Maggie's Farm

Chris took this photo in Connecticut on Saturday, and sent it over with an email which said drily "I have some reason to believe this might be the Nantucket Lightship."

Coast Guard Lightships marked the dangerous Nantucket Shoals since 1854. The Shoals are located on the heavily-trafficked transatlantic route to New York, 50 miles off the Nantucket coast. This lightship, "Nantucket 2," was decommisioned in 1983.

She has been refurbished as an elegant charter and events ship. The photos of the interior would surely not be recognizable to the guys who manned her.

You can tour the Ambrose Lightship, familiar to all sea travellers due to its old ocean station outside New York Harbor, in its original condition at New York's South Street Seaport.

It's good fun to look for villa rentals in Tuscany. One has to wonder how people found these things before Al Gore invented the internet.

We like this one, south of Siena and not too far from the tourist trap of San Gimignano. Sleeps 12, if you are lucky enough to have some friends.

A piece in which the Viola does not play second fiddle. What fun these guys have with this piece.

Our contributor Roger de Hauteville, the one-time King of Sicily, reminded me of Roxy Music the other day. Some called them the triumph of artifice over substance, and some saw in them the precursors of punk and other pop styles. I have no idea why this was called "art rock" and "glam rock," but it was, and it isn't really my cup of meat but it is lively.

from Peanuts, The Lost Strips (h/t, reader)

Only a person in Rhode Island could make this up. From the state where drunk driving is considered a manly sport comes this tale (thanks, Craig):

Recently a routine police patrol parked outside a bar in Lincoln, RI.  After last call at the Lodge, the officer noticed a man leaving the bar so apparently intoxicated that he could barely walk. The man stumbled around the parking lot for a few minutes, with the officer quietly observing.  After what seemed an eternity in which he tried his keys on five different vehicles, the man managed to find his car and fall into it. He sat there for a few minutes as a number of other patrons left the bar and drove off.

Finally he started the car, switched the wipers on and off - it was a fine, dry summer night- flicked the blinkers on and off a couple of times, honked the horn and then switched on the lights.  He moved the vehicle forward a few inches, reversed a little and then remained still for a few more minutes as some more of the other patrons' vehicles left.

At last, when his was the only car left in the parking lot, he pulled out and drove slowly down the road headed toward 146. The police officer, having waited patiently all this time, now started up his patrol car, put on the flashing lights, promptly pulled the man over and administered a breathalyzer test.

To his amazement, the breathalyzer indicated no evidence that the man had consumed any alcohol at all! Dumbfounded, the officer said, I'll have to ask you to accompany me to the police station. This breathalyzer equipment must be broken."  "I doubt it," said the truly proud driver.  "Tonight I'm the designated decoy."

One more load yesterday morning. This is well-seasoned White Ash, the tree from which baseball bats are made. I see some log-splitting in my future. 

Yes, that squiggly green thing on the window is a Fisher's Island sticker, for those with sharp eyes. Very nice place, Fisher's - but no place for tourists. This truck can use the Fisher's Island dump.

Femme Fatale. It was never clear to me whether Nico was forced on the Velvet Underground by Warhol, or whether they wanted her. Nico, as many recall, died young of a stroke. (Those who say that she sounds like Lilly von Schtupp when she says "twue" are cruel-hearted.)

We at Maggie's Farm would never publicly admit to aspirations to grandeur. Life's harsh schoolmistress teaches us humility daily.

We know we are destined to be a boutique blog, with a certain sensibility and many shortcomings which will prevent us from becoming mass market. Plus we do not have the time, or, really, the motivation, for fresh reporting. Furthermore, we do not bother with ads which would only compllcate our taxes for little gain, while compressing our space.

It is encouraging, though, for us to view our growth in an international blogosphere which is overloaded with interesting things to read. And yes, I know we post too much, too often. That is one of our many flaws.

According to our internal stats, we are running an average of about 4000 visits/weekday. In September, 145,000 visits and over a half-million page views. (Multiple visits do not count - and we get happily get plenty of 'em.)  We quit looking at our millions of hits per month, which mean little. We are small, but not invisible. Our average length of stay is 3-4 minutes, which is very long for any blog or website: it either means that we are interesting... or that our visitors are slow readers.

The less-accurate Sitemeter shows a lower number, but nonetheless shows a steady pattern of growth: we have never had a month without readership growth since we began keeping stats in March, 2006 - unless you count the occasional months following mega-links. The graph looks good, and tells us that the market for Maggie's Farm is not yet saturated.

And don't even ask about those old Truth Laid Bare rankings. That site hasn't updated us since 2006, despite several emails to them, so I think they are non-functional as a source of blog data. Let's just say that we are the Eastern Box Turtle of the Blogosphere.

If you like us, and know folks who might also enjoy us - even if they do not agree with our politics - send us around. We know there are plenty of people out there who might like Maggie's, but have never stumbled upon us. We welcome civil, informed debate, disagreement, and genteel correction, and, in fact, we are never truly certain about most of our bold assertions.

One more thought: Leave a comment on a post if you have a thought to share. Don't be shy. We read most of 'em, sooner or later. Our commenting is easy: no illegible letters to type in for security. Our high-tech anti-spam takes care of that for us.

Photo: The mascot of Maggie's Farm: A very young Eastern Box Turtle, a cheerful, slow and steady critter who likes rainy days and eats almost anything. At this time of year, they are fattening up for a long hibernation. Around here, they spend half of their life cozily buried in restful hibernation - October to April or May.

This YouTube sometimes seems to get stuck. Just push the button forward through the stuck place. That is Marcia Ball with her New Orleans band and her hot boogie-woogie pianny. I heard her live 2 years ago. She is not a shrinking violet.

To be 16 again... A quote today from the 16 year-old pup this morning: "Tell Mom when she gets home from church that I'm meeting friends at Grand Central. We're going to SoHo to hit some galleries and have lunch. I'll be back on the 6:30 train. Can I borrow the credit card? Thanks, Dad - Love ya. Wait, do you have any spare cash?"

When I was 16, NYC had the same gravitational pull on me that it does on her. It still does, I guess. When Aristotle said "Man is a political animal," he meant an animal of the "polis." I like 'em all: polis, suburban, and rural, but have always aspired to "rus in urba" (or is it "urb"?) as a half-baked and unsatisfying, but necessary, compromise. As long as we can hop a train, or hop in the car, we can have it all. Farm, city, and friendly suburban neighborhood. What a great country!

So pleased with her vitality and investment in life that I forgot to ask whether she meant the 6:30 departure or the 6:30 arrival.