to the point: this video justifies the existence of the internet. Enjoy:

The End of the Mysterious Poe Toaster?

2012-01-19T18:41:00.001-05:00

One of the coolest things ever is the Poe Toaster. But it looks like he was a no-show for the third year running, according to the Baltimore Sun:

By Chris Kaltenbach, The Baltimore Sun

5:47 p.m. EST, January 19, 2012

Even in a city defiantly proud of its quirks, the Poe Toaster stood out.

Every year for more than half-a-century, in the early morning hours of Jan. 19, a mysterious figure would quietly leave three roses and a half-drunk bottle of cognac on the grave of Edgar Allan Poe — a birthday tribute to a towering literary figure.

But Wednesday night, for the third year on a row, the Poe toaster was a no-show, signaling an end to one of the city's most enduring — and most mysterious — traditions.

Early Thursday morning, a tired Jeff Jerome, curator of the city's Edgar Allan Poe House and Museum, "officially" pronounced the Poe-toasting tradition over. Having spent the night inside Westminster Hall, awaiting the toaster's arrival, Jerome declared that the furtive stranger's poignant tribute would be left nevermore.

"I more or less resigned myself that it was over with before tonight," said Jerome, who has been curator of the Poe House — and de facto keeper of the Poe flame — since 1979. "What I'll miss most is the excitement of waiting to see if he's going to show up."

As he had for the past 15 years or so, Jerome spent the night inside the former church on West Fayette Street, just yards away from Poe's grave, with a small group of friends. Outside, dozens of fans — including visitors from Rhode Island, Chicago, California and even Russia — held their own vigil. But the toaster, whose identity has remained a mystery since at least the 1940s, never made an appearance.

No one has ever known for certain the toaster's identity — not even Jerome. Many regard Jerome as a likely candidate, but he has always insisted it isn't him.

Others, however, did their best to make up for the toaster's absence this year. Three would-be successors showed up, but there will be no acknowledged successor to the toaster throne, Jerome said.

He and the toaster had long ago worked out a way of ensuring no impostor could horn-in on the tradition. Jerome has always refused to explain it, beyond saying it has to do with what the Toaster actually does at the gravesite. But the real thing never showed up this year, Jerome said.

"I give them an 'A' for effort," said Jerome, who waited until 6 a.m. before calling off his vigil. "I was referring to them as fake Poe Toasters, but that sounds kind of harsh. But it was obvious, when we saw them, that they weren't the original."

One of the men who showed up had a cane, Jerome said. Another wore an outfit similar to the toaster's — pretty-much all black — but the resemblance ended there. A third dressed in a manner Jerome labeled "snappy," though not very toaster-like.

Poe, an early master of the horror story and inventor of the detective novel, was born in Boston in 1809. He spent a few years in the 1830s living in Baltimore with several family members, including his aunt, Maria Clemm, and her daughter (and his cousin) Virginia Eliza Clemm, whom he would marry in 1835. He died in 1849 in Baltimore under still unexplained circumstances, having been found wandering the streets incoherent and wearing someone else's clothes.

The Poe Toaster has been leaving behind his birthday tribute since at least 1949, and his identity has been zealously guarded. Several Poe fans have seen him over the years, some even up close. But no one has ever claimed to have gotten close enough to identify him, preferring to let the anonymous legend live on.

Of course, that hasn't stopped speculation over the toaster's identity. When David Franks, a Fells Point poet and famed prankster, died in 2010, just days before Poe's birthday, some friends concluded it must have been him — even though he never publicly or privately claimed to be the toaster, and would have been only 11 when the tradition started.

In 2007, a 92-year-old restaurateur and former ad-man, Sam Porpora, claimed to be the toaster, but his recollections didn't always jibe with the historical record.

In 1993, the toaster left behind a note that read "The torch will be passed." That led Jerome to suspect the tradition was being handed down from father to son. But nothing has ever been proven.

The last verified Poe Toaster appearance was in 2009, the bicentennial of Poe's birth.

Still, the toaster's legacy will endure, Jerome predicted.

"People will always be talking about it. It brought so much international attention to Baltimore, to the Poe House, to the Poe grave. It will live on in people's memories. People will always be asking, 'You know that guy who used to leave cognac and roses? Whatever happened to him?'"

They Bathe in Tea and Devour Hibiscus Flowers

2012-01-10T18:05:00.000-05:00

And this is why baby sloths are the cutest. Also, those little noises they make.

Your Quarterly Report on Dog Haircuts

2012-01-02T18:38:00.000-05:00

Greta and Kip have recently visited the groomer and are all sleek and lovely. Unfortunately, this de-fuzzification happened to coincide with a cold front, so both of them have burrowed into their sleeping bag and clearly intend to remain there until either they become fuzzy again or until the weather improves. And now, a whole mess of dog pictures:

How to Anthropomorphize a Car (Correctly)

2011-12-26T20:14:00.002-05:00

I ran across this and I agree. Won't somebody please, please, think of the children?

I'm so adamant about this because, now that I have a kid, he has lots of anthropomorphized toy cars. About half do it right, with headlights as eyes, and half are making the inane mistake. I don't want him brought up like that. I want him to go out into the world, look at a car's front end, and see a friendly face, or a determined face, or an angry face, or whatever kind of face. It's fun. If he's trained to think he has to see eyes in a windshield for a car to have a face, then that requires a specially modified car, and that's only provided by some entertainment corporation as some promotional thing, looking to make a buck. We can't let them take our car faces away from us.

Go here to see the whole story of how Pixar screwed up cartoon cars for a generation of kids.

Kip's Christmas Walk

2011-12-25T18:48:00.010-05:00

Kip and I set off for a walk a little later than usual today, and it was going pretty well until we rounded a corner and found a horde of joggers dressed up like Santa bearing down on us in a red-and-white jingling bell-bedecked tide. There was no time to get out of the way.

Kip has this very protective reaction when strange men emerge from nowhere and run at us - and the jingling bells, red costumes, and reindeer horns and hats probably didn't help settle his nerves. He growled ferociously and plunged directly into the oncoming mass of Santas, snarling and snapping and generally menacing everyone.

Santas leapt into the street, flung themselves over hedges, turned and ran the other direction. Still, Kip pinned a couple of them against a brick wall. He has this marvellously effective deep growly woofing thing he does - I call it his Rottweiler bark - and he...was kind of doing that.

Me: Kip! No!

Kip: GRRRRRRRRRRRWOOF!

Santa 1: Lady! Call off your dog!

Me: I'm so sorry! He's protective and I think you all surprised him a little. (Wrangling Kip into something resembling submission).

Santa 2: Not nearly as much as he surprised us!

Me: Kip, sit!

Kip: (sits)

Me: He's usually very sweet, but he doesn't like people to be suddenly running at us. Even Santas.

Santa 1: (brushing himself off) Huh. Well, he looks a lot smaller now that he's sitting down. Kind of cute, actually.

Me: Yes, he's what the insurance companies call an attractive nuisance. Are you all right?

Santa 2: Sure, no harm done.

Me: Are you sure? I'm really sorry. I just didn't expect there to be a bunch of jogging Santas.

Santa 1: Well, let that be a lesson to you.

The Santas wished us a Merry Christmas with pretty convincing equanimity and we continued on our way. After about twenty minutes, I noticed that Kip was trailing behind a little. I turned to see what was holding him up. It was a little dog, a cute little scruffy-looking Chihuahua mix of some sort, with a feathery little bass clef for a tail. He looked dirty, and seemed to be smeared with jam. He and Kip were getting along pretty well, so I enticed him close with a treat from my pocket. He grabbed the treat but then danced out of reach. He wasn't wearing a collar.

I waited until someone came outside with a trash bag full of wrapping paper.

Me: Hey, I'm sorry to bother you, but do you recognize this dog?

Guy: Sure, I see him running around all the time. But he's got an owner - you can tell, because he looks so groomed.

Me: (looking at the smears of jam, the scruffy coat, the muddy paws) Groomed? But he's covered with something. Jam, or jelly.

Guy: Yeah. So he must belong to somebody nearby. Just keep walking, he'll go home.

I confess I was not persuaded by that logic. Kip and I started walking, and the jam dog followed us. And followed us, and followed us.

We were a threesome until we came to the local elementary school, where a second little scruffy dog came tearing across the playground and joined my canine entourage. Like the first, he had no collar, seemed friendly enough, and was inclined to follow us as we walked. He was a poodle-terrier mix, a real cutie, smaller than Kip but bigger than the jam dog.

We started making a six-block circuit in hopes of running into someone who was obviously looking for a dog. Midway through our third pass, we picked up a Shetland Sheepdog, who had a collar but no tags. The situation was becoming desperate.

A police car slowed near us - hope surged! Maybe they were helping someone find their lost dog? Or maybe they were just going to admonish me for the off-leash dogs I seemed to be walking? But no. "Those are a bunch of really cute dogs!" the cop said as he rolled by. Well, dang.

We walked up and down the block a few times, the leashless dogs frolicking with Kip and evidently having a lovely time. I asked the few people I saw on the street if they recognized the dogs, and everyone acknowledged that they had seen them before but didn't know exactly where they came from.

FINALLY, as we came down the street for the fifteenth (or maybe even the sixteenth) time, we spotted a lady wandering around with a leash, calling for "Prince," who turned out to be scruffy little cute dog #2. She also referred us to the correct address for the Sheltie, whose name was Jabberwocky, and who was happy to be reunited with his people.

A few blocks later, several kids emerged from an alley and recognized the scruffy jam dog. His name is evidently Peanut, and to my relief, he belonged to one of the kids, who collected him and took him home.

We had spent almost forty minutes circling the same several blocks, so we were pretty much done - plus, Kip had expended a good amount of energy defending me from the Santas. Our way home took us down 34th Street, which is the street with all the lights and inflatable snowglobes and hubcap trees and whatnot. We stopped near my favorite yard - the robot nativity scene - and I was just noticing that they have added a realistic-looking animatronic Santa when several things happened all at once:

1) A man emerged from behind one of the robots with a large electric panel and flipped a switch,

2) The lights came on,

3) The animatronic Santa started dancing and singing "Jingle Bells,"

4) Kip did the Rottweiler bark again as he flew over the small fence and latched onto the animatronic Santa, growling and savagely shaking its rubbery arm, a silvery blur of rage.

The man was really very nice about the whole thing.

All tuckered out after today's adventures. See? Just a sweet little dog after all.

Yes Riley, There is a Marketing Conspiracy

2011-12-25T13:15:00.000-05:00

I KNOW, Riley. I felt the same way.

Don't fall for the trick! Just don't buy the pink stuff!

Merry Christmas

2011-12-25T08:41:00.002-05:00

Some more pictures of the neighborhood, since presumably this will all be gone at some point in the next week or so! I sort of expected it might be a little annoying to live in a neighborhood where, for weeks surrounding December 25th, it seems like everyone who can drive down 34th Street is trying to do it. After dark, it's basically impossible to drive to or from my house. People drive down the dead-end alley behind my place, then have to turn around (usually in my driveway). Pedestrians stroll around the neighborhood constantly from dusk until 10 or so. Lots seem to be taking a special detour to see my neighbors' dual Christmas frenzy of lights:

Mini-Miracle Across the Street

But it hasn't really been annoying at all. I like the lights! My neighbors have music, a machine that blows smoke bubbles, and a Christmas countdown clock, among other things. And 34th Street proper has...well, they seem to have all that plus everything else.

A new favorite: The Magnificent Hubcap Tree.

Top of the Magnificent Hubcap Tree

Bottom of the Magnificent Hubcap Tree

And with the exception of a few people who think it's hilarious to bark at my dogs (seriously people: WHY?), the visitors have been no trouble at all, really pretty nice, actually.

Aviarios Sloth Sanctuary

2011-12-24T10:03:00.005-05:00

I just can't stop watching this video.

Meet the sloths from Lucy Cooke on Vimeo.

Here, go visit the Sloth Sanctuary page!

Breakfast of Champions

2011-12-22T08:38:00.002-05:00

My sister-in-law (and my brother) are at the hospital having a new baby, so my nephew Owen and I are hanging out. And this is what Owen is having for breakfast:

Yes. It's pancakes and sausage on a stick.

As you can see, Owen was very enthusiastic about this food innovation.

The verdict? "Mmmmmmmm.....pure glory."

Rinty

2011-12-14T17:56:00.011-05:00

OK, Yes, I'm reading that new Susan Orlean book about Rin Tin Tin. Of course I am. Do you like dogs, Rin Tin Tin, movies, or being alive? Maybe you should read it, too. Anyway, if you do decide to give it a go, you'll get to this one part where Susan describes this amazing sequence in "Clash of the Wolves" in which Rin Tin Tin (the first) delivers a particularly stirring performance, and I expect that like me, you'll wish you could see that. And part of it is right here in this video, so I figured I'd share (the video came from the New Yorker).

My apologies for the stupid liquor commercial at the beginning, but it came with the video. If you can just hold on through that ad, I promise it's worth it.

One of the many things I like about this story is that it reveals some of the quirks and imperfections of many famous dog actors. Rin Tin Tin, for example, was impeccably trained, but apparently he still bit people and other dogs, and some actors who worked with him claimed his fight scenes were a little too convincing. Pal, the dog who played Lassie in "Lassie Come Home," could not be persuaded to stop chasing cars. So you see, you're not a failure as a person if your dog has a little too much charisma.

There are all kinds of interesting vignettes about Rin Tin Tin, Word War I, Dogs for Defense! in World War II, dog breeding, attitudes toward dogs and how they change, Nazis, the origins of American dog obedience training, the effect of movies and television on different dog breeds...life, love, dogs, what more do you really need?

Bawl-Tee-Mooooooore

2011-12-13T18:11:00.000-05:00

A co-worker subjected me to this crazily infectious earworm the other day and I was compelled to share, although I don't actually endorse crab consumption. Yes, it's a grainy image taken from pre-cable TV and it's old, but there's just something about this that's hypnotic. Maybe it's the incredible Baltimore "Os" that start around 1:30?

Happy Holidays!

The Mystery of Good Husbands Row

2011-12-09T21:59:00.003-05:00

Maybe it was covered up by rampant green foliage during the summer and fall, or maybe it was just naturally inconspicuous amidst the industrial detritus surrounding the Baltimore Streetcar Museum, but I only just noticed this thing, despite walking and biking right past it for months:

Okay, I know it doesn't look like much. I didn't think about it much the first time I rode by - after all, this location is an old trainyard, near a lot of train tracks, and this mysterious arch looks train-related. A railway bridge, perhaps. I haven't examined this thing up close, but it looks like a defunct rail line ran along the top.

So, railroad-related structure near a bunch of railroads. Maybe not that mysterious?

There's something fascinating about this thing, though. Is it a tunnel? What went through the tunnel, a road? A creek?

I was curious, and I'm trying to get to know Baltimore better. I like to make friends with all the neighborhoods where I live, and part of becoming friends is hearing all the old stories, right? So I decided to see if I could figure out what this thing is.

The easiest way to answer questions like this is to look at old maps, in case they happen to have the thing you're looking for on them with a label that explains everything. There a loads of great old maps of Baltimore. My favorite is J.C. Sidney's map of the city & county of Baltimore from 1850. So, I looked for that approximate location and here's what I saw that was in the general vicinity:

Hmmm...just a tavern and some residences near Falls Road and the Railroad. Oh, and note that this is close to all the mills and factories along Jones Falls:

Interesting, but not particularly illuminating. I almost gave up. Railroad tracks, factories...maybe this wasn't such a great mystery after all?

But then I really looked and decided the railways shown on the 1850 map didn't match up with the thing I was looking at. Perhaps I was starting a little too early. The railroads got going mostly after 1850, after all. So, I jumped ahead about 50 years to the 1900 city atlas, and the plot thickened...

Can you see that? A little road lined with houses, cut off on one end by a railway called the Baltimore Belt Line? Here's a slightly clearer map from 1914:

And then just next to the little lane, Glen Edwards Avenue:

And now that railway arch is the only thing left. Glen Edwards Avenue seems to have disappeared, some time between 1914 and 1952. See? Look, it's gone now. It has turned into a taxi lot or something:

I almost gave up there, except I was down at Enoch Pratt the other day and I was waiting for a book in the Maryland Room. I decided to go do a few searches for "Glen Edwards Avenue" and see what turned up. And this is what I found first:

The Baltimore Sun, June 7, 1926

Good Husbands' Row Refuses To Welcome Fancier Name

"Good Husbands' Row" - the "row" is pronounced as to rhyme with "woe," not with the "ow" sound to indicate disturbance - really has another name, although the inhabitants of the block south of Twenty-third street seem not to know it well. The street, according to city charts, is Glen Edwards Avenue, but to the 200 or more persons who dwell in its thirty-odd houses, Good Husbands Row is name enough.

Reason Given for Name

The name was not given without reason, a tradition which still lingers there asserts. It seems there was a time when most of the women of the street worked in the mills in the neighborhood. Since someone must keep the home fires burning, the children out of the trash can and the flies out of the edibles, the husbands remained hard by to do so.

Tradition does not tell whether they stood in doorways to gossip. Yet, it is said, women were the breadwinners and men the housekeepers at some not too distant day. Those who know the street asserted unanimously that because of this reversal in the usual duties of husband and wife the street gained its peculiar title.

Boundary Lines Given

Good Husbands Row is bounded on the north by a rock-filled gully, on the south by a rugged wall of native rock, on the east by a concrete bridge, and on the west by a twisting, steep-pitched bit of cobbled road which links it to Hampden Avenue. Glen Edwards Avenue has seen better times. Bleak, curtainless windows glare at each other across littered cobblestones; doors begging for paint droop dejectedly on rusting hinges; the wooden steps with which each dwelling is provided lean all awry...

There are no French Poodles lounging on silken cushions, no fluffy balls of fur masquerading under the name of kittens. The cats, like the street, are lean and hard and angular. The dogs, like the street, are silent and surly and doubtful of the good intent of strangers.

So lost, so hidden and inaccessible, so plainly and painstakingly aloof is this block-long thoroughfare that it is almost a little hamlet in itself - there's even a small general store to add to its appearance of self-sufficiency.

It may be true that the hard rains sweep in floods down this low-lying Good Husbands Row, and that the hot suns of summer beat mercilessly upon it, sheltered as it is behind its rock wall and gully bank. It may be true that the little street has seen more prosperous times.

But it is also true that none of the residents greatly regret these things. There are a few streets with grander-sounding names than Glen Edwards Avenue, but there are almost no streets which keep so long a nickname so significant of good will and good actions on the part of the masculine population - Good Husbands Row.

And then there is this amazing photo!

See that big arch at the end of the street?? I was looking through that from the other side, almost 90 years in the future!

IT'S LIKE A GIANT WINDOW TO THE PAST.

Ahem. Okay. Moving on: I really wish there was a photo that showed these hard-edged cats and dogs, or displayed the rocky setting to better advantage, but still: it's a riveting picture. How long did Glen Edwards Avenue exist? Who lived there? What were their lives like? How did this street and all the houses on it disappear entirely from the modern landscape?

I looked for more articles, but only found a handful of small items in the newspapers. Several letters from readers indicated that there was an earlier version of "Good Husbands Row" in Hampden, on the 2500 block of Salem Street. I guess the vagaries of mill labor often made women more employable than men.

I was curious about who "Glen Edwards" was, but as it turned out, there never was a Glen Edwards - at least not one who got this street named after him. There was a little creek than flowed nearby, called "Edwards Run." The street ran through a gully, which might be more appealingly advertised as a "glen" - so, "Glen Edwards."

The street was laid out in 1879 (by W.H. Shipley, the Baltimore City Surveyor), and the houses were built shortly thereafter. The street seemed determined to be nicknamed rather than officially labeled: at first, the rowhouses were designated A, B, C, etc. rather than by official street numbers, so it was known as ABC Row. Then, due to its location at the bottom of a steep hill, in a deeply sloped gully, people called it Precipice Place.

Much later, in 1949, there was a quiz about general knowledge about the city. In it, they asked about Good Husbands Row, and several locals sent in responses. Here is a particularly good one:

It brought back old times when I read about Good Husbands Row in the Magazine the other week. I remember very well Glen Edwards Avenue, with the arch over the west end over which the B&O trains run; this arch was a real cool place on hot summer days.

About the name Good Husbands Row: there was an old saying that the husbands worked in Peddicord's or Schwinn's stone quarries in summer. But when the weather got cold and snowy, the men were unable to work there, so the men kept house and the women went to work in the Mount Vernon Mills. That I was told many times as a boy.

Glen Edwards Avenue was also called Meddlesome Row, and before my time, it was called ABC Row because letters instead of numbers were used on the houses. I lived many years on Glen Edwards Avenue and I remember it well.

So that's the story of Good Husbands Row. Like many of the residential areas that surround that lost street, it was built as housing for the local industrial workers.

In fact, I live in a house of the exact same style and vintage as the houses on Good Husbands Row, exactly four blocks from the Mount Vernon Mill. Actually, now that I think about it, my dogs are rather unfriendly to strangers. I am also blessed with a husband of rather extraordinary goodness...but my house is still here, while those houses have vanished. What happened?

The entirety of Glen Edwards Avenue, and all the houses on it, were sold off to the city of Baltimore in 1923, then to Baltimore Gas & Electric several years later. The deed to BGE specified that any streets that happened to be within the land parcel would be closed. It seems that Glen Edwards was evacuated at some point in the late 1930s, and used as a public dump until the 1950s when it was filled in the rest of the way...or almost. That little glimpse of the old railroad bridge is the only bit left you can see. Urban archaeology, just waiting to be explored.

Miniature Killing Machines

2011-12-05T18:45:00.007-05:00

Baltimore has a little bit of a reputation...

And it does sometimes seem like Rattus Norvegicus is slowly overcoming Baltimore's population of Homo Sapiens. It's not so much a problem of cleanliness, although keeping edible trash out of the hands of rats would certainly help to keep the rat population in check. Rats like exactly the same kinds of things that people like - the same food, the same kinds of habitats - and so they'll always be around, at least as long as we are. Poisoning, trapping, whatever - the rat population has been hovering around 45,000 in Baltimore since the 1940s (this is only an estimate, and only for the city's residential neighborhoods).

The intractable and apparently indestructible rat population has led some Baltimoreans to unusual measures:

Baltimoreans don't always see things the way the city government does, and a seeming lack of action on the city's part has been a cause of frustration through the years. No reaction to the city's rat problem, however, has drawn as much attention as the one mounted by Chuck Ochlech from an East Baltimore bar stool.
"It was the Yellow Rose Saloon, at Rose and Fayette Street," Ochlech recalls in a textbook Bawlmer accent. "The owner of the saloon, Mike DeLuca, he asked me one day-he said things were getting kind of slow, wasn't getting much business-`What do you think we can do to drum up some business?'
"Well, the Guide, the paper, had just put out an article the week before about rats in the city, and the idea just came to me. Why don't we have a rat-fishing contest. And he goes, `A rat-fishing contest? What do you mean?'
"I said, `Well, there's a moratorium right now on rockfish in the bay, and the reason is so they can replenish. If a lot of people get interested in catching the rats, maybe they'll have to put a moratorium on killing the rats. So we'll have a contest and run it just like a rockfishing contest or a bass-fishing contest.' That was 1993."
The rules of the Baltimore Association of Rat Fisherpersons (or, yes, BARF) were fairly simple. Only light tackle was allowed (spin-cast, cast, spin, or fly rod). No wet or dry flies, hand or trout lines. There was a $3 entry fee, and rat-fishing licenses were printed up. The tournament took place in the area around the Yellow Rose, and rats were presented (dead) in sealed plastic bags for a weigh-in at the end of the tournament.
"It's not as dangerous as people think," Ochlech says. "They think, Well, if you've got a rat, the rat's going to come after you. The rat's going to try to get away from you if they can. What they would do is, get on, reel it in, and somebody would be standing there with a bat, and when it got close enough they'd smack it."
Hooks baited with raw bacon and peanut butter were the favored lure for the first few tournaments. In 1995, the last year of the tournament, continued opposition from People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals forced a change to peanut butter-smeared glue traps on the end of the fishing line. The change did little to silence PETA's charges that the rat fisherpersons were mistreating the animals: "They thought that was terrible, too," Ochlech says.
The tournament eventually captured the interest of the public outside East Baltimore. In addition to a 1994 City Paper cover story, Ochlech and his tournament were featured in The New York Times, The Washington Post, and, Ochlech says, "It kind of found itself as far away as Johannesburg, South Africa, Australia, Alaska-we got called from all these places on it.
"[Kurt] Schmoke was the mayor at the time, and he even personally called me and asked me what did I think I was doing," Ochlech says. "The city had the Inner Harbor, they were trying to bring in all these people to see what a nice city we had, and all of a sudden I've got this rat-fishing contest going on. So I told him, `Well, if you get rid of the rats, I'll stop my contest.'"
Around this time, Ochlech says, he received a call from the tourism kiosk at the Inner Harbor to tell him that the Yellow Rose Saloon had reached No. 8 on the top 10 destinations requested by tourists.

I confess, this is one of those times when it's hard to be vegan (or Buddhist or Jainist or otherwise non-animal-killing person). I don't want to have to kill rats; however, I don't want them to chew through my electrical wires, or to spread disease to me or my pets (couldn't we arrange for little rat clinics in the alleys so they can get vaccinations or something?).

Ah, even as I am typing this, Kip has approached and placed his paw on my arm while gazing into my eyes as if to say, "Just open the back door and let's see if a little Canis Familiaris will fix the problem!"

Here's what he has in mind, most likely:

Updated to add: I am in love with "Scruffy."

Happy Hampden Holiday

2011-12-04T16:24:00.000-05:00

Wow, is Hampden fun during the holidays. First of all, it turns out I live right around the corner from the craziest block of holiday lights EVER, a phenomenon known as the miracle on 34th street. I mean, these photos can't even really do justice to the quantity of holiday cheer that is being generated on 34th street.

The IC and I decided to go out to try and find some dessert and coffee last night, and we stumbled into the Annual Ms. Claus Pub Crawl, which involved a lot of elaborately costumed lady Santas caroling through the streets. Our favorite was the incredible Marie-Antoinette-style Ms. Claus with the giant swirling snowglobe...in her hair:

And then Christmas Elvis came along.

And there was even a biker Santa.

Our favorite yard on 34th street has a robot manger tableau:

Then, today we went up to 36th Street for lunch and there was a HUGE holiday parade. With marching bands and horses and everything!

We're having an awesome weekend.

Bask in the Beauty of the Cosmos

2011-12-02T17:50:00.000-05:00

OK, I finally watched this whole thing. Oh, Neil DeGrasse Tyson. Why are you so awesome?

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It is totally worth watching this whole thing, the whole hour +, really. Thanks to friend Mary for the link!

Fingerless Mittens!

2011-11-30T19:20:00.001-05:00

My mom made me some fingerless mittens! How totally rad are these things??

I would understand if you are jealous of my fingerless mittens.

They're pretty fabulous. Hands warm, fingers free for full dexterity.

I salute these fingerless mittens with the right-on power fist of excellence.

Uplifting Post-Thanksgiving Animal News

2011-11-28T19:45:00.000-05:00

Doesn't this goat have the sweetest pegleg you've ever seen? It's so...Ahab. Except this goat looks rather more frolicksome and happy-go-lucky than that dour and ill-starred seaman.

Albie the unbelievably adorable goat was found in New York's Prospect Park, where various injuries seemed to indicate that he had escaped from a nearby slaughterhouse. It appeared that his legs had been tied tightly together, and that he had struggled free. Most of his injuries were treatable, but unfortunately the injuries to his left foreleg were so severe, the limb had to be removed.

Although whatever befell him prior to his arrival in the park was clearly unpleasant, that turned out to be Albie's lucky day. He ended up with Jenny Brown:

Jenny is a human with a special insight into what the loss of his left foreleg would mean for the little caprine amputee. She lost part of her right leg to cancer when she was ten, and like Albie, didn't get along very well with an odd number of feet. So, she started fundraising for a new front leg for Albie...and it looks like they made it!

Now the two live together at Woodstock Animal Sanctuary and presumably live lives of happy vegan joy. More right over here.

North American English Dialects

2011-11-16T16:03:00.000-05:00

Oh, this is fun! Over here, you can find a map of American English dialects! You click on a place close to where you grew up and see what people in your area sound like. If you can't find your particular linguistic weirdness, you can contact Rick Aschmann, the man behind the project, and send him a sample! Neat! Aschmann says:

This is just a hobby of mine, that I thought might be interesting to a lot of people. Some people collect stamps. Others collect coins. I collect dialects.

I can't find mine, because it doesn't really exist. I was raised in Virginia, New England, and Colorado by parents from New Jersey (Dad) and Kansas (Mom) and have lived in a bunch of other states all over the place. Everywhere I've ever lived, I've been told I sound like I'm from somewhere else...because I have a sort of Mid-Atlantic/Western/Southern hodgepodge and it makes me a kind of linguistic alien.

I've noticed everyone else's crazy dialects, though, so I'm having fun exploring. Hey, Intrepid Companion: check and see if you can find anyone pronouncing "museum" as "myoo-ZAY-um."

What Dogs Want

2011-11-09T15:27:00.002-05:00

My favorites from a series by Lisa Hanawalt that I saw over here:

Conversation Starter

2011-11-08T14:11:00.001-05:00

Conversations initiated by strangers' reactions to Kip.

After school on 36th Street
Girl waiting for bus: Oh, he's so cute! Can I pet him?
Me: Of course. Kip, sit.
Kip: *sits*
Girl: Oooh, he's so good! Are you good? Yes you are!
Kip: *agreeable wiggling*
Girl: What's his name?
Me: Kip.
Girl: Do they know him in the neighborhood?
Me: Do they - wait, what?
Girl: Oops, here's my bus! Bye, Kip!

Brunchtime on 36th Street
Lady: Oh, look at the cute Schnauzer! Can I pet him?
Me: Of course. Kip, sit.
Kip: *sits*
Lady: What a cutie! But don't you think Schnauzers are just, like, the most awkward dogs EVER?
Me: What? Awkward? What do you-
Kip: *winds self partway around lady's leg and begins pushing the top of his head against her shoe in a weird kind of abortive somersault*
Lady:
Me: Perhaps you have a point.

Early morning on Roland Avenue
Lady: Who's this? He's so handsome.
Me: Oh, thanks! That's Kip.
Lady: No trash today. *pets Kip*
Me: What?
Lady: I voted. They won't pick anything up.
Me: Ummm...good?
Lady: They're all criminals. It's a holiday.
Kip: *wiggles, wags*
Lady: He's a very nice cat.

A very nice cat indeed.

If anyone knows what the girl meant by "Do they know him in the neighborhood," I'd love to know. It seems like such a strange question.

Coy-Wolves (Woyotes?)

2011-11-08T08:41:00.002-05:00

Caught this over at National Geographic. Of course we already knew about the supercoyotes since forever, but now...we EXTRA know about them, I guess.

Hybrid offspring of coyotes and wolves have spread south along the eastern seaboard, a new DNA study confirms.Scientists already knew that some coyotes, which have been gradually expanding their range eastward, mated with wolves in the Great Lakes (map)region. The pairings created viable hybrid offspring—identified by their DNA and skulls—that have been found in mid-Atlantic states such as New York and Pennsylvania.Now, new DNA analysis of coyote poop shows for the first time that some coyotes in the state of Virginia are also part wolf. Scientists think these animals are coyote-wolf hybrids that traveled south from New England along the Appalachian Mountains.
The study also identified another coyote migration route moving through the southern states.
"You have a situation where you have these two waves of coyotes coming into the mid-Atlantic, a terminus for coyote colonization," said study leader Christine Bozarth, a research fellow at the Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute in Front Royal, Virginia.
Northern Virginia in particular seems to be a convergence point for coyote migrations, Bozarth said—and the animals' numbers are increasing there, especially in suburban areas where food is more plentiful.
(See "Coyotes Now at Home in Eastern U.S.")
Versatile Coyote Already WidespreadCoyotes are originally residents of middle America, particularly between the Rocky Mountains and the Mississippi River, as well as parts of Canada and Mexico.
By the end of the 20th century, the versatile animal—which can eat almost anything, from shoe leather to fruit—had spread to nearly every corner of the U.S., even New York City.
The coyote is "one of the animals that will be left at the end, like the cockroaches, raccoons, and rabbits," Bozarth said.
For the new study, Bozarth and colleagues collected coyote scat samples in northern Virginia and extracted DNA. The team then compared the coyote DNA with that of representatives of every canid species found in eastern North America. (Get a genetics overview.)
The study, published October 17 in the Journal of Mammalogy, found evidence that Virginia coyotes mated with Great Lakes wolves but not with the rare red wolf, which is hanging on in just a few isolated spots in the U.S. South.
That's "good news for the red wolf," whose survival is already threatened by inbreeding, which reduces the species' genetic diversity, Bozarth noted.
Hybrid Coyotes Taking Down Deer?For now, it's impossible to say how "wolfy" the newly identified coyote-wolf hybrids really are, Bozarth added—just that "at some point down the line, a coyote mated with a Great Lakes wolf-even generations ago."
Scientists have not yet studied the behaviors of the Virginian hybrids to see if they're killing bigger wildlife or otherwise changing the ecosystem, Bozarth added.
But other East Coast hybrids seen alive or identified by their remains are noticeably larger, with more wolf-like skulls, jaws, and teeth, Bozarth noted. (Seepictures of new hybrid species appearing in the warming Arctic.)
Given this, coyote-wolf hybrids "should be able to do things like take down deer, which a little, scrappy Great Plains wily coyote would not be able to do on its own," Bozarth said.
Indeed, the research highights "just how successful and adapted these hybrids are to the eastern forests," said Roland Kays, curator of mammals at the New York State Museum in Albany.
For instance, Kays's research on the previously known eastern hybrids has shown that a third of their diet is deer—a much higher proportion than in western states.
Coyotes in Mid-Atlantic "Here to Stay"Jonathan Way, a wildlife biologist and head of the Massachusetts-based education group Eastern Coyote Research, called the new paper "timely."
Coyotes coming from the west are moving not only through the Great Lakes but also south of the region, through Ohio. But until now, it was unknown how that southern route of colonization was influencing coyotes in the mid-Atlantic region, Way said by email.
According to Way, these two fronts of coyote expansion have probably made the Virginia animals "hybrids of a hybrid."
That's because the Virginia hybrids are most likely a combination of northeastern coyote-wolf hybrids, which are slightly bigger and more wolf-like, and nonhybrid coyotes coming through Ohio.
"The results of the paper are clear and important, and confirm that mid-Atlantic coyotes have DNA from [Northeast] animals ... and western coyotes," Way said.
Whatever their exact genetic makeup, one thing is clear, study author Bozarth emphasized: Coyotes and coyote-wolf hybrids in the mid-Atlantic are "absolutely established—they're here to stay."

A coywolf contemplates the Mid-Atlantic terminus of coywolf colonization
Photograph courtesy of the Wild Dog Foundation, an organization you can (and should) check out over here!

Emily Carroll

2011-11-01T08:56:00.001-04:00

Okay. I think you're going to like this.

His Face All Red (yow!)

Margot's Room (This one is interactive. Click on items in Margot's Room to go to the different parts of the story. The little poem kind of explains the order of things, but if you're not up to trying to figure it out, it goes: flowers, doll, window, wall, floor). You might have to hunt around your screen to find all the parts. Well worth it, though.

The Prince and the Sea (surprisingly creepy)

Haunted Mansion

2011-11-01T07:59:00.000-04:00

A colleague spotted this place during a walk through her neighborhood, and invited me to accompany her on a return visit. The building appears uninhabited (by the living! Mua-hahahaha!) and is slowly falling into disrepair.

The Ghost of Captain John Oldton

2011-10-31T13:41:00.001-04:00

Captain John Oldton of Baltemore county,
appointed the Captain of the rangers therein,
seeks well quallified prsons & good woods men
& fit to be Imployd in Ranging for the Publick
Service of this Province.

Back in the middle 1600s, Maryland was not very English yet, and that made the mostly English settlers in the colony rather uncomfortable from time to time, especially when they were being "harassed" by Indians. In response to the activities of a tribe referred to as the “Cinago” (this probably means the Seneca), on July 26^th, 1665 the Council of Maryland ordered that men be sent to Baltimore County to patrol the frontier. Nothing is known about the outcome of this early incident, but it must not have been entirely satisfactory for the new settlers in Baltimore County. More rangers were sent to the frontier in 1681, and several more detachments were sent in subsequent years.

On October 9^th, 1694, the Royal Governor of Maryland told members of the Council from the Western shore (Baltimore, Ann Arundel, Charles) that they needed to appoint a person fit to command a body of Rangers, and asked which men were fit for soldiering.

In a letter to the Council dated February 28th, 1694, a man called John Oldton announced that he was fit for soldiering. He requested command of the rangers in Baltimore county, and he must have been persuasive (or, more likely, he didn't have a lot of competition), because his offer was accepted and he was ordered to raise a group of six Rangers to "range out upon publick serve for the better discovery of any approching enemy makeing thier inroades into this province of Maryland."

The rangers needed a headquarters, of course, and the Council also ordered that a fort be constructed. A structure known variously as Fort Garrison, Oulton's Garrison, Oldton's Garrison, Garrison's Fort or Risteau's Garrison was built on orders dated 1693 as the headquarters for the Baltimore rangers. Astonishingly, this building is still standing, and this past weekend the IC and I went to visit it.

The IC braves the sleet at Fort Garrison

Fort Garrison is the last surviving 17th-century stone blockhouse in the state of Maryland. The building has obviously undergone significant alteration in its lifetime, but you can imagine the original one-story structure, with its small gun windows. The second story was added later, and you can see that the fieldstone on the second level is different from that on the lower portion of the building.

There is no evidence that indicates Fort Garrison ever endured any Indian attacks or anything like that. The rangers instead made themselves useful by marking out roads, and most of the routes they laid out are still in use today (Reisterstown Road, Joppa Road, Old Rolling Road, and many more).

Here's how the place looked around 1900 or so:

And here it is, all neglected, around 1938:

Captain Oldton is a mysterious, shadowy figure, if only because of the absence of records - and yet, those records that do exist are suggestive. We know he was born in England, but the date of his arrival in Maryland is unknown. He was married twice, but it appears he had no children. Prior to his career as the captain of the Baltimore Rangers, he worked as a tailor.

In 1691, he was convicted of the murder of a local planter named Dennis Garrett, and was sentenced to hang. Oldton killed Garrett by striking the man across the face with a sword. It is assiduously noted in the court records that the sword was worth 20 shillings. I'm not sure why that was important. Oldton was pardoned by King William as part of the celebration of the Glorious Revolution and went on to do fairly well for himself, what with all the rangering and acquisition of large swaths of Baltimore County.

Oldton was granted the land on which Fort Garrison stood and appears to have lived there until his house burned down with him in it, some time around 1704.

Legend has it that Oldton was famously ill-tempered, and that his rangers frequently deserted as a result - and indeed, this is borne out in the scant records pertaining to Oldton's Company. Many visitors who have entered the fort have reported being knocked down by powerful blows from an invisible source - perhaps from the ghostly eminence of John Oldton wielding that infamous 20-shilling sword?

It is also worth noting that Oldton's Company of Baltimore Rangers is reenacted by a group that appears to be actively recruiting, so if you're interested in experiencing the thrill of the late 17th century, you might want to get in touch.

Jericho Covered Bridge

2011-10-31T09:33:00.003-04:00

Obviously, covered bridges are 100% more likely to be haunted than non-covered bridges, right? So although there's no clear historical basis for any of the ghost stories associated with the Jericho Covered Bridge, which spans the Little Gunpowder River between Baltimore and Harford Counties, it's probably haunted anyway:

Although it may seem, nowadays, that the only reason to build a covered bridge is so it could house the souls of the restless dead and afford them an opportunity to harass the living, the actual reasons were entirely practical: covers prevented the bridge from becoming too icy to cross in inclement weather, they extended the life of the bridge by protecting the structural elements (it's a lot easier to simply replace the cover than it is to replace the whole bridge), and it afforded travelers a safe, dry place to hang out when it was rainy or snowy.

This particular covered bridge was built in 1865. It was probably built so that locals could avoid tolls on other, larger roads with bridges to the north and south of this location. It is not known whether another bridge ever existed at this location - but I think it was as least a ford crossing, because there's a road that crosses the Little Gunpowder shown on the 1795 Griffith map of Maryland:

Anyway, I heard about this bridge from a variety of sources. There are claims that the bridge is haunted by the ghost of Civil War soldiers, or something. People claim to have seen ghostly faces in the shadows as they drive across the bridge. We went last weekend to check it out.

Jericho Road is very narrow and windy and there's no shoulder, so the scariest thing about this bridge, in my opinion, would be taking your life in your hands to approach on foot.

There were a surprising number of visitors; families were walking along the road, teenagers were hanging out but the bridge, and there was a considerable amount of traffic, which I suppose can only be accounted for by the supposed haunted-ness and the time of year.

According to the Maryland Inventory of Historic Places:

The bridge is often spoken of as historic, although no specific events are associated with it. There have been erroneous stories that James Mahool, owner of Franklinville Cotton Factory, died when his horse bolted in the covered bridge, but that fatal accident took place ten years before the bridge was built, and on the Philadelphia Turnpike. Harry Gilmor's Confederate raiders reputedly galloped across the bridge, but they were more than a year too early; they did indeed raid the Jerusalem Mill on July 11, 1864 (the bridge was built in 1865). There have even been legendary visits from George Washington.

Nobody knows if an earlier bridge stood here, though, so maybe it's the location more than the bridge that's haunted?

In any case, crossing a bridge, even a haunted one, doesn't take very long, so we were delighted to discover the preserved 18th-century village of Jerusalem Mills, which serves as the headquarters for Gunpowder Falls State Park. This is a lovely place.

This couple was having their picture taken among the ruins

The gristmill

The blacksmith shop

A millstone

14 Miles to Baltimore: Still Accurate

On the way to the gun shop

The Little Gunpowder River

Small gardens behind the gun shop

Kip is ready to explore the grist mill

Open space demonstrating what a beautiful day it was.

Tenant House

Interpretive signage about Gilmor's Raid

Ruins! This is the remains of a bank barn.

Greta brashly trespasses at the ruined bank barn

Kip leaps gracefully across the floodplain of the Little Gunpowder.

Please Enjoy This Baby Wombat

2011-10-25T15:01:00.000-04:00

I know I enjoyed it. Sorry, I know it's off topic...but ohmygoodness that wombat is adorable.

In the wreck of noble lives, something immortal still survives: The Poe Post

2011-10-24T15:35:00.001-04:00

The Poe House, 203 Amity Street, Baltimore

The Poe Post! At last! For years, the IC and I have wanted to visit the Poe House, and Poe's grave in the Westminster Burying Grounds. On Saturday, we finally went. It was a very Poe-ish experience.

When I was little (elementary school-age), my Dad read me a bunch of Poe - I recall The Gold Bug and The Cask of Amontillado especially - and I proceeded to read the rest of the household copy of Poe's selected works. At school, when my homeroom teacher caught me with the book during a recess period, she scoffed at my choice of literature and said she was glad I was reading, but she didn't think it was appropriate for a person my age to be reading drivel written by "a degenerate who died drunk in a gutter in Baltimore."

That event made an impression on me, because it was an uncharacteristically harsh thing for a teacher to say - and she really made it sound like there was no more ignominious death in the universe than one that occurred in a gutter in Baltimore. And okay, maybe she had a point there. But she seemed very dismissive of Poe's entire oeuvre as well. I was conflicted for about two seconds:

Me: If Mrs.___ thinks Poe is a worthless degenerate, does that really mean this book is bad?
Me: I really liked it. Dad liked it. And Mrs. ____ made us read Misty of Chincoteague.
Me: Clearly her judgment is questionable.
Me: Yup.
Me: Maybe we'll get lucky and someone will brick her into a wall.

That teacher was part of the ongoing reaction to Poe's life and work that began the first moment Poe published anything. It seems there have always been both pro- and anti-Poe factions. Even if you're some kind of Poe super-fan, you're likely to feel some ambiguity about Poe's character - Poe was a weird guy. Maybe you're a literary type and you feel Poe is overrated or vulgar or something. The great thing about Poe is, none of that matters. Love him, hate him, feel "meh" about him, whatever - Poe has one of the craziest posthumous existences in the history of literature.

Does anyone read quaint & curious forgotten lore late at night without thinking about this?:

Ghastly, grim and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore...

Does anyone drink amontillado or do masonry work in the cellar without hearing Fortunato's plaintive cry, For the love of god, Montresor! somewhere in the back of his or her mind? And I consider it a personal favor that Poe essentially invented the modern detective story.

This strange cocktail of delightful creepiness, mystery, adventure, moral ambiguity, possible degeneracy, and unstoppable legacy is what I mean when I say this weekend's visit was "Poe-ish."

First, the IC and I went to the Baltimore Poe House. If you would like to go, get there soon - it might be closed for good after 2012. You can read about that here. I kind of hate to say this, but it's not hard to understand why the Poe House is in danger. For one thing, it's...not in the greatest neighborhood:

That security guard watches the Poe House during operating hours

The Poe House is situated right next to the Poe Homes housing project

There are vacant rowhouses right down the street...

The empty lot across the street from the Poe House

For another thing, it's not exactly the Smithsonian. The house is TINY. The tour is self-guided, there's not much to see, and you don't learn tons of new stuff about Poe that you couldn't figure out on your own. But...I don't know. It was special anyway. It was charming. I LOVED it.

A placard in the Poe House kitchen area

A still from the hilariously awesome Poe video that plays in a second-floor room

What else can I say about this?

The tiny attic room where Poe (supposedly) stayed

The most striking thing was that regardless of how tiny, sketchily situated, or unfurnished the place is, everyone who was visiting that day was really enjoying themselves. The house also gives you a good sense of how tenuous a living Poe was making - which is important, given that he is considered to be the first American writer to try to make a living by writing alone. Astonishing, really, that anyone ever tried it again.

Once we had toured the house, we made our way to the east side of MLK Boulevard and wandered into the Westminster Burying Ground. This was a much more impressive example of Poe's legacy - the only person I knew to be interred there was Poe. He totally overshadows all of the other residents of this little necropolis, and those other residents are no slouches. Among the interments, we found all kinds of Important People. But all the visitors were clustered around Poe's "new" grave or his original burial.

In addition to introducing the world to modern mystery fiction, Poe left us with a mystery surrounding his own death. He was found, disheveled and delirious, outside Ryan's 4th Ward Polls Tavern, and was taken to Washington College Hospital, where he eventually died (note to my elementary school teacher: Poe did not actually die in a gutter). There are several theories about what caused Poe's death, including rabies, a brain tumor, epilepsy, a beating, porphyria, cooping, carbon monoxide poisoning, murder...the list goes on and on. The bizarre and mysterious circumstances of his death have only served to deepen Poe's aura of spooky otherworldliness.

The Carriage Gates to the burying ground

The new gravesite

The Original Gravesite

Poe's first grave at Westminster is where the Poe Toaster made his mysterious sojourn every January 19th (the anniversary of Poe's birthday) from 1949-2009. I am so enamored of the Poe Toaster. He hasn't been spotted for the last two years, and it is said that if he doesn't reappear this coming January 19, the tradition will be considered broken.

The IC and I were perplexed by this:

The grave of 8-year-old Sophie Anderson

The last grave we saw was that of Sophie Anderson. On the grave marker, we saw five bobby pins. People had left pennies, flowers, and assorted other small items on many of the other graves, but these were the only bobby pins I've ever seen on a grave. If anyone knows what these pins might signify, I'd love to know.

The Westminster Burying Ground is all kinds of cool and weird and spooky. It was once a rather famous source of medical cadavers for grave-robbers who sold the bodies to the medical school at Davidge Hall in the 19th century.

Once we were done, we went home to rest up for Sunday's little adventure, in which the spooky place we set out to visit was completely overshadowed by a not-so-spooky place we didn't even know was there. More on that soon...

That Nest of Pirates on the Chesapeake

2011-10-24T09:38:00.004-04:00

You may recall Fort McHenry, which I mentioned in earlier posts. Here it is in 1850, hanging around at the end of Locust Point:

Fort McHenry has a long and interesting history, but is most famous for withstanding a 25-hour bombardment by the British Navy during the War of 1812. Oh, and for inspiring this, which you might recognize. Here is a VERY condensed summary of its role in the Battle of Baltimore (1814), for those of you who are interested. I know I'm oversimplifying and omitting a lot, but this is will give you the gist of it. If you don't want to read all this, just skip the next five paragraphs. Go ahead, ignore the past. We all know what happens to people who do that, though.

One of my favorite things about American history is the extent to which so many of our illustrious forebears were a bunch of punks. I honestly don't know how American public schools manage to make history classes so dull, I really don't.

So, in the early 19th century, the British and the French were fighting the Napoleonic Wars, and the Americans were getting hassled all the time. America was a neutral carrier during that conflict, but American ships were caught in blockades, had their goods confiscated by the British or French, or had their crews impressed into the Royal Navy. Exasperating. On top of all that, the British were encouraging Indian groups in the west to attack frontier settlements.

Sick of getting pushed around by the British, the U.S. declared war on them. The problem was, we weren't really ready for a war. We didn't have much of a navy. So President Madison issued Letters of Marque and Reprisal to private shipowners. We might have been unprepared for war, but DANG were the Baltimoreans ready to privateer the heck out of the British Navy. If you've ever heard of a Baltimore Clipper, this is probably why. The clipper ships enjoyed tremendous glory and usefulness as privateers during the conflict. A clipper called the Chasseur, commanded by Captain Thomas Boyle, was especially brash, impertinent, and therefore awesome. Go read the Wikipedia page if you have time.

Over the course of the war, American privateers captured or sank more than 1700 British ships. The British found this very annoying, so as soon as they sorted out Napoleon at Waterloo, they turned their attention to the States, particularly on "that nest of pirates" at Fells Point in Baltimore.

Of course, on their way to Charm City, they stopped to attack Washington D.C., which was essentially undefended. Washington was burned, and the city of Alexandria just surrendered without a fight. Way to cover yourself in glory, Alexandria!

The British were feeling pretty good about themselves. They planned a coordinated land-and-sea attack on Baltimore. They landed at North Point for the "land" part of the battle. The British troops were veterans who had served with Wellington, along with a complement of Royal Marines. They were met by General John Stricker's Maryland Militia. Although the battle was considered a tactical victory for the British, an American sniper killed General Robert Ross, which ended up being a pretty big deal. And the British were delayed, which was, from the Americans' standpoint, a perfectly acceptable outcome.

The British plan also included a "sea" element, in which they would bust through the defenses at Fort McHenry and wreak havoc in the city. Happily for Baltimore, the stalling of the British forces by Stricker's regiment had provided time to improve the city's defenses. The Port of Baltimore was blocked by a line of sunken ships and the improved defenses at Fort McHenry endured the tremendous bombardment launched against the fort by the British. Eventually the British gave up and went to attack New Orleans instead. Here's a fun little cartoon that summarizes how Baltimore felt about getting rid of the Brits:

Mercy! Mercy on me - What fellows those Baltimoreans are!

You can find out more about Fort McHenry over here, and I recommend visiting if you're in town - it's really cool. If possible, try and get a tour with Ranger Vince. The IC and I went last Sunday, and Ranger Vince was off duty, but we still had a good time.

As a result of the fort's colorful and rather violent history, there are tons and tons of ghost stories, but I have a favorite.

Over the years, a handful of visitors to the fort have reported seeing a man, apparently floating in mid-air, near the Orpheus statue. This typically happens when a fog has settled over the Patapsco, and the fort and its environs are wreathed in spookiness.

Explanation of why there is an Orpheus statue can be found here

Those who had seen the man described him as being dressed in some sort of uniform. According to Park Rangers at Fort McHenry, these visitors must have been seeing the ghost of Private Joseph Kuhne, the subject of the fort's first military execution.

During the Civil War, McHenry served as a Union transfer prison camp for Southern sympathizers and Confederate POWs, and came to be known as "The Baltimore Bastille." Private Joseph Kuhne of the 2nd Maryland infantry was a prisoner there, and having been found guilty of the murder of 2nd Lieutenant J. Davis Whitson, he was executed on March 7, 1862.

Here's the account from the Sun:

Shortly after twelve o'clock there emerged a wagon from the gateway of the fort, guarded by a strong military force. The condemned man was in the wagon, and the procession moved with slow and solemn tread towards the dread instrument of death, then while the accompanying band played "The Death March," the rope was adjusted on the neck of Kuhne by the acting provost marshal...In another instant the trip fell with a dull, heavy sound, and Joseph Kuhne was suspended in mid-air...the drop was only about eighteen inches but for a few moments no motion was observable. After which his contortions were horrible for a minute, after which he hung still and lifeless.

The gallows where Kuhne was hanged once stood where the Orpheus statue now resides, and now it seems his ghost appears near that edifice on misty days...

Pit O'Limbs!

2011-10-18T14:44:00.001-04:00

Just a quick note - the IC is in western Maryland this week, looking for a PIT OF LIMBS. On a Civil War battlefield. I should add that he's official - he's not just looting or something. You probably guessed that, since most looters are after coins and other valuables, not amputated arms and legs.

I so hoped I might find a pit of limbs while working on War of 1812 sites in Bladensburg, but alas! Those limb pits are sneaky. Further updates on the IC's investigations as events warrant.

Time AND Place

2011-10-18T12:26:00.000-04:00

I don't just want to travel to particular places; I want to travel to particular places at particular times. For example, I've been to the Caribbean, and it was fun. But it would be a lot more interesting to visit the Caribbean in, say, 1400, or 1700. I think I'd like to visit Alexandria during Cleopatra's rule. You get the idea.

I was thinking about this because as the IC and I drove into Locust Point, we felt like maybe we had slipped through time while the continuum wasn't paying attention. As we rolled to a stop at the light at Andre Street and Fort Avenue, it felt as though we had somehow driven into the 1940s. Straight ahead was a tidy lane of rowhouses, with a corner store (Star's Confectionary Grocery & Carryout) across from an unobtrusive corner bar. Some kids were playing baseball in LaTrobe Park, and a woman pushed a perambulator beneath the overhead power lines. A line of park benches lined the street to our left, and in one of these sat a man in a tan suit and short tie wearing a very smart fedora.

Then the light changed and the spell was broken.

Our purpose in visiting Locust Point was, of course, the Devil's Bucket. And we found it! Alas, it seems that it is no longer very spooky:

No ghosts here

As mentioned in the earlier post, the swampy region once known as the Devil's Bucket(s) was filled in to create land for the Francis Scott Key Elementary/Middle School, and while a few slightly boggy spots can still be discerned in the recreational space behind the school, there is no longer anything that could properly be called a swamp. Or a pond. So, it seems that both the ghosts and the place have been exorcised. Dang.

Hampton Hall (Re)Visited

2011-10-17T09:44:00.003-04:00

The IC and I had kind of a whirlwind weekend visiting a bunch of different places neither of us had ever been before. We started with the Hampton Historic Site, which I hope you will recall from this post. The weather this weekend was so gorgeous, the mansion didn't really seem all that spooky. When it's a breezy, bright 70 degrees, I think the ghosts just grumble off into the attic for the day.

Hampton is only about 8 miles from my current home base, and admission and tours are all free. The place is INCREDIBLE. I can't imagine why everyone isn't there all the time.

As soon as we arrived, we spotted a park ranger talking to a few people in the gift shop. We both froze.

Me: Is that--?
The IC: IT IS.
Me: No, it can't be...
The IC: But it IS. IT SO IS.
Me: Ranger Vince?
The IC: Ranger Vince!
Both of us: *schoolgirlish tittering*

If you don't live in the Baltimore area, perhaps you do not know about Ranger Vince. His home park is Fort McHenry, and he frequently gives interviews for the local news stations on Flag Day. Here are a couple of particularly good examples of the Ranger Vince experience. I mean it, watch both of those videos and you will understand why we both immediately recognized him, and why we were so starstruck. He has got to be the most enthusiastic Park Ranger in the history of the National Park Service.

Obviously, we had to go introduce ourselves and get our guidebooks signed. And Ranger Vince even posed for a photo with the IC!

Dude is crazy, but I mean that in the nicest possible way.

This was fortuitous. Our plan was to do Hampton on Saturday and Fort McHenry on Sunday, and we had hoped to see Ranger Vince at the Fort, but for whatever reason (fate?) he was working out at Hampton on Saturday and we got to meet him. Already the day was a huge success!

While we waited for our tour to start, I checked out the only ghost book in the whole shop, "The Ghosts of Hampton," and discovered this warning label on the title page:

DO NOT BELIEVE THESE STORIES

Just as our tour was beginning, we heard Ranger Vince asking his small tour group, "Now where else have you ever seen a book of ghost stories with a federal warning label on it? And you've got to ask yourself, why is the Park Service so determined to convince you that these stories aren't true?" Indeed, Ranger Vince. Indeed.

We were on the last tour of the day, and our tour guide was a little...indifferent. Here's a sample: "It might seem weird that the master and mistress of the house had separate bedrooms, because today we only ever have one room. But they did that back then because that's what they would do."

1) It really doesn't seem that weird.

2) "They did that back then because that's what they would do?" That's a terrible explanation.

3) Is this the vital information the NPS doesn't want sullied by non-factual ghost stories? Hmph. The ghost stories are only about 10,000 times more interesting.

Since I had spent several days learning all kinds of things about Hampton, the IC and I gave ourselves a much better, if whispered, tour of the place from the back of the crowd.

The IC: Hey! Isn't that Eliza Ridgely, Regency Hottie?

Me: Yes!

The IC: I wanted to see Priscilla the Possibly Depressed.

Me: She's at the Governor's Mansion in Annapolis and they don't have a reproduction here.

Tour guide: *glare*

Me& the IC: *innocent heavenward gazes*

Tour guide: This harp is the same harp shown in Eliza Ridgely's portrait in the main hall.

Me: It's totally not the same harp. The one in the picture was an artist's studio prop.

The IC: (checking out painting) It doesn't even look the same at all!

You can check them both out and compare: Portrait Harp vs. Actual Harp.

The IC also got a photo of the possibly haunted chandelier:

It didn't predict anyone's death while we were there.

Hampton has a lot of the original outbuildings (not the same as "outhouses," outbuildings at Hampton include an ice house, slave quarters, a stable, a dairy and a mule barn). The ice house was incredible:

A terrible photo, but it gives you the general idea of the ice house.

The entryway

The hall

The ice pit. Doesn't it seem more like an oubliette?

I really wanted to see the haunted stable, but the building was closed for repairs. Instead, we visited the lovely gardens:

Wandered around the grounds:

And finally made our way out to the cemetery.

In all, it was a really fun outing and the place is terrific. The IC and I agreed that the house is more impressive than any other historic home we've visited, and we've visited a LOT - this place is more exuberantly ostentatious than Mount Vernon, Monticello, any of the James River plantation houses, the Hermitage, Montpelier, Wye House, Brice House, Hammond-Harwood House, Chase-Lloyd House...it's BIG. And FANCY.

I've been reading Stacy Schiff's Cleopatra, a wonderful book. At one point, Schiff describes mythology (she is referring to the iconic mythos of the Cleopatra legend) as "the kudzu of history," something that covers, obscures, and ultimately devours the facts about the past. In Cleopatra's case, she definitely has a point, but I prefer to think of these stories as the garnish on the cocktail of history. Is it essential to understanding the events of the past? No. Does it make it more beautiful, more exciting, more fun? ABSOLUTELY.

Milkshake Vampire

2011-10-14T19:17:00.001-04:00

And here you will find a vampire bat drinking a milkshake. No, go look. It's really cute. Seriously.

Rosewood

2011-10-14T15:14:00.000-04:00

I was really struck by the incredibly spooky, abandoned look of the Rosewood Hospital Complex, but it turns out that there's not really a whole lot of historical spookiness to talk about here. Still, IT LOOKS SO CREEPY. All the photos in this post are from Sue Tatterson's amazing online exhibit Spirits of the Abandoned, and she has many more similarly atmospheric photographs at her website.

So, what is Rosewood? It was the State of Maryland's replacement for the hospital for "general sickness and insanity" that had been established in 1798. In 1887, the State Lunacy Commission (yes, that's right: the State Lunacy Commission) proposed converting the abandoned U.S. Arsenal at Pikesville as a "hospital for idiotic, imbecile, and feeble-minded persons." The commission was approved to create an Asylum and Training School for the Feeble-Minded of the State of Maryland, but they were only given 10,000 dollars to secure buildings and grounds. They appointed a Board of Visitors to administer the place. The Board ended up buying property near Owings Mills:

The site of Rosewood circa 1850

The majority of the Rosewood property belonged to Cardiff Taggart in 1850, as you can see on the map, above. The Taggart family owned the bulk of the property during the first part of the 19th century, and I researched them, but alas! - they were perfectly respectable farmers who did nothing murderous or reckless and are therefore totally useless in terms of supplying potential haunters.

Anyway, the Board of Visitors bought the property, which had only one frame farmhouse and a few outbuildings. Here's how they described it:

"The land is beautifully situated, is well watered, a part under good cultivation and a part in woodland. The house, an excellent dwelling home, is not large and cannot accommodate many."

They couldn't take many people (only nine were admitted the first year), and pressed for more funding, but didn't receive much. As a result, they had to restrict admission and adjusted their plan from a full-scale asylum to a more modest operation: "those who are susceptible to a certain degree of training with a view to being developed into a condition of utility and self-support; in other words it will be a training facility and not custodial."

Admission, once approved by the Board, was free to white indigent children between the ages of 7 and 17. Non-indigents had to pay $250. Boys learned farming, gardening and carpentry; girls learned sewing, washing, milking, horticulture, and domestic service. While the Board hoped they would be able to go on to support themselves with these skills, they also supported the school during their residence there.

While that sounds like a lot of hard work, I got the overall impression that things were actually pretty okay at Rosewood through the early 20th century. But after World War II, it got really awful. Despite the addition of new buildings and facilities, Rosewood was persistently understaffed and overcrowded.

According to a recent article in the Baltimore Sun, the place was a veritable nightmare:

Over the course of decades, residents drowned in bathtubs when left unattended or froze to death after wandering out into the snow.
"It is a great thing for Maryland that this institution is closed," said Nancy Pineles, an attorney with the Maryland Disability Law Center, a watchdog group that promotes the civil rights of people with disabilities.
"It was a badly neglected facility that didn't serve any purpose any more."
In 2007, the law center called for state officials to shut down what it called "this flawed, outmoded institution," and noted findings by the state Office of Health Care Quality that conditions at Rosewood posed "immediate jeopardy to the health and safety of residents."
The 180-page survey noted abuses that included treating a deaf patient "with restraints to control his behavior" rather than a staff member skilled in American Sign Language, and found "sustained isolation of individuals with intellectual disabilities in rooms with no personal effects [that] shocks the conscience."
In December 2000, a resident died while being restrained, face-down on a floor, by Rosewood staff members "because he didn't want to go to the gym," said Pineles. She said the care quality office conducted a "limited investigation" but found no deficiencies and required no plan of correction.

The complex has been abandoned only since 2009, but as you can see from the pictures, it already looks like the set for a horror movie. With its 20th-century history of being such an awful place, a sort of oubliette for both innocent developmentally-challenged people and those deemed unfit to stand trial for major crimes, it's easy to see why the property is widely believed to be haunted.

Although there has been some discussion of redeveloping the property, the most recent news it that it may be horribly contaminated with dangerous toxic waste. So it looks like Rosewood will remain abandoned for the foreseeable future, abandoned and poisonous and definitely spooky.

Anthropology

2011-10-13T14:24:00.002-04:00

Yes, I saw the the article about Governor Rick "We Don't Need Anthropologists Here" Scott, and YES, I think he's ridiculous. I've pasted the text of Christopher Shea's article from the Wall Street Journal below. I have a few things to say about this:

1) Rick Scott probably doesn't really know what anthropology is.

2) If Rick Scott is interested in finding out WHY students aren't excelling in the maths and sciences, or choosing technical careers; if he's interested in exploring the reasons why schools are failing, or in developing an understanding of how schools could serve students better, or even why jobs (in many fields other than anthropology) are so scarce....he should probably hire a bunch of anthropologists to do that.

3) Almost everyone I know is a gainfully, productively employed anthropologist. We do all kinds of good and useful things - we're not intellectual dilettantes. Well, most of us aren't.

4) I'm tempted to make some sort of absurd statement about how Florida doesn't need any more politicians, so STOP GOING TO SCHOOL FOR PRE-LAW or whatever it is politicians allegedly study. But as an anthropologist, my understanding of the world is too nuanced for me to think such a thing would make any sense. Jeez.

Okay, here's the article:

Anthropologists aren’t happy that their field was recently used by Florida’s governor, Rick Scott, as the example of precisely what students ought not to study in college. He said:

We don’t need a lot more anthropologists in the state. It’s a great degree if people want to get it, but we don’t need them here. I want to spend our dollars giving people science, technology, engineering, and math degrees. That’s what our kids need to focus all their time and attention on, those types of degrees, so when they get out of school, they can get a job.

The American Anthropological Association has issued a statement [pdf], unsurprisingly. But more interestingly, several anthropologists have written in to the website Neuroanthropology, providing capsule summaries of what they do and how it helps Florida. And what do you know, some of them appear to do useful work! Take Elizabeth McCoy, for example:

I am an Archaeologist, trained at the University of South Florida. My research is on improving how Florida’s State Parks manage and interpret cultural sites located on state lands. I work directly with park managers, local tourism bureaus, and Department of Environmental Protection officials to develop strategies that will increase park visitation and revenues, decrease park operating costs, and improve the visitor experience for all Floridians. I use the latest technology to document sites and create a digital presence for Florida’s state parks so we can continue to protect and celebrate some of Florida’s most unique resources.

Edward Tenner, in a piece for the Atlantic titled “First They Came for the Anthropologists,”observes that the field “can be so practical that it even makes many anthropologists uneasy, as in the Defense Department’s Human Terrain Program, condemned as unethical by a commission of the American Anthropological Association (AAA) in 2009.”

Cygnet Swann and the Scythe-Wielding Spectre of Hampton Hall

2011-10-13T09:06:00.001-04:00

Hampton Hall, also known simply as "Hampton," or the Hampton Historic Site, is a splendid - really, truly magnificent - Georgian mansion and estate located about 10 miles north of Baltimore near Towson. Words can't do the place justice. Behold the stateliness:

Hampton is considered to be one of the country's best-preserved 18th-century estates. It was built between about 1783 and 1790, and upon its completion, it was the biggest, most ridiculously over-the-top, palatial residence in the nation. Unlike many historic house museums, the furnishings at Hampton are almost entirely original to the house & to the Ridgely family, who occupied the place until it was sold to the National Park Service in 1948. I strenuously recommend that you take the virtual tour over here at the NPS site and bask in the lavish splendor.

Hampton boasts a correspondingly grand host of spooky associations, including a spectral butler, a haunted chandelier that foretells death, a gray lady, a ghostly coach, at least two ghosts of uncertain provenience, the spirit of a master carpenter/architect, and the manifestation of a young girl who died there under mysterious circumstances in the middle of the 19th century.

During last year's ghost story marathon, I found that many places with widely-recognized historical significance tended to downplay supernatural stories. This appears to be the case at Hampton as well. I certainly understand that the NPS would want visitors to focus on the real, provable, and quite interesting history of the place...but come ON, Park Service! It's October and it's time for ghost stories, and Hampton has a veritable smorgasbord of haunts to choose from.

All of the stories are interesting, but I haven't been able to tie some of them to any specific historical facts or events. The first of these is the haunted chandelier: it is said that the Ridgely wives' deaths were foretold by the sound of a crashing chandelier, even though the chandelier in question (which one is not specified by the story) had not, in fact, fallen. Evidently, when the chandelier is heard, the "first lady" of Hampton would die within 24 hours.

The second unprovable story involves the ghostly coach. According to legend, on the very night Charles Ridgely (the fourth "master of Hampton") died on a visit to Italy, the caretaker of the house was awakened by the sound of a carriage arriving - thudding hooves, jingling bells, etc. And yet no coach had actually arrived, so clearly this was some sort of afterlife conveyance, returning Charles Ridgely's soul to Hampton. Or something.

Now...Hampton's Gray Lady, Priscilla Dorsey Ridgely. Here she is:

Priscilla Ridgely, Possibly Depressed

Although it is impossible to confirm in the archives, it is said that she suffered from terrible depression during her lifetime. All I can tell you is that she had 14 children and 11 of them survived to adulthood, which sounds to me like plenty of reasons to be a little mopey. In the years following her death (and to this very day), she has been seen wafting around the house feeling sorry for herself, dressed in a gray gown, or tapping on people's doors and then vanishing in a little poof of ectoplasm.

Finally, the ghostly butler. Like every obscenely wealthy Southern family, the Ridgelys had slaves and insisted that they were well-cared for and happy. So much so, in fact, that even after emancipation, most refused to leave their posts, etc., etc. You know, before I continue, maybe I should just come right out and say that this one bugs me because it includes a romanticized and insulting view of slavery and then I can just get on with it. Okay.

So, there was supposedly a highly devoted butler named Tom. In fact, I checked the U.S. census, and in 1870, the Ridgelys really did have a butler named Thomas Brown. So...maybe. According to the story, he lived and worked for the Ridgelys until his death in 1890, but according to the census, he was working in a South Baltimore coal yard in 1880. So...make of that what you will.

Anyway, he supposedly appeared from time to time to give visitors tours of the mansion and to reminisce about the Ridgely family. Ick. I'm done with this story.

Let's move on to the tales associated with chilling historical events, starting with the two unknown ghosts. One of these is said to roam about the mansion at night, opening and closing doors, while the second lurks in the stables, occasionally rattling saddles and bridles in the tack room. Consider these two restless spirits as you read this little legend:

The original architect and master carpenter of Hampton Hall was a man called Jehu Howell. In 1787, having been paid something like 6000 pounds and 68 quarts of rum for his work on the mansion, he got drunk and attempted to ride across a rain-swollen creek, where both he and his horse drowned. The mansion wasn't completed until 1790, so he died with his work unfinished.

The Journal and Baltimore Advertiser for November 27, 1787, described the accident as follows:

Last Friday morning, Mr. JEHUE HOWELL a very ingenious Architect, of Baltimore County, having Occasion to cross Patapsco River, went from this town to the Ferry Branch, and finding a Boat at short distance from the shore, he permitted his Horse to enter the Water, at the end of the Ferry Point, supposing it shallow - but Alas! He was fatally mistaken, for the Horse, in a few Moments, plunged into a channel many fathoms deep, whereby the hapless rider soon perished, without the possibility of Relief. This melancholy event has deprived an affectionate Wife of a fond Husband, and two Children of a kind Parent. His Body hath since been found, and respectfully interred.

The horse isn't mentioned, but I think we can assume that if the horse had made it, Howell would have as well. Also, it doesn't indicate that he had been drinking, but it WAS the 18th century, and I really can't imagine why anyone would decide to swim the Patapsco in November if they were sober.

While the house was under construction, Howell and his family lived in the completed wing, so it makes sense that Howell could be the unknown ghost exploring the now-completed house, while his unfortunate horse haunts the stable and tack room. Assuming that sense and logic have any place in ghost stories, of course.

FINALLY. Let's address the mysterious Cygnet Swann.

When I first read this story, I figured it had to be bogus because NOBODY is going to be named Cygnet Swann. However, according to the story, "Cygnet" was a nickname given to one of Thomas Swann's lovely young daughters by the elegant socialite Eliza Ridgely.

Thomas Swann was Mayor of Baltimore from 1856 to 1860 and Governor of Maryland from 1866-1869. Eliza Ridgely was a rather celebrated hostess, traveler, "arbiter of fashion," and all-around popular person. She lived from 1803-1867 and pretty much knew everyone who was anyone. She sounds like the sort of person who would take an interest in well-born young ladies and give them silly nicknames. She was also pretty good-looking, if the painter Thomas Sully can be believed:

Eliza Ridgely, Regency Hottie

It absolutely makes sense that the Ridgelys and the Swanns would have known each other. In addition, a perusal of census records shows that Thomas Swann had a daughter, Jane Byrd Swann, who was 15 in 1860, and who never appeared in later census records, although her older sister Louisa Swann does. So it is at least plausible that she may have died between 1860 and 1870, which is about the right time frame for the Cygnet Swann story.

Jane/Cygnet Swann came to stay at Hampton to take the country air. One morning, she came down to breakfast looking tired and unsettled, and told of a terrible nightmare she had endured the previous evening. In the dream, she had been running through seemingly endless fields of wheat, pursued by a terrifying apparition with a scythe. She narrowly escaped his clutches and the arc of the scythe, but as she woke, she heard him scream after her, "I'll get you yet, my golden-haired beauty!"

That evening, Eliza threw a dance at Hampton. Cygnet had gone to her room to dress, but when she didn't come down to the ball, Eliza went to check on her. Cygnet was found dead at her dressing table, clad in her satin ballgown, a hairbrush still held in one hand. A doctor who was summoned described the death as "mysterious," and no cause was ever ascertained.

Now, of course, Cygnet Swann haunts the northwest bedroom where she died. Most people who have seen her indicate that she wanders around in her ballgown looking forlorn or distressed, and sometimes faint music can be heard emanating from the room where Cygnet's body was discovered.

Of all the stories associated with Hampton, I found the nightmare of the scythe-wielding maniac the most interesting. What about you? Do you have a favorite among Hampton's many offerings? I plan to visit Hampton this weekend, if possible, and if I learn anything else, I'll update.

Next up: The Rosewood Asylum and Training School for the Feeble Minded.

The Devil's Bucket

2011-10-12T08:29:00.006-04:00

Today's tale of a mysterious and possibly haunted location in Baltimore comes to us from Locust Point, a peninsula in South Baltimore known for its current highly industrial character and also for being the location of Fort McHenry. There's plenty more to say about both Locust Point and Fort McHenry, but we'll save that for a later post.

This story is about The Devil's Bucket, a mysterious swamp that first came to my attention in this article from the Baltimore Guide. The article indicates that there's a place known to some residents of Locust Point called The Devil's Bucket (in fact, in the article it is called "The Devil's Buckets," but in my research it seems it was mostly known historically as "Bucket" (singular) so that's what I'm calling it).

I figured it was worth looking into this little mystery, if only because the name was so sinister. There were three questions to be addressed here, it seemed to me: the first is, what IS The Devil's Bucket? The second: Who says it's haunted, and what makes them think so? The last is: What historical events might have led to the supposed haunting?

And here's what I came up with...

I. What is the Devil's Bucket?

It was originally a large swampy pond located more or less at the foot of modern-day Decatur Street, behind the Francis Scott Key Elementary/Middle School. I have not been able to figure out when or how it came to be known as the Devil's Bucket, but the earliest references date to the late 19th century.

II. Who says it's haunted, and what makes them think so?

This seems to be an intensely local legend - few outside of Locust Point have ever heard of this mysterious place. Of the few written references I tracked down, this was my favorite, courtesy of Maryland Historical Magazine (Volume 77, 1982):

Victor's house was located where the new Francis Scott Key School #76 is presently situated. The old (school) burned in 1919 and the new one was built on filled land, replacing one of the many swamps. The swamp had been called the Devil's Bucket. Old timers said a headless horseman, wearing a Union soldier's uniform from the Civil War, used to gallop across the swamp, head held under his arm. He hadn't been sighted lately. Victor thought "maybe its habitat had been destroyed."

This is something that environmental scientists really need to take into account in their assessments of environmental impacts. It would be awful if headless horsemen have to cease their midnight terror rides due to an absence of murky swamps and foggy bogs. If it's safe for normal folks to go out on the moor at night, what will become of our already scarce spooky resources?

In addition to the headless horseman, there was also a mysterious and frightening black dog who lived in or near the Devil's Bucket. And you KNOW how I love ghost dogs, right?

Finally, there was this summary of spookiness from the article in the Baltimore Guide:

Reports ran rife of untimely deaths, unexplained vanishings, sudden drownings (in which no bodies were ever recovered) and individuals who tried to repair the old Light Street bridge that was adjacent to the area — and who also were never seen again. Baltimore’s version of the Bermuda Triangle simply sat, silent and mucky, awaiting its next victim.
Not a lot of local knowledge still exists on Devil’s Buckets. Internet searches came up empty. Vince Vaise, chief of interpretation at Fort McHenry, was baffled.

Baffled, eh?

III. What historical events might have led to the haunting?

Going wayyyy back in time (I won't bore you with too many details, I promise), we find that Locust Point was once known as Whetstone Point. Here it is in 1794-ish:

And here it is around 1850:

Whetstone Point was originally granted to Charles Gorsuch in 1661, and a town called Whetstone Neck was located there in 1706 - which makes it the first town within the present limits of Baltimore City. So right there, you've got at least one possible source of haunts: an ancient lost town. But I couldn't find any compelling tales of murder and mayhem relating to Whetstone Neck, so let's move on.

Obviously, Locust Point saw plenty of extremely dramatic action during the War of 1812. That's a story for another time, but go Google "Fort McHenry" or "The Battle of Baltimore" if you can't wait for my forthcoming post on those events. The remainder of the 19th century was interesting, but not exactly spooky...until 1884.

In April of 1884 (or thereabouts), a man was discovered, dead, on the narrow causeway over the Devil's Bucket. It was never determined how he died, but he was found only after he had been run over by a train.

I apologize for the poor reproduction that follows, but the recounting of the inconclusive railroad investigation includes many important details, so just bear with me, if you will be so kind. Start with the second sentence, "The accident happened...":

VERY MYSTERIOUS, right? "Possibly already dead?" A man who normally abstained from liquor dead drunk on the train tracks? In a difficult-to-reach, dark, lonely spot where it would be difficult for the engineer to see him? That sounds like murder. UNSOLVED murder. Like unfinished business, unsolved murders = hauntings.

Another important detail: they point out that it was possible to use the side of the railroad embankment as a pathway, but that no one used it at night. I propose that this was due to the presence of a gigantic spectral hound, but I have no real basis for this belief.

There were a few other references to the Devil's Bucket from small local publications, but they shed no light on the matter. In fact, most further obfuscated things. Like this little blurb from B&O Magazine:

Excerpt from B&O Magazine, October 1921

This was a stand-alone paragraph, with no context to assist interpretation, but if we take it at face value, it sounds like something was about to happen that made swimming in the Devil's Bucket impossible. Now, normally, I wouldn't think a swampy hole near a railyard would be a popular swimming destination, and so I expect this was intended as some sort of tongue-in-cheek reference, but not having much experience of the place and time in question...I just don't know.

In 1922, there was a little mayhem going on at the Devil's Bucket. There was a railway machinists' strike, and two trains carrying strike breakers were attacked by striking B&O Railroad workers as they crossed the Devil's Bucket. Shots were fired and bricks were thrown, but nobody was seriously injured by the attacks.

Also in 1922, the northern portion of the Devil's Bucket was mostly filled in to create land for the new Francis Scott Key School, and now only a small portion of the swampland remains between the school and the railroad tracks.

What do you think? Personally, I think the best possibility for the cause of the haunting is the unsolved murder, but information is so scarce, it's hard to say. If you know anything about the Devil's Bucket, please share in the comments!

The Horse You Came In On

2011-10-11T09:27:00.012-04:00

The Horse You Came In On is a mainstay of Baltimore ghost tours. The popular Fells Point bar has declared itself the oldest continuously-operated tavern in the country (established, it is said, in 1775), and also claims to be the last place Edgar Allan Poe was seen alive. The place is reputed to be haunted by a ghost known to staff and regulars as "Edgar."

As you can see from the photo above, the building appears to be of the correct vintage. Fells Point was historically a major shipbuilding and commercial center, and it is therefore not unbelievable that a tavern could have been there since 1775. It appears that most visitors to Fells Point have been content to accept the lore concerning the Horse at face value.

Of course, I'm kind of a history geek, so I couldn't resist checking up on the Horse at the archives...and none of the popular legends is precisely true - but the actual history of the place is WAY cooler than anyone imagined. I should add that I absolutely do not intend to impugn The Horse You Came In On, and my research doesn't conclusively disprove their claims to fame - this wasn't a completely exhaustive research exercise, just a little fun at the archives.

The Horse You Came In On opened in 1972, and although it has recently changed ownership, it continues under that name to this day. Between 1948 and 1972, the place belonged to Alexander and Anna Malinowski, and was operated as a bar & convenience store known as "Al & Ann's." The Malinowskis had a liquor license. I've checked in a cursory fashion (more in-depth research is needed before I can say anything conclusively) - but so far I haven't found any other license for the place to operate as a tavern, ordinary, bar, oyster house, gaming house or boarding house. Ever.

Mostly, it appears to have served as a residence: Before it was Al & Ann's, the house at 1626 Thames Street was the residence of Frank and Lillian Brush. Frank Brush was a Polish immigrant who was working at a foundry, and Lillian apparently kept house at 1626 Thames with her children. No mention of a tavern or bar. Could they have been operating without a license? It's possible - such a thing is a possibility throughout the whole history of the place, I guess.

Before the Brushes bought the property, it was owned from 1880 to 1923 by Roman and Henrietta Bomert, who leased the space to the First Polish American Building Association. From 1869 to 1880, the property was the residence of Statia and Sarah Miles. Statia Miles was a commission merchant. No tavern was mentioned during this period.

Now that we're back into the mid-to-late 19th century, we can investigate the Edgar Allan Poe claim. Could The Horse You Came In On really be the last place Edgar Allan Poe was seen alive? I had always heard that it was actually Cornelius Ryan's "4th Ward Polls" Tavern at 44 East Lombard Street. Um...and that appears to be the case.

So the Poe thing is probably not true.

But I also wanted to know if 1626 Thames Street was even a tavern on the night Poe died. According to the land records for the City of Baltimore, the property belonged to one Matthew Bennet between 1822 and 1869. Matthew Bennet is listed in the Baltimore City directory as a cordwainer (bootmaker) and grocer. His residence and business are both listed as the Thames Street address. No tavern. Maybe it was the last place Poe had a pair of shoes made?

Bennet bought the place from the widow of Erasmus Uhler, who was listed in the 1804 Baltimore City Directory as a tanner. In the deed, the property is described as a "three-story brick house," not as a tavern, ordinary, etc., and no license was on record.

The Uhlers had purchased the property from Edward Hagthrop, another cordwainer, around the turn of the 19th century. Hagthrop purchased the property from the executors of Thomas Usher's estate. Thomas Usher, according to the 1796 Baltimore City Directory, was a dry goods merchant. Usher bought the property from William Fell in 1782. And this is where things get interesting.

The Fell family, of course, were the namesakes of Fells Point. Here's the founding of Fells Point in a nutshell: William Fell (I) bought the tract of land that includes Fells Point in 1730. In 1763, his son Edward had the tract resurveyed and laid out in lots, which he promoted and sold to encourage settlement. For about two minutes. He died in 1766 and his wife, Ann Bond Fell, took over the development of Fells Point. She was evidently GREAT at promoting settlement and selling lots. Ann & Edward's son, William (II) was only 7 in 1766, but once he came of age, he continued selling land and collecting rents through the last decade of the 18th century.

Ann Bond Fell, formidable 18th-century real estate developer

Edward Fell

Before his death, Edward Fell built a mansion on the lot where the Horse You Came In On currently resides, and reserved spaces in a small graveyard off Shakespeare Street (then known as Shakespears Alley) for a family cemetery. In case you're not familiar with Fells Point, here's what this location looks like now:

I was pretty excited when a deed (dated 1791) in the chain of title for the Horse You Came In On Saloon said this:

"...all that lott of land beginning at a Grave Yard on the south side of Shakespears Alley (said Grave Yard being reserved by Edward Fell deceased father of the said William Fell) and running thence east...the ground including William Fells Mansion House..."

YES. This makes it sound like the Horse You Came In On is located in the mansion of Edward, Ann, & William Fell. In fact, the building doesn't look at all like a mansion - a brief consultation with an architectural historian friend of mine confirmed that this looks like a townhouse - so it's more likely that if there was a mansion here, it was destroyed to make room for smaller houses on smaller lots, and that this is one of those.

In Edward's will, the property where The Horse You Came In On stands was described as "my mansion house and surrounding property." And it may also be partially situated on top of (or adjacent to) an old graveyard containing an unknown number of burials.

I went out to The Horse You Came In On this weekend and found the small area designated as the "Fell Family Cemetery" directly behind 1626 Thames Street:

Now, pardon me for saying so, but THAT is way cooler than the somewhat dubious distinctions currently claimed, right? You've got a mysterious graveyard - maybe those who were buried there and forgotten console themselves by wreaking mischief in the bar? And if you don't like that, you've got the founding family of Fells living right in that very spot back in the 18th century - and Edward Fell died young, so he could easily have unfinished business. His unfinished business might be the mansion he either built or intended to build. And as we all know, unfinished business = haunting.

So all that is well and good, but here's my favorite thing about this spot: every single deed for this property from 1782 to 2006 describes the metes and bounds of the lot in exactly the same way. Part of the description always includes this:

"...thence bounding on Fells Street South fifty-five degrees West ninety feet to a brick house built by Captain Forbes..."

So the place was, is, and has always been next door to Captain Forbes' house. After seeing this over and over again, I started to wonder who this Captain Forbes was. So I checked him out.

In the city directories, he's listed as a "sea captain," but it turns out he wasn't just a sea captain: he was a privateer. Being a privateer was essentially like being a pirate, except that it was officially sanctioned and therefore patriotic, whereas unlicensed piracy is just despicable.

Forbes was good at his job. In 1776, I found him serving as a Second Lieutenant on the Maryland Navy schooner Rebecca & Sally. By 1779, he was serving as Captain of the Maryland Privateer Sloop Annapolis, and later that year he was on the Privateer Brig Hercules. From 1780 to 1781, he captained the Privateer Brig Nesbitt, and his final command of the Revolutionary War was the Privateer Brigantine Hamburg, commissioned in 1783. Pretty good career, right? Do you think he had a pegleg? A hook hand? An eyepatch? A gold earring?

I found some records of ships he took as prizes (on average, he received ransoms of 5000 pounds for each vessel), and I also found one of his Letters of Marque from the Maryland Assembly:

"Letter of Marque and Reprisal Issued to James Forbes, Commander of the Brig Nesbitt 126 Tonnes burthen navigated by 80 men, mounting Sixteen Carriage Guns belonging to John Nesbitt and Robert Morris of Philadelphia and Stephen Steward of Maryland. You are to proceed in Concert with Mr. Steward's Vessell in pursuit of the Barges of the Enemy now infesting the Upper Parts of the Bay and exert your utmost Powers and Abilities to capture any Barge or other Vessel in the Service of the Enemy now cruising in the Bay."

Forbes employed his "Powers and Abilities" again during the War of 1812, when he commanded the Brig Brutus (50 men, 2 long 18-pounders, 1 long 12, and 4 12-pound carriage guns) and took several more prizes in the Chesapeake Bay.

First: This guy would have been a really interesting neighbor. Second: No offense to Edgar Allan Poe, but Forbes also sounds like he'd be a WAY better ghost.

Mount Vernon Mill No. 1

2011-10-05T10:33:00.001-04:00

I decided to start October's spooky blog fest right down the street from home, at the creepy old abandoned mill complex* known as Mt. Vernon Mill No. 1.

The Mill 1 complex, in its current incarnation, was constructed between 1873 and the early 1900s, but there has been some sort of mill on this part of Jones Falls since the late 1700s. The first known mill at this site was Laurel Mill, founded by Elisha Tyson circa 1791. It was a flour mill, equipped with a huge coal furnace for drying the ground meal that came off the burrs.

A nearby resident wrote of the mill in 1816 that the mill wasn't especially productive - "even with 4 pair of stones, he could not make more than 60 barrels per Day - & one might hear the mill, when at work, at a 2 miles distance, so that one is fearful of some terrible explosion."

That terrible explosion finally occurred in 1840, when one of the drying kilns set fire to the mill and it was destroyed.

A view of a mill - possibly Laurel Mill - on Jones Falls, circa 1819

It must not have been completely destroyed, however, because in 1841, a new interest took over at Laurel Mill. The Mount Vernon Company, founded by William Mason, Horatio Gambrill, and David Carroll, established a textile mill either on or very near the site of the old Laurel Mill. And here it is, shown on Sidney's (1850) map of Baltimore:

By 1860, Mt. Vernon's Mill No. 1 had 50 male and 95 female employees and was churning out two million yards of cotton duck (used for ship sails and tents) each year. The mill concerns built lovely little stone houses for the workers and those places persist to this day. Here's the neighborhood in 1930 or so. Actually...it still pretty much looks like this:

Here's what it looked like back in 1860:

1860 Lithograph of Mt. Vernon Mills

...and then the Mill No. 1 building caught fire and burned to the ground.

Still, the Mt. Vernon Company had other mills, and they continued to prosper, and in 1873, the new Mill No. 1 facility was constructed. Things continued to go pretty well until the Depression, which wrecked everything so hard that the area still hasn't completely recovered. The mills limped on until the early 1970s, when they were converted to warehouse space. It looks like some of the space has been in use as post-industrial artist's studios, too.

So now, Mill No. 1 hulks at the bottom of Chestnut Street, mostly abandoned, decrepit, and spooky. Although there are no actual ghost stories associated with the place (at least, none that I could track down), it has a decidedly haunted look to it, don't you think?

*Alas, it will not be abandoned and spooky for long, as it is apparently slated for extensive renovation into lofts or something. I'm sure they will be very nice, and I hope the residents enjoy being haunted by the ghosts of the countless mill workers who undoubtedly perished in tragic explosions and fires over the years.

It's October...so...???

2011-10-05T09:26:00.000-04:00

Many (a surprising number, actually) have asked if I'll be doing more ghost stories this year (see all the posts from October 2010 if you want to read the results of my "ghost story every day" challenge). The answer is YES, I will, but it'll have to be different from last year.

This year, my main focus will be on spooky places and stories from Baltimore, although there will be exceptions. Since I'm already a few days behind getting started, I probably won't be able to do a story for every day. BUT. There will be spooky places and stories. Yes, there will. First one should be up later today...

Hero Dogs

2011-10-04T11:38:00.001-04:00

This is one of those things that I find kinda squicky, because dogs - even Hero Dogs - really don't care about awards shows, and may even actively dislike this kind of thing...and yet, it's nice to know that these dogs are out there, making me question what I've done lately that did anyone any good.

So there were eight "finalists," out of 453 dogs nominated. You can see details of all eight over here, but here's where my vote would go:

Roselle! In addition to being a guide dog, which is already pretty difficult and amazing, she successfully guided her human out of the flaming World Trade Center on 9/11 and got him to a safe place in the subway all while maintaining an air of calm, confident poise. And really, I don't think she looks like she even knows how to freak out. That dog looks mellow.

Sage also seems pretty awesome, and is a contender just for being SUCH a Border Collie. Look at this face:

Quintessential hyper-intense Border Collie face. You can tell she's going to find whatever she sets out to find, right? And no disaster or war is going to get in her way.

Just wait until they have the useless spaz-dog competition. I will have a dog in that contest for sure, and he/she will WIN.

Henri Regnault

2011-10-04T10:03:00.005-04:00

Odds are you haven't thought a lot about the Franco-Prussian War lately, but if you have, perhaps you reflected on the tragic death of Parisian-born painter Henri Regnault at the Battle of Buzenval in 1871? Maybe?

I wasn't that familiar with Regnault until I saw his Salome (above), which he painted in 1870. I LOVE this painting. Look at her face! Her feet! That gold curtain! Her hair! But I think it's her look of insouciance that really grabbed me - she seems to be saying, "Oh, this charger? It's for the head of John the Baptist. You know. He kinda dissed my mom. What?"

Regnault is also known for his incredibly dynamic equestrian portrait of General Juan Prim:

I like to think of this one as "man being upstaged by his horse." Look at that horse! RIDICULOUS. But he's got nothing on Achilles' divine horses Xanthos and Balios, shown here being just barely wrangled by Automedon:

This is a scene from The Iliad; the horses have the power to see the future and it looks like they know that Achilles is pretty much screwed. They REALLY don't want to be hooked up to his chariot.

If you had psychic future-telling horses, would you pay attention to them? I would. But then, I'm not the hero of a tale of tragic hubris. As far as I know.

The portrait of Juan Prim is at the Musee D'Orsay in Paris, and Automedon is at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Salome is at the Met in New York. If you're near any of these cities, go see these and let me know how they strike you. Automedon measures about 10 x 10 feet - I'd imagine it's an overwhelming experience to see this painting up close - so take care if you suffer from Stendhal syndrome.

Love, Your Phone

2011-10-03T10:29:00.000-04:00

There has been a bit of a stir about this experiment that purports to demonstrate that we actually love our smartphones. Here's the relevant excerpt:

"Earlier this year, I carried out an fMRI experiment to find out whether iPhones were really, truly addictive, no less so than alcohol, cocaine, shopping or video games. In conjunction with the San Diego-based firm MindSign Neuromarketing, I enlisted eight men and eight women between the ages of 18 and 25. Our 16 subjects were exposed separately to audio and to video of a ringing and vibrating iPhone.
In each instance, the results showed activation in both the audio and visual cortices of the subjects’ brains. In other words, when they were exposed to the video, our subjects’ brains didn’t just see the vibrating iPhone, they “heard” it, too; and when they were exposed to the audio, they also “saw” it. This powerful cross-sensory phenomenon is known as synesthesia.
But most striking of all was the flurry of activation in the insular cortex of the brain, which is associated with feelings of love and compassion. The subjects’ brains responded to the sound of their phones as they would respond to the presence or proximity of a girlfriend, boyfriend or family member.
In short, the subjects didn’t demonstrate the classic brain-based signs of addiction. Instead, they loved their iPhones.
As we embrace new technology that does everything but kiss us on the mouth, we risk cutting ourselves off from human interaction. For many, the iPhone has become a best friend, partner, lifeline, companion and, yes, even a Valentine. The man or woman we love most may be seated across from us in a romantic Paris bistro, but his or her 8GB, 16GB or 32GB rival lies in wait inside our pockets and purses."

I can't help but feel like this research should have considered one little detail: your phone doesn't initiate phone calls. There's an actual human being on the other end of the line (usually). So maybe the response isn't quite as direct as the researchers have assumed? Aren't phone calls a form of human interaction? Couldn't the response be linked to the promise of human contact instead of at the actual phone?

Personally, I like my iPhone but I'm really more in love with my laptop.

B'lieve

2011-10-02T19:37:00.000-04:00

Here is a cute Flying Spaghetti Monster Kip and I spotted on a walk yesterday. The "believe" references the Baltimore Believe Campaign, which is aimed, somehow, at the city's notorious drug problem (and it's working SO WELL. Ha-ha, not it's not, but it was a nice idea). The "Believe" thing is why there are all those bumper stickers around town that say "BELIEVE." It's also why there are the parody bumper stickers that translate the message into Bawlmorese, and say "B'LIEVE, HON."

And it's why there is this Flying Spaghetti Monster. So all in all, I'd say this is one of the campaign's more visible successes.

Can't Stay Broody

2011-09-29T11:22:00.000-04:00

Sorry to do this to you again...but it's so true. Curse you, dogs of war! Why are you so fuzzy and adorable?

Hopefully I'll do or find something post-worthy soon. I've been expending lots of energy on work and writing and on top of everything else, the weather has been of the soul-suckingly humid, grey, hot variety for the last week and that makes me want to collapse into a puddle on the floor and never do anything again, ever.

Bros before Prose

2011-09-23T12:23:00.000-04:00

From the hilarious Hark, A Vagrant...smitten Jules Verne writes fan mail to EAP. Personally I think EAP would've been into it, and wouldn't have given Verne's note the death stare...but the death stare is funnier. Click to embiggen:

The Best Thing You'll Read All Week

2011-09-21T10:36:00.000-04:00

Well, probably. The full article is over here at The Missoulian.

On July 30, Erin Bolster of Swan Mountain Outfitters was guiding eight clients on a horse ride on the Flathead National Forest between West Glacier and Hungry Horse.

"It's the shortest ride we offer," she said recently, recalling the incident. "We'd already led two trips that morning. It's always been a very routine hourlong loop, until that day."

The group included a family of six plus a vacationing Illinois man, who'd booked the trip for his 8-year-old son's first horse-riding experience.

The young boy was riding Scout, a steady obedient mount, following directly behind Bolster, who was leading the group on Tonk, a burly 10-year-old white horse of questionable lineage.

Tonk isn't the typical trail mount. Best anyone knows, he's the result of cross-breeding a quarter horse with a Percheron - a draft horse. Bolster is 5-foot-10, yet she relies on her athleticism to climb into the saddle aboard Tonk.

"He was one of the horses we lease from Wyoming and bring in every year," Bolster said, noting that she'd picked him from the stable in May to be hers for the season.

"He's a very large horse - 18 hands high. That intimidates a lot of riders. But I've always loved big horses. He's kind of high-strung and spooky, the largest of our wrangling horses. I like a horse with a lot of spirit, and I was really glad to be on him that day."

Bolster has accumulated a wealth of experience on and around horses of national and even world class. She started riding at 4 years old, became a professional trainer at 15, graduated from high school at 16 in Roanoke, Va., and ran a riding academy for several years.

Seeking a more laid-back lifestyle, she wrangled in Costa Rica and the Dominican Republic before moving to Whitefish three years ago to guide tourists during the summer around Glacier National Park and ski through the winter.

"It's the country, the mountains and the idea of seeing lot of wildlife that appealed to me, ironically enough," she said.

Bolster quickly racked up bear experience, too, although until July 30, it was always at a distance.

"At the peak of the season, we were seeing bears daily," she said. "The wranglers name them so we can let each other know where they are. Usually the bears just keep feeding in the distance or they run away when we come. Just seeing them is a treat for us and our guests."

Because they guide around Glacier Park, bear awareness is part of the preparation wranglers get when hired by Swan Mountain Outfitters.

"We go over a lot of wildlife scenarios in our training," Bolster said. "We learn to watch our horses for signals of possible trouble so we can steer clear."

That's the key, she said: Avoid trouble with a moose or a bear.

"We can't use pepper spray when we're riding because that could blind the horse," she said. "And using a gun would spook the horses and probably produce more danger than safety."

***

That's how she went to work that day: a young but seasoned pro rider on a new, huge and spirited horse, unarmed in the wilderness with eight dudes.

"It was a pleasant ride until we came around a corner on the trail and my horse stopped firm and wouldn't move," Bolster said. "He never refuses to go, so that caught my attention quick."

But not fast enough to avoid the spike white-tailed deer that burst out of the brush and glanced off Tonk's left front shoulder.

As Tonk spun from the impact, Bolster saw a huge grizzly bear crashing through the forest right at the group in pursuit of the deer. Horses panicked and guests grabbed saddle horns for the ride of their lives.

"No amount of training could keep a horse from running from a 700-pound charging bear," she said.

Seven of the horses sensed the danger, peeled out and galloped back on the trail toward the barn.

But Scout bolted perpendicular to the trail into the timber, packing the 8-year-old boy.

"The deer peeled off and joined the horses sprinting down the trail," Bolster said. "So the bear just continued running right past me. I'm not sure the bear even knew the roles had changed, but now it was chasing a horse instead of a deer."

The grizzly was zeroed in on Scout and the boy - the isolated prey in the woods.

Adding to the drama, the boy's father, an experienced rider, could not convince his horse that it was a good plan to ride to his son's rescue.

"The last thing he saw over his shoulder as his horse ran away was the grizzly chasing his boy," Bolster said.

With the bear on Scout's heels, Tonk's instinct was to flee with the group of horses. But Tonk responded to Bolster's heels in his ribs as she spun the big fella around. They wheeled out of a 360 and bolted into the trees to wedge between the predator and the prey.

"The boy was bent over, feet out of the stirrups, clutching the saddle horn and the horse's neck," she said. "That kept him from hitting a tree limb.

"But all I could think about was the boy falling off in the path of that grizzly.

"I bent down, screamed and yelled, but the bear was growling and snarling and staying very focused on Scout.

"As it tried to circle back toward Scout, I realized I had to get Tonk to square off and face the bear. We had to get the bear to acknowledge us.

"We did. We got its attention - and the bear charged.

"So I charged at the bear."

Did she think twice about that?

"I had no hesitation, honestly," Bolster said. "Nothing in my body was going to let that little boy get hurt by that bear. That wasn't an option."

Tonk was on the same page.

***

With a ton of horse, boulder-size hooves and a fire-breathing blonde thundering at it, the bear came within about 10 feet before skittering off to the side.

But it quickly angled to make yet another stab at getting to Scout and the boy - who had just fallen to the ground.

"Tonk and I had to go at the bear a third time before we finally hazed him away," she said.

"The boy had landed in some beargrass and was OK. Scout was standing nearby."

Bolster gathered the boy up with her on Tonk, grabbed Scout's lead and trotted down the trail.

"The boy was in shock," she said. "I looked back and could see the bear had continued to go away through he woods, but I had another five or 10 minutes of riding before I got back with the group."

Not until she reunited with her riders - all OK and standing in various stages of confusion with their horses - did she start to shake.

"I looked at Tonk, and he was wet with sweat and shaking, too," she said.

She was especially concerned for the boy's father, who probably suffered the most terror in the ordeal.

"He was fine, and I got my biggest tip of the season," Bolster said. "My biggest hope is that the boy isn't discouraged from riding. This was a one-in-a-million event."

For the next few days, the outfitter shut down the trail rides and Bolster joined other wranglers and a federal grizzly bear expert to ride horses through the area looking for the bear.

"They tracked it for a long way and concluded that it kept going out of the area," she said. "Judging from the tracks and my description of how high the bear came up on Tonk, the grizzly expert estimated it weighed 700 to 750 pounds.

"This was a case of us being in the wrong place as a bear was already in the act of chasing its natural prey. He was probably more persistent because he was really hungry."

Bolster and the other wranglers vowed to have bear spray on their belts to make sure they can defend their guests during breaks on the ground.

"But when you're riding, the horse is your best protection, if you can stay on," she said.

"Some of the horses I've ridden would have absolutely refused to do what Tonk did; others would have thrown me off in the process. Some horses can never overcome their flight-animal instinct to run away."

In those minutes of crisis, the big lug of a mongrel mount proved his mettle in a test few trail horses will face in their careers.

Tonk's mettle moved Bolster. She wasn't about to send him back to Wyoming with the other leased horses.

"Two weeks ago, I closed the deal and bought him," Bolster said as she was wrapping up her 2011 wrangling season.

"After what he did that day, he had to be mine."

That's Some Horse.

Outside of a Dog

2011-09-21T08:30:00.000-04:00

I just finished "Inside of a Dog" by Alexandra Horowitz, and I really enjoyed it (thanks Dad). However, I have to respond to one statement she made:

"To see the wolf in the presence of a rabbit is to see how much difference there still is (between wolves and dogs): the human is forgotten while the rabbit is pursued. A dog near the same rabbit will patiently wait, gazing at his owner, to be permitted to run. Human companionship has become dogs' motivational meat."

To which I say:

1) BWAAA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
2) Crap - you mean I've been living with wolves all this time and I didn't know?
3) Maybe terriers need to have their own book.

Since we relocated to the city, Kip has discovered his soul's true purpose (and indeed, his breed's original "purpose" as ascribed by the German farmers who selected for many of his ancestors' genes): killing rats. Now, don't freak out: my house is not infested with rats.* My neighborhood isn't overrun with them - but it's a city and there are rats here, and the very first time Kip saw one, you could practically see the golden light shining down on him from above while a heavenly choir sang "Ah Sweet Mystery of Life."

"THERE ARE RATS." Kip said, in dog speak, which is to say he pointed, nose quivering, ears sprung forward, wiry fur sparking into a silvery bristle. His body clenched into the little knot of muscle that is capable of pulling me along behind him despite the fact that I'm 6 times his size. "RAAAAAAAATS. IT IS MY DESTINY TO KILL THEM."

He can't hear me, he doesn't care that I exist. I could be standing next to him with a roast chicken and a really engaging squeaky toy and he simply would not care. "RATS," he would say. "THIS IS WHY I AM ALIVE."

He also enjoys rabbits and squirrels and other small, running-away types of things, but rats...they seem to connect with some open circuit in Kip's brain.

He also doesn't follow the dog hunting model described by Horowitz in which prey is followed casually and rather lackadaisically, with no strategy or determination. Even on leash, Kip has demonstrated an exceptionally wily and relentless attitude in his occasional rat hunting. I have no doubt that, if I let him out into the alley, he would have a plan. And that plan would involve killing a whole bunch of rats.

*I know everyone hates rats and is weirdly grossed out by them - they're actually not that bad, you know? If they bother you try substituting "street squirrel" for the word "rat" and see if that helps.

Double Dog Dutch

2011-09-19T17:47:00.000-04:00

Here is a video of canine jump rope champions, just for you! Note that the schnauzery-looking dogs get the most air. 'Coz their bottoms are made out of springs, and they are buoyed into space by their own awesomeness.

The Swerve

2011-09-19T10:31:00.000-04:00

All right, Stephen Greenblatt. You win. I want to read your book.

I'm also going to be on the lookout for Lucretius' "On the Nature of Things." How can I not, after learning that the guy said this shockingly modern stuff 2000 years ago??:

... moving randomly through space, like dust motes in a sunbeam, colliding, hooking together, forming complex structures, breaking apart again, in a ceaseless process of creation and destruction. There is no escape from this process. ... There is no master plan, no divine architect, no intelligent design.
All things, including the species to which you belong, have evolved over vast stretches of time. The evolution is random, though in the case of living organisms, it involves a principle of natural selection. That is, species that are suited to survive and to reproduce successfully, endure, at least for a time; those that are not so well suited, die off quickly. But nothing — from our own species, to the planet on which we live, to the sun that lights our day — lasts forever. Only the atoms are immortal ...

Robert Krulwich mentioned this on his sciencey blog, and like me, he wants to know:

Who was this Lucretius? Where did he get his radical ideas? How'd his dangerous book make it through? Greenblatt gives us his answers in his new detective-story/history which he calls,The Swerve: How the World Became Modern.

So, OK. I'm in.

Cry Havoc and let slip the dogs of...fashion?

2011-09-18T18:21:00.000-04:00

Good news - it is currently de rigeur to look like a tiny, fuzzy, grumpy old man. See?

Also, note how cute he (she?) is with uncropped ears and tail! Love the natural look.

These are the robots in my neighborhood

2011-09-18T07:39:00.000-04:00

My neighborhood is full of robots. Here are some of them:

Her eyes light up at night - little red LED lights

So far, he still looks like a gas pump - but he's in progress.

One of these seems to be a ninja turtle? But the other is definitely a 'bot.

My personal favorite.

Punchfork

2011-09-15T10:29:00.000-04:00

I only looked at this site for about 2 seconds before I bookmarked it and started looking for the thing I will be having for dinner tonight. Holy moly.

I'd love to tell you that I will be enjoying the roasted root vegetable enchiladas or the baked mushroom risotto with caramelized onions or the honey ginger balsamic glazed beets, but it's way more likely that I will be having this:

The Little Deer Who Grew Up

2011-09-13T14:53:00.000-04:00

Do you know about the blog Letters of Note? An amusing entry from them today:

When, in early-1986, Disney executives decided to change the title of their upcoming animated feature from 'Basil of Baker Street' to the less ambiguous 'The Great Mouse Detective', its production team were less than pleased. One animator in particular, Ed Gombert, harnessed his displeasure to comical effect by creating, and circulating, the following: a fake memo purportedly from then-head of department, Peter Schneider, in which he announced the retroactive renaming of Disney's entire back catalogue, bar The Aristocats, in a similarly bland style.

It was a hit, and in fact such was its popularity that the memo soon reached a very unimpressed Jeff Katzenberg, then-CEO of Disney, who, after questioning an entirely innocent Schneider, tried and failed to uncover the identity of the memo's creator. To make matters worse, a copy then found its way to the LA Times.

To Disney's dismay the movie's name was suddenly on everyone's lips, albeit for the wrong reasons.

Transcript follows. Image courtesy of Drawn2gether.

Will this bookshelf kill the publishing industry?

2011-09-13T08:54:00.000-04:00

Here's the Ikea "Billy" bookshelf:

And here's what The Economist says about it:

TO SEE how profoundly the book business is changing, watch the shelves. Next month IKEA will introduce a new, deeper version of its ubiquitous “BILLY” bookcase. The flat-pack furniture giant is already promoting glass doors for its bookshelves. The firm reckons customers will increasingly use them for ornaments, tchotchkes and the odd coffee-table tome—anything, that is, except books that are actually read.

Although it's hard to ignore the fact that publishing is changing, leaning more toward the digital, here's what I thought when I saw this bookshelf a few weeks ago at Ikea: "Wow, I should get one of those next paycheck. I could fit so many books in that thing!" As such, I think I tend to agree with this article:

You know what you can put in a deeper bookshelf? More books!

Right? A more capacious shelf doesn't have to mean that "customers will increasingly use them for ornaments, tchotchkes and the odd coffee-table tome--anything, that is, except books that are actually read" -- it also means that there is room for more books, to put on the bookshelf, since it's a bookshelf.

News, and A Clockwork Miracle

2011-09-12T09:13:00.000-04:00

Things are still a bit gloomy around here, but there is one speck of good news: Kip. Is a very cheerful dog.

Greta and Afreet haven't been apart for more than a few hours since they were embryos - this means Greta has never lived in a world without an Afreet, and she is distressed and confused by her sister's sudden absence. For example, Afreet always got her dinner bowl first, and now Greta gets hers and seems a little unsure of what to do with it. I tried to take her outside by herself and she wouldn't move. When she jumps up to bark at something, she looks around as if wondering where Afreet is - and then she forgets to bark. If you are at all familiar with Greta, you will understand that this last thing is especially disconcerting.

All of this would be unrelievedly heartbreaking if it weren't for the fact that Kip is there, being a giant goofus. Need a barking partner? Kip's your dog. Greta doesn't want to walk "by herself"? No problem. She'll walk just fine with Kip. I woke up this morning and they were all snuggled up together. I'm positive Greta will be grieving for Freetsie for a while, but Kip really seems to be helping - and besides, I'm not sure I could have left Greta in the house all alone. So...I'm glad he's there.

But let's not dwell on all this unhappiness. Greta would be the first dog to tell you that life is NOW and there are treats to be eaten, unruly small humans to be barked at, affectionate snuggles to be solicited, naps to be taken, and crickets to be harassed. And for me, interesting radio programs to be downloaded.

Here's a short from Radiolab offering an intoxicating combination: an utterly bizarre artifact, a historical mystery, and people making bargains with their gods. I think you'll like it. You can listen right here, or go here and listen, or download (FOR FREE!) at iTunes and play it on yer iPod. The latest full-length episode, "Games," was also pretty dang excellent - enlightening and disturbing. Anyway, here you go:

Waga Tomo Yasuraka Ni

2011-09-11T18:02:00.000-04:00

If you knew her, today is the day to reflect on the long and adventurous life of Afreet, who died today at the age of 12. Greta, Kip and I are sharing some green tea (me) and Greenies (them) and thinking about all our best memories of one of the sweetest people we ever knew. Farewell, my friend.

Mark Twain's Advice to Little Girls, 1865

2011-07-18T10:41:00.000-04:00

If at any time you find it necessary to correct your brother, do not correct him with mud — never, on any account, throw mud at him, because it will spoil his clothes. It is better to scald him a little, for then you obtain desirable results. You secure his immediate attention to the lessons you are inculcating, and at the same time your hot water will have a tendency to move impurities from his person, and possibly the skin, in spots.

Herding Spiders

2011-07-07T20:25:00.004-04:00

I apologize for the lack of lengthy posts of late - I've somehow ended up on this conference committee, and have spent the last few months trying to get about 1500 archaeologists to play politely with 1) a computer program and 2) one another. Success at either of these would be remarkable; partial success at both is proving rather time-consuming.

I'll have extra responsibilities through this January, but with any luck, I should see the return of some of my free time next week. Here's a brief run-down of my latest unpaid job:

1) I am in charge of processing hundreds of symposium proposals and paper abstracts through computer program I have never used before. Did I mention I'm an archaeologist? Here is a list of things at which I am more proficient than using even the most rudimentary computer functions:

Firing 18th-century flintlock weapons
Manufacturing stone tools
Fletching atlatl darts
Making dye from oak gall and walnuts
Extrapolating a sequence of events on the basis of subtle variations in dirt
Digging holes

2) Rather alarmingly, I am in charge of fielding questions about the conference planning software. See list, above, of things I was doing while everyone else was learning stuff like "formatting documents" and "creating spreadsheets."

3) The conference planning software program was created by a man named Harald who lives in Germany. He will not communicate with me directly; he will only speak to one person who lives in California. So if I have serious issues, I have to e-mail the California person, who then somehow interfaces with Harald. Sometimes, my questions are answered.

4) My ultimate goal is to cobble together an entire conference, using the above-referenced computer program. Then...I have to get all 1500 archaeologists to all their presentations, events, tours, etc. Have you ever been to an archaeological conference? Nobody at this year's conference hotel believes us about the astronomical liquor tabs, but every hotel that has hosted this event for the last 15 years has said that they have never sold so much alcohol in such a short period of time. It's kind of like hosting a pirate conference.

So...there's a brief explanation of what I've been up to. Archaeologists are a cantankerous lot; it's entirely possible that I may be killed before January arrives.

Emperor Tamarins Want Your iPod

2011-07-05T19:13:00.002-04:00

The Achievement

2011-07-01T20:54:00.000-04:00

The IC: (Playing video games) YES! I got the archaeologist achievement!

Me: *

The IC: I've been working on that for FIVE DAYS.

Me: But you actually are an archaeologist.

The IC: I had to work much harder for the achievement than I do at being a real archaeologist.

The IC unlocked an achievement in the real world as well: he got a raise & a promotion (finally!) so now he's an "Archaeologist II" and we're both slightly less broke. Huzzah!

Theatrical Ballroom

2011-07-01T19:36:00.003-04:00

So, the IC loves So You Think You Can Dance. If you also like it, you've probably seen this, so I'm sure you'll enjoy seeing it again.

If you hate it, please PLEASE do yourself a favor and watch this thing anyway. Stick with it until at least 0:33, which is when it starts blowing your mind. It continues in that vein with people being flung about like nunchucks and otherwise behaving as if they're on the moon and gravity is only a state of mind.

It's not contestants, it's Eric Luna and Georgia Ambarian, and they're amazing world champions of dancing so crazy it will make you laugh out loud at how physically impossible this is. OK, enough from me, just watch this!

Kip and his latest found object

2011-06-30T18:39:00.000-04:00

Kip found a ball on his walk with the IC today...he liked chasing it, but didn't really want to pick it up.

Diet Cherry Limeades, Ahoy!

2011-06-29T18:58:00.000-04:00

Yes...soon, Annapolis will have everything. EVERYTHING.

Swings

2011-06-29T07:50:00.000-04:00

Here you will find 25 photographs of dogs in park swings.

Street Fighter

2011-06-25T07:54:00.002-04:00

So it turns out, Kip is kind of a scrapper. Oh, sure, to look at him, you'd think he's just an especially lanky and insouciant Schnauzer. But in fact, he is a deadly wild beast.

About a month ago, Kip & I were out for a walk. Across the street, a lady was walking her dog off-leash while talking on the phone. Her dog was some sort of Jack Russell mix, terrier-like, but bigger than Kip.

Apparently the two dogs had been giving each other the eye, because the dog abruptly darted across the street at top speed and barreled down on Kip, who seemed completely relaxed about the sudden charge. He just stood there, calmly regarding the charging dog, until the instant the dog was upon him, when he sprang upward, grabbed the dog by the throat, and body-slammed the animal into the pavement.

Kip sprang back instantly, and the other dog was up again just as quickly. He flew at Kip again, and this time Kip lunged up underneath his opponent and flipped him lengthwise, again slamming the larger dog onto the ground. The dog rose again and again, but each time Kip simply put him on the ground and danced clear. Finally, the lady made it across the street and was able to collect her dog.

I won't even go into my usual diatribe about off-leash dogs. I actually felt kind of bad about the whole thing, even though Kip was on-leash and had been acting in self-defense. For his part, Kip seemed pretty pleased with himself. He gave me a smiley look as if to say, "That was fun, wasn't it?" and continued on his way as if nothing had happened.

Ever since Greta, Afreet and I were attacked by dogs in Austin, I've prepared myself to administer debilitating injuries to any dog who looks like he might hurt one of mine, but there was no question of Kip's total dominance over the larger dog. His repeated, decisive, defensive attacks were totally successful, much to my surprise.

Last night, the IC was walking Kip around our complex when they encountered one of our neighbor's perennially off-leash dogs, a 100+ pound black Labrador mix named Harley. Harley is aggressive and unpredictable, so we try to keep an eye out for him.

This time, Harley surprised the IC. With little time to decide how to handle the situation, the IC immediately turned and started walking away, hoping Harley's owner might be able to call him off. But it quickly became clear that Harley was hell-bent on some sort of confrontation.

Kip moved between the IC and the charging dog. He seemed utterly unconcerned about the approach of the snarling Lab, despite the substantial difference in size. In a blur of movement, as Harley flew toward the IC, Kip crouched and leaped, seizing the lab's windpipe in his jaws and wrestling the larger dog to a standstill.

The IC said it looked like Kip hadn't gotten a good grip, so he released Harley, then forced him back in a brief but confusing whirl of snarling and snapping and growling. Finally, Harley's owner caught up to his dog and managed to drag him away, but he was clearly impressed. He told the IC, "Sorry about that, but - damn, your dog is bad-ass! He totally took Harley down!"

Somehow I doubt that even this chastisement will cause our neighbor to start walking his dog on a leash, but it's nice to know that Kip can comport himself so well in a fight. It's hard not to feel kind of proud of him, even though we have nothing to do with this mysterious fighting ability.

Although Kip seems like a Clydesdale compared to Greta and Afreet, he's just a little guy, barely topping 2 feet in height and weighing in at just under 20 pounds. I'm sure a determined opponent could make mincemeat of him, but we're impressed by his technique and panache.

I sincerely hope he won't have to get into any more scraps, and that our neighbors will start obeying the leash rules, but it's good to know he can handle the occasional confrontation if he has to. So, if you don't want your dog to be authoritatively schooled by my 20-pound miniature Schnauzer, keep your dog on a leash.

That's right. Watch out for my tiny savage dog.

I think this bear might be my spirit animal.

2011-06-16T18:29:00.003-04:00

I can't resist a water-filled tub, either.

I like the part where he blows bubbles with his nose.

Happy Birthday(s)!

2011-06-16T18:16:00.001-04:00

Today is Greta and Afreet's 12th birthday!

The internet evidently decided to celebrate with this lovely series of photos by Nancy Levine called Senior Dogs Across America. I'm not remotely as talented a photographer as Ms. Levine, but I have a little photo retrospective of my own to share on this special day...

I made them their special birthday dinner, took them for special walkies, and sang them the birthday song. They seemed to like it.

Animal Detective News

2011-06-06T08:44:00.000-04:00

How often have you looked up at a kettle of vultures drifting in their (apparently) aimless aerial circles, and thought, "If only there were some way we could put those vultures to work?" Well, that's the difference between you and the German police. Via the BBC:

Three feathered detectives - called Sherlock, Miss Marple and Columbo - are being trained in Walsrode bird park in northern Germany.
The birds' keen eyesight and acute sense of smell might make them as skilful as their fictional namesakes.
But worryingly Sherlock sometimes prefers to hunt on foot, rather than scan the ground from above.
Police used a piece of shroud from a mortuary for the training exercise, German media report.
The vultures are thought to be better than sniffer dogs at finding bodies when a large area has to be searched and the terrain is difficult, for example if it is densely overgrown.
But the experiment raises ethical concerns because of the risk that a vulture could start pecking at a dead body, the Berliner Morgenpost newspaper says.
This week Miss Marple and Columbo, from a zoo in Austria, joined Sherlock for the exercise in the reserve, north of Hanover.
Police are using three birds because the vultures prefer to roam big areas as a group.
"The vultures may work much more effectively than sniffer dogs," said a Hanover police officer, Rainer Herrmann.
"There's a lot of interest in this. We've had inquiries from Germany, Austria and Switzerland," he said.

Amazing New Blog

2011-06-06T04:54:00.000-04:00

My nephew Owen has a summer blog! You can find it here: Owen's Summer Blog. What a good idea! Good luck, Owen!

I know what you're wondering...

2011-06-02T17:54:00.000-04:00

...and yes, there ARE puppy bouquets now. But no, not actual bouquets of actual puppies (unfortunately?).

So if they're making puppies out of flowers, it totally makes sense that actual puppies (and stuffed animal puppies and other stuff) are now being incorporated into haute couture, right?

100 Hours

2011-06-01T11:10:00.001-04:00

I love this story. From the Melbourne Herald Sun:

Jessie, a four-year-old Jack Russell, became wedged under two huge boulders while chasing a feral cat at Mt Beckworth, near Ballarat.

Owner Steve Porter, who spent more than $2000 on the rescue, had been rabbit hunting. It took a hydraulic ram capable of moving 95 tonnes and 100 hours of digging to free an increasingly distressed Jessie about 9pm on Friday.

The dog, who survived on liver fed to her 3.5m underground by a piece of fencing wire, could move only her head and front paw.

"When we pulled her out and unhooked her she just jumped up the top to where I was and jumped straight into my lap," Mr Porter said.

"It's a miracle, really, when you see the size of the rock and the location and how restricted we were."

Mr Porter and his son Tom initially tried jacks and crowbars with the help of friends Dave Evans and Ben Richards.

They then called the SES, which could move only the smallest boulder before the massive ram was hired from Melbourne to move the bigger 30-tonne rock.

The men toiled as late as 1am through bitterly cold nights.

"We literally moved this massive rock millimetre by millimetre," Mr Porter said.

Lying flat, he pulled Jessie free from her crevice using a dog-catching hoop. "It was quite emotional," he said.

"I think we all just jumped in the air and said: 'Thank God'."

Mr Porter, whose eldest son is a vet, said he had considered putting Jessie down as hope faded but couldn't without trying everything possible.

"Dogs are man's best friend," he said. "We felt we owed it to her. The easiest thing to say was the dog would die or we could say let's give her a good hard go. And we did. We rallied together and we said 'We can do this'. Where there's hope there is life."

Eastwood Vets' Dr Ruth Gore said although dehydrated and muddy, Jessie had survived the incident relatively unscathed.

The tidbits of meat and cooler weather were key factors in the dog's amazing survival.

"Jack Russells are tough little dogs," she said.

Click here to view photo gallery.

<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://video.news.com.au/1959670201/Dogged-determination"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;VIDEO: Dogged determination&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;gt;</p>

The Shy and Elusive Mole Kingsnake

2011-05-29T07:00:00.005-04:00

Here's a little fellow I never thought I'd spot, not even in the Magical Enchanted Forest Swamp:

This is a little mole kingsnake! Due to their nocturnal, underground-dwelling lifestyles, mole kingsnakes sightings are rare, so information about them is limited. They are most commonly seen while they are on the move, leading one herpetologist to joke that if one were to characterize mole kingsnake habitat based on where most individuals are encountered, the temptation would be to conclude they prefer to live on the road.

I spotted him while walking the dogs last night. He was moving along a large landscaping feature made of large wooden timbers and deep, well-established beds of stones and mulch with lots of ground cover. He slipped between two of the timbers and disappeared before I could get a picture, so we went back again this morning to see if we could find him again.

They're non-venomous and they eat other snakes, lizards, and small rodents. I think they're very pretty and striking - our most common snake in the swamp is the black ratsnake, who is very stylish in black & white...but he gets a little boring after a while. It's nice to have some reptilian variety.

In non-snake animal news, The IC and I reunited a fledgling robin with his mother. He had wandered down into the basement stairwell, so we threw a soft towel over him, and gently took him outside. He actually curled up and fell asleep in the towel. It was pretty adorable.

It was easy to identify his mother - she was the one making agitated noises around a mouthful of worms - so we released him into a relatively safe area near our building. His mom flew to him at once and gave him some dinner, and he was safe and sound when I checked on him the next morning.

Kip and I spotted one really lovely box turtle and a huge snapping turtle on recent walks. And I assisted one errant box turtle across a busy street on Thursday after he was nearly killed by an SUV - it was a near miss, but he appeared totally fine when I released him into the turtle-friendly area he was aiming for. Spring is so nerve-wracking! Keep an eye out for turtles!

Clever Greta

2011-05-27T21:55:00.000-04:00

Greta may not look like a diabolically clever criminal mastermind....

Carefully honed veneer of puppylike innocence

...but she hasn't spent the last twelve years getting by on looks alone. A few days ago, while watching Kip work on a chewie...

Kip: *chew chew chew chew*

Greta: If only there were some way I could take that chewie.

Kip: *chew chew chew chew*

Greta: What I need is a distraction. Something to separate him from the chewie. (Looks out the window). Hmmm. Perhaps if I just....Woof! Woof, arf!

Kip: Huh? Woof! (Runs to window to see what Greta is barking at).

Greta: *yoink!* (Steals chewie, jumps onto sofa and drops chewie behind a pillow. Sits innocently).

Kip: Woof, woof, woo- hey, wait. There's nothing out there! (Turns around). Hey, that's funny. I would swear I had a chewie right here...hmmm....(Wanders around apartment looking for missing chewie).

Greta: *chew chew chew chew*

Kip: *glare*

Cry Havoc, And Let Slip The Dogs of War...but please fly them home after.

2011-05-25T12:24:00.005-04:00

Now EVERYBODY wants a MWD

There's an article on Yahoo today about the sudden surge of interest in adopted retired military dogs - apparently this is due to the interest in Cairo, the dog who single-handedly (pawedly?) killed Osama bin Laden.*

Here's the part that bugged me:

It's not cheap to adopt a military dog, in large part because adoptive owners often have to pay $1,000 to $2,000 to bring them back to the U.S. on commercial flights. Putting a retired dog in a crate on a military cargo flight is against the rules.
When dogs are adopted, they no longer belong to the military, "so it would be fraud, waste and abuse for the DOD to transport that pet," Maj. Gen. Mary Kay Hertog told the Air Force News Service in 2009.
Officially, military dogs are considered equipment, and retired dogs are excess or surplus equipment. Kandoll wants the military to reclassify the dogs as canine veterans. That would take an act of Congress, but it could also ensure that all dogs shipped out of the United States are brought back.
"Uncle Sam gave the dogs a ride over. He should give them a ride back," Kandoll said.
"To me, it's like leaving a soldier behind," said Pickens, who spoke in Encinitas last month at the dedication of a monument to military working dogs.

Excess or surplus equipment? Equipment?? I could offer another solution: if a dog needs to retire while overseas, couldn't they just stick him on a plane while he's still in service and retire him once he's stateside again? How is it fraudulent, wasteful, or abusive to bring them home? That seems totally crazypants to me. I would characterize the practice of shipping a dog overseas to work in a war zone and then leaving him (or her) there as "fraud, waste and abuse."

I guess this is slightly better than the previous practice of just killing them once their "service" is over, but it's still awful. In fact, it's double-awful: it's bad for the dogs, and I'd imagine the human soldiers who work with the dogs pretty much hate it, too. Ugh.

Anyway, you can find out more about adopting retired MWDs (that's "Military Working Dogs" to you civilians) over here.

*This may be a slight exaggeration of Cairo's wartime activities.

I wonder if its top was made out of rubber (and if its bottom was made out of springs)?

2011-05-23T15:27:00.002-04:00

LONDON (AP) — Police scrambled helicopters and ordered tranquilizers to hunt what they feared was an escaped wild animal in southern England — but found that the tiger was a toy.

Hampshire Police say they responded after several residents called in to say they'd seen a white tiger in a field near a golf course in Hedge End, near the English coastal city of Southampton.

A tongue-in-cheek recorded message posted to the force's media line said that after "a brief stalk through the Hedge End savannah ... it became obvious that the tiger was a stuffed, life-sized toy."

A second message posted on Sunday emphasized police had a duty to take such sightings seriously. As for the renegade tiger, "it's being treated as lost property."

It does look remarkably life-like.

Turtles=Amazing

2011-05-23T12:46:00.006-04:00

You may recall that I recently witnessed a lady turtle laying eggs, and that about one month earlier, I spotted a couple of wee little baby turtles making their laborious way toward the relative safety of the Magical Enchanted Forest Swamp. Well, when I looked up "Eastern Painted Turtle" (I think that's what the lady turtle and the baby turtles were), I read this:

Reliant on warmth from its surroundings, the painted turtle is active only during the day when it basks for hours on logs or rocks. During winter, the turtle hibernates, usually in the muddy bottoms of waterways. The turtles mate in spring; between late spring and mid-summer females dig nests on land and lay their eggs. The eggs incubate for around 10 weeks.

So: turtle eggs hang out in the nest for about 70 days before hatching. But then...something's not quite right. If turtles hibernate in the winter (they do), and only lay eggs in May and June (this seems to be the case), and if they incubate for around 70 days...where did those little turtle hatchlings come from??

I spotted the little turtles in mid-April. If they had been in the nest for 70 days, that means their mom would've had to have been up & about and digging holes in February. And it was still freezing in February. So, what gives?

Fortunately, the people at Hilton Pond Center for Piedmont Natural History in South Carolina also witnessed a lady turtle laying eggs one summer, and they were also curious about what would happen. So, they made a little protective mesh covering (to make sure predators didn't find and raid the nest) and waited the requisite 70-72 days. And waited. And waited. The 72-day window passed.

There were still no baby turtles by October, so they used an upturned aquarium held in place with a chunk of concrete to protect the nest during the cold winter months. Though they checked it every day, the whole winter went by and no baby turtles happened.

Finally, to everyone's surprise, they checked the nest in mid-April and THERE WERE TURTLES. And the turtles were adorable:

These little guys are pretty much the same size as the turtles I saw...also in mid-April. See?

Greta's feet are about the size of a half dollar

The researchers examined the baby turtles and noted that the little scars where the egg yolk sacs were once attached to the turtles' plastrons looked like they had healed a while ago:

This led them to conclude that the turtles had hatched during the winter, but since it was cold and they couldn't survive in the freezing temperatures, they simply opted to remain in the nest in a hibernation state until the weather got warmer. But according to the Algonquin Wildlife Research Center, the explanation is even more remarkable:

Even though Painted Turtles hatch from their egg in September, the turtle hatchlings do not emerge from the nest until the following spring. Baby Painted Turtles do not head to the water and spend the winter at the bottom of ponds as other young turtles do. Instead, they "freeze solid" withstanding temperatures as cold as -10°C under the layer of sand and snow. A special protein produced by the turtle's liver allows ice crystal to develop in a uniform manner within the baby turtle's body. They also produce natural antifreeze that prevents the cells from freezing and becoming damaged. Thus, only the water out outside of the cells is actually frozen.

This is just one way in which turtles=amazing.

Kip-i-versary

2011-05-21T17:07:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow is Kip's first anniversary with us! Here is what I have learned: if you adopt a rescue dog, withhold all judgment about his or her personality, abilities, temperament, etc., for about a year. It takes a year of TLC and hard work to overcome whatever experiences the dog may have had in the past, and start to build trust and friendship. Happily, I think we've made it. Here are some of the things Kip has learned this year:

I will always take him for lots of walkies.

Kip knows the Swamp Creature is real, and practices Constant Vigilance!

He loves to run and explore.

Kip has learned to walk nicely on the leash like a proper little gentleman dog.

He has learned very nice manners...

...because he knows I always have treats in my pockets.

He doesn't bow to conventions - he does things his own way.

Yay, Kip! We're so glad to have you with us. Happy 1-year adopt-a-versary!

So That's Where Baby Turtles Come From

2011-05-21T14:41:00.000-04:00

Today the IC found an eastern painted turtle laying eggs on the fringes of the Magical Enchanted Forest Swamp:

This explains why I found those teeny tiny turtles right in that same location last month! Eastern painted turtles live in slow-moving fresh water (like the Magical Enchanted Forest Swamp, which isn't supposed to be a swamp at all - it's actually a small branch of a larger creek) and come to dry land from late spring until midsummer to lay their eggs. I suppose they like the light, sandy soil up here on the ridge - it's easy to dig.

Hell-fish

2011-05-19T11:32:00.000-04:00

Rubbish Rainbows

2011-05-18T17:44:00.000-04:00

I suppose we have to do something with all our trash. Why not this?

Greenbury Point Redux

2011-05-10T19:04:00.003-04:00

A couple of years ago, I did a little post about a walk the IC, Greta, Afreet & I took at Greenbury Point. Now that the weather is so lovely, it seems lots of people are interested in visiting Greenbury, and some have questions about the place - about the mysterious radio towers in particular. So, I thought I'd revisit Greenbury Point in a little more detail.

Current USGS Map of Greenbury Point

Today, Greenbury Point is part of the United States Naval Academy, but the Greenbury Point Nature Center and around 1.5 miles of trails are open to the public. It's beautiful there, and if you look at my earlier post, you can see why it's such a nice place to visit.

It's probably a good idea to stay on the trails (and keep your dog leashed and on the trails as well), since Greenbury is in the Naval Station Rifle Range's overshot zone. Greenbury Point is home to a variety of animal species, including white-tailed deer, red fox, bobwhite quail, osprey, raccoons, woodchucks, blue birds, and great blue herons. It's also a haven for some unusual grassland birds, including the eastern meadowlark, Lincoln sparrow, and yellow breasted chat.

So...what about those towers? These are remnants of the Naval Radio Transmitter Facility (NRTF), which was established at Greenbury Point in August of 1918, in the midst of World War I. That year, four 600-foot towers were constructed, in response to concerns that Germany might disrupt communications between the U.S. and its allies in Britain and France. More towers were constructed throughout the 1920s and 1930s, and the facility was in use until the 1990s. There were once 19 radio towers on Greenbury, but now only the three remain.

In 1996, there were all kinds of towers and other structures associated with the NRTF on Greenbury Point, and the site was considered eligible for listing on the National Register of Historic Places. Since so many of these structures have been demolished to make way for the nature preserve, a recent evaluation of the property determined that it has lost its historic character and isn't eligible anymore. That might sound kind of bad, but it's such a nice place...I'm not sure I really mind. And besides, it had plenty of history before the NRTF came along...

Greenbury Point in 1860...when it was known as "Greensberry Point"

Yes! This post is going to have historic maps. The map above shows Greenbury Point in 1860. There's a road down to the point, and it looks like there's a lighthouse there as well. I found a photo of it and it's delightful:

The Greenbury Point Light in 1885

The light shown above was constructed in 1848. By 1878, the Lighthouse Board was reporting that erosion at the point threatened the light, and that its location made it difficult to see the light against the city lights from Annapolis on the other side of the Severn. The light was deactivated in 1891, and a new screwpile light was constructed on a shoal about a half mile south of the point. Here's a picture of the replacement light, circa 1925 (it reminds me of the Holland Island Murder Light!):

See the radio tower in the background?

These little screwpile lights were vulnerable to ice, and this one was badly damaged during cold weather in 1918. It was replaced with a little automatic light on a skeleton frame on top of the original screwpile foundation. The weird-looking thing was known locally as the "Spider Buoy." Here's an example:

Hooper's Strait Spider Buoy. Rumor has it the Greenbury Spider Buoy is gone!

Perhaps you are now wondering what else has ever happened at Greenbury Point. Archaeological investigations have found prehistoric sites on the point, so it's been occupied, or at least visited, by humans for thousands of years. Then, back in 1649 or 1650, a bunch of people who were too non-conformist for Virginia arrived. I'm not kidding! See:

That's from our old friend Joshua Dorsey Warfield's The Founders of Anne Arundel and Howard Counties, Maryland, which you can read right here. He offers a nice capsule summary of the early history of Greenbury Point:

OF COURSE it was Edward Lloyd. If you get into the early history of Maryland, you quickly learn that if something happened, it's probably because Edward Lloyd did it. Anyway, thanks to Edward Lloyd, desirable non-conformist immigrant, Greenbury Point (aka Greenberry Point) is part of the earliest European settlement in Anne Arundel County, but the place takes its name from Nicholas Greenberry, a relative latecomer to the settlement. Several records indicate that he lived, died, and was originally buried on Greenbury Point, although his tomb (and that of his wife) are now over at Saint Anne's in Annapolis. Here's his tombstone:

Archaeologists have found the remains of brick kilns, houses, a tavern, and a variety of other sites dating from the 17th century! None of the earliest maps of Maryland show many structures on the point, but I still think it's nice to look at them. Here's the 1795 map (why is everything I want to look at on a fold? No fair):

Those towers are the most visible remnant of the history of Greenbury Point, but the place is absolutely packed with human history and prehistory. One of the things I love about it is that its relative emptiness makes it easy to imagine what it might have been like at various points in the past. If you go, let me know what you think!