Maggie's Farm

Here are just a few of my observations and thoughts about our trip to northern Italy:

1. There must be a law that, in settled areas, there can be no spot from which one cannot hit a Gelateria with a stone.

2. Essentially no American visitors up there. Lots of Scandinavians, Germans, Swiss and Brits - and Italians from the south. Plus some French and Japanese. A small handful of American honeymooners. All of the trattorias have some German stuff on the menu, like wiener schnitzel with French fries.

3. Never eat a pizza in Italy, except maybe around Naples. The Italians make terrible pizza. Domino's is far better, and Domino's ain't so good. The Dyl says that the California Pizza chain is the best, California Pizza Kitchen or whatever it is called. They should open some in Italy.

4.  The driver who drove us to the airport in Milan (who had been a sous-chef in London in a previous life and who is planning a trip to Montana in September) brought us up to date on the Wall Street arrests. He said that the Italians were mightily impressed. "Here," he said, "businessmen and politicians never get arrested. That is why we have no trust in our institutions."

5. The microclimate around the large lakes of the Piedmont permits the growing of palms and citrus within view of snow-capped Alps. Quite unique. You can grow anything there, hence all of the famous gardens.

6. Internet access there is a major pain. They don't seem to have wireless anywhere, and the hotels charge you between 15-22 Euros per hour to use their half-assed and temperamental connections.

7. It was great fun to hang out with the Dyl. He has big energy and a strong sense of adventure, and his Italian came in handy at times, too. He beat me at chess on one of those outdoor giant-size boards you can walk on, on the edge of Lago Maggiore. I played White: my attack was overly aggressive and I stubbed my toe with my bishop. He knows how to exploit somebody's error.

More observations to come over the next week or so...and more photos, including ones from our side trip into the Italian Alps.

Here's one of the albino peacocks that inhabit the Borromeo islands, perched on an urn in the rain in the incredible gardens of Isola Bella. The cliche "proud as a peacock" is not without merit. The baroque style Italian gardens of Isola Bella are among the most famous gardens in the world, and parts of them are reminiscent (I think) of the hanging gardens of Babylon.

More photos of Isola Bella below:

Nice trip. Saw a lot. Nice to be back, too. Will share some thoughts about it shortly, and some photos, but I don't have time to do that right now. Many thanks to Dr. Merc for pitching in to help Team Maggie.

Also, on this trip I think I managed to persuade our Dylanologist (by plying him with Barbera D'Asti and plenty of food) to post, in the near future, some pieces about 1) The historical white slave trade in Africa 2) The new questions about Continental Drift theory and 3) The final days of the Roman Empire (with special attention to the last chariot race in the Circus Maximus and to the day that the aqueducts ceased to carry water to a dying Rome). The Dyl has a wide range of interests - as we all do, here on the Farm, and the catastrophic collapse of Roman civilization in the West is of great interest to all of us.

But, first, this unique and historically symbolic photo which demonstrates my successful delivery of the Skippy Peanut Butter (one Extra Crunchy, one Smooth) to the Dyl and his peanut butter-deprived friends in Italy, from my hotel balcony overlooking lovely Lago Maggiore. Where else would you find such an odd photo except here at Maggies?

The Amazing Rhythm Aces (1976) - h/t, Reader

This is the Fin-Duck Sauna Cruising Boat. It's probably a bit large to function as a decoy:

Leonard Bernstein's acclaimed 1973 lecture series at Harvard, The Unanswered Question, was directed towards a general audience rather than towards musicians.

You can buy the DVD at Amazon, or ask your library to buy them.

Here's a sample:

An official distinction between formal and informal essays.

We mostly do the informal, here.

St. Johnsbury, VT is about 40 miles south of the Canadian border, and with a population around 7000 it is the main town in Vermont's rural Northeast Kingdom. Calvin Coolidge went to school there and Dr. Bob of AA fame grew up there.

You drive through St. Johnsbury on the way to somewhere else, such as grouse hunting in NH or Maine. It's a sad, run-down old town today, with plenty of poverty and few jobs, and it gives you the feeling that those with the inner resources to leave, do so.

Except for the farmers, the logging truck drivers and the Maple sugar bottlers, it's lots of folks on Vermont welfare who would have much better lives if they took a deep American breath and left the squalor behind by taking a bus to Atlanta, Alabama, or Arizona to find a new life and a real job where they could be of use.

This 1900 fixer-upper pictured can be had for $89,000. I wouldn't take it if you gave me $89,000, unless it was wintertime and I was desperate for shelter. No amount of money could make this house charming or homey, but shelter is shelter and, in VT in the winter, ya gotta have some and to hell with charm.

Why are New Yorkers the way that they are? Joan Acocella in Smithsonian.

And an annoyed response by the Chicagoan Huston.

This 1866 Currier and Ives print depicts the "miniature ship" Red White and Blue. Details as listed on the print:

Length 26 Feet. Breadth of Beam 6 Feet 1 Inch. Depth of Hold 2 Ft. 8 In. 2 33/100 Tons Register. On her Voyage from New York to London, August 1866 with Capts Hudson & Fitch & dog Fanny. Sailed from New York July 9th arrived at Margate, August 16th 1866

Gene Autry (1945):

When I die, I want to die like my grandfather who died peacefully in his sleep. Not screaming like all the passengers in his car."
-Author Unknown

Advice for the day: If you have a lot of tension and you get a headache, do what it says on the aspirin bottle: "Take two aspirin" and "Keep away from children."
-Author Unknown

"Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar."
-Drew Carey

"The problem with the designated driver program, it's not a desirable job, but if you ever get sucked into doing it, have fun with it.  At the end of the night, drop them off at the wrong house."
-Jeff Foxworthy

"If a woman has to choose between catching a fly ball and saving an infant's life, she will choose to save the infant's life without even considering if there is a man on base."
-Dave Barry

"Relationships are hard.  It's like a full time job, and we should treat it like one.  If your boyfriend or girlfriend wants to leave you, they should give you two weeks' notice. There should be severance pay, and the day before they leave you, they should have to find you a temp."
-Bob Ettinger"

A study in the Washington Post says that women have better verbal skills than men. I just want to say to the authors of that study: "Duh."
-Conan O'Brien

"Why does Sea World have a seafood restaurant??  I'm halfway through my fish burger and I realize, Oh my God...I could be eating a slow learner."
-Lynda Montgomery

"I think that's how Chicago got started. Bunch of people in New York said, 'Gee, I'm enjoying the crime and the poverty, but it just isn't cold enough. Let's go west.'"
-Richard Jeni

"If life were fair, Elvis would be alive and all the impersonators would be dead."
-Johnny Carson

"Sometimes I think war is God's way of teaching us geography."
-Paul Rodriguez

"My parents didn't want to move to Florida, but they turned sixty and that's the law."
-Jerry Seinfeld

"Remember in elementary school, you were told that in case of fire you have to line up quietly in a single file line from smallest to tallest. What is the logic in that? What, do tall people burn slower?"
-Warren Hutcherson

"Bigamy is having one wife/husband too many. Monogamy is the same."
-Oscar Wilde

"Our bombs are smarter than the average high school student. At least they can find Afghanistan "
-A. Whitney Brown

"You can say any foolish thing to a dog, and the dog will give you a look that says,  'My God, you're right! I never would've thought of that!'"
-Dave Barry

Do you know why they call it "PMS"? Because "Mad Cow Disease" was taken.
- Unknown, presumed deceased

"Everybody's got to believe in something. I believe I'll have another beer."
-W. C. Fields

This is an elegant 2003 70' Hinckley. Hinckley builds sailboats to order, but it makes sense to buy a used one. Her details here. They are asking $3,400,000., and worth every penny.

Before the Renaissance, artists (like composers and songwriters) were artisans and did not sign their work, similar to illustrators and jingle-composers today. The "Master of St. Cecilia" decorated churches in Assisi and in Florence from around 1300-1320.

This fresco is from his Legends of St. Francis, #27 (A heretic confessing) in the Upper Church, San Francesco, Assisi (1300)

A re-post from last spring:

Mohonk. My Gramp's favorite place, and one of my Pa's favorites, if you don't include Tuscany or Norway. When you arrive, your first view of the place in the woods is astonishing. Great rock-climbing in the Gunks.

Tanglewood. Stay in Lenox, or at the 200 year-old  Red Lion in Stockbridge, not too far from Maggie's Farm.

Chatauqua. Yes, it still exists and is going strong, with mental stimulation.

The Mount Washington Hotel. A grand year-round place, if you ski or snowshoe.

Chatham Bars Inn. Mostly summer, on the elbow of the Cape. My preference for the Cape is early September: water is warm, the crowds thin out, and the migratory birds are everywhere.

Monhegan Island. Get away from it all, even more so than Cuttyhunk.

Wellfleet. The real old regular-folks Cape, without the nouveau riche of Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard and their Hummers.

Photo: Monhegan Island, from this guy's photo site

Sempre libera, from Traviata:

However, some of us will remain on the farm to milk the chickens, feed the cows, let in the mouse and to kick the dog - and we have also pre-posted and re-posted some good stuff to keep things interesting here.

So stay tuned!

We will be based in Stresa. Will bring camera and my usual pitiful photo skills. The best part is that, unlike Florence, Rome, or Milan (we are bypassing Milan), there is not much to buy up there. No shopping to speak of. And internets? I won't even bother to try. Or maybe I will try to post some photos if I can.

Photo: The Grand Hotel Majestic, in Stresa on Lago Maggiore.

A guy once told me that he left his only copy of a (typewritten) book manuscript in a NYC taxicab. Never saw it again. He was in a hurry, on his way to copying it before delivering it to a publisher. It was a novel. He tried to rewrite it, but finally said the hell with it. Now he just writes essays.

Brit secret security documents left on train.

DO NOT accidentally carry your very favorite Spyder penknife in your pocket when on your way to a flight. It ends up in the garbage can. Happened to me last time.

The garbagemen must have fun finding goodies in those airport cans. That was a $55 pocket knife.

I remember also getting hassled at Canadian Customs a couple of years ago as they rummaged through my luggage. "Any knives?" they asked. "Well, my Swiss Army Knife is in there." This was a hunting trip. Big lecture about bringing knives into Canada, and they took it away from me. Good grief. But it was a rusty old one, and the essential beer bottle-top opener was rusted into the case.

It's a good thing they didn't find the sharpened grapefruit spoon I always travel with, in case I encounter a good grapefruit.

This is Heade's Newbury Marshes (c. 1871) from the John Wilmerding Collection.  Newburyport, MA lies on the coast 40 miles north of Boston, at the mouth of the Merrimack River.

In those days, salt marshes were used for cattle grazing, and salt hay was harvested for winter fodder. Over the past 100 years, the once-vast Atlantic coast salt marshes have been devastated by fill, development, and by channelization in the early 1900s in an effort to reduce mosquitoes (Malaria was a big problem in New England at the turn of the century.) In one of the coastal New England towns I grew up in, the salt marsh acreage dropped from 1000 acres to 30 acres, mostly since 1940.

I think the subject of Salt Marshes will need to be a future post.

Our post on Race in the Race a few weeks ago reminded me of the several posts we have done over recent years about tribalism and trust, making the rather obvious point that people tend towards "affinity groups" because they are more likely to know where the others are coming from. When there are enough socio-cultural affinities between people, we call it a "tribe." (I have often heard Jews refer to fellow Jews as "the tribe.")

Tribes share, among other things, social signals and cues - the most important being "trust cues." (I was amused and pleased to see that our 2006 bit on Trust Cues and Tribalism was the top of Google when you search "Trust Cues." Very cool.)

I more or less know what to expect from a fellow white middle-aged heterosexual New England Protestant somewhat over-educated professional person who dresses sort-of like I do. I do not know exactly what to expect, but approximately and statistically. And if they like to study wildlife, to garden, to hunt, to mess with boats, and to talk about politics, then even more so. The odds are that we will know each other's rules, codes, signals, cues, language, manners, sense of humor, personal boundaries - even tastes. (Not necessarily their politics, though. My "tribe" has enormous political diversity.)

The further we move from our own tribe into the realm of "the other," the less effective we become at reading the signals and cues. I can use as simple an example as attending a Roman Catholic Mass: I feel awkward because I don't know when to stand or sit, or whether they want me to join in Communion or not. All people, I think, have a comfort bias and a trust bias in favor of their own tribes, and I do not feel that that is a bad thing: it's rational. "Birds of a feather..."

I believe that much of what is termed "racism" has little to do with race. Mitt Romney's Mormonism is a case in point. I think it was a real issue. People don't know what the Mormon view of the world is, what they are taught, how they raise their kids, what they think about, etc. - and are not interested enough in the subject to learn about it. All we know is "It seems kinda strange" - and "strange" = "a stranger."

Thus are our "stranger," tribal instincts ignited. It's not about skin color at all. Some of us are fascinated by "the other," some are a little bit curious, some are hostile, but most folks just don't care to be bothered very much with other cultures. The "multiculturalism" movement of the last decade sought to suppress that Stranger Instinct (for some good reasons, and some bad) - but it cannot be done because it is anchored in reason as well as in biology. All the multicult fascists and nannies managed to do was to silence people while, unfortunately, heightening our everyday consciousness of our differences.

So I finally arrive at the Rev. Wright subject. The Rev. Wright preaches a Black Liberation "theology" which, as best I can tell, seems to have only a superficial relationship to any Christianity I have seen (and which is an ideology that seems to have racial hatred built into its core). However, they seem to be dedicated to doing some good and charitable works in Chicago. But my point is that when Wright preaches "God damn America" I instantly know that I am dealing with another tribe. I cannot tell whether his is hyperbolically throwing red meat to work up the crowd, or whether he means it.

I cannot read the signals at all, and that makes me uneasy and distrustful. Rightly so, in my view: I feel like I have wandered into the wrong pew.

That's all a long-winded way of getting around to linking some of our past posts on the general subject:

Scared by his own research on multiculturalism

The Diversity Cult

Signaling Theory

Trust Cues and Tribalism

Masquerades and Clothing Signaling

Photo: Alaskan Eskimos exist in a culture which is totally alien to me.

Thanks, reader

The Wooden Boat Show. June 27-29, at Mystic Seaport, Mystic, CT.

"Deceptive simplicity." An "artist's artist."

Auction at Christie's of Scott's work in London on June 6.

This is Blue Frying Pan.

Shorpy's comment: September 1940. "Mountaineer trying to change tire with a fence post as a jack. Up south fork of the Kentucky River, Breathitt County." 35mm nitrate negative by Marion Post Wolcott for the Farm Security Administration.

Richard Wiseman of Quirkology seeks the funniest jokes in the world.

Of course, Monty Python already addressed this subject:

A quote from a Cindy in the Wind Amazon review of Shelly Lewis' Five Lessons I Didn't Learn From Breast Cancer (And One Big One I Did):

Have you received a breast cancer diagnosis? Got a friend who has? Before you make another move, read this funny and truthful lowdown from Shelley Lewis, whose emotional viewpoint matches mine so precisely I can't shake the feeling that I should've written it myself (after all, I went through this a year before she did). Unlike just about every other book on the breast cancer "experience," with its pretty pink cover and its crapola about how dealing with breast cancer will make you a "better person" (just like it supposedly made its author!), Lewis gets down to the real nitty-gritty. Namely: Breast cancer, at least for some people, isn't a "spiritual growth program," a "journey" or a "gift." It's not the ultimate opportunity for the perfect boob makeover. It's not necessarily going to turn you into Lance Armstrong and an inspiration to everyone. It's just a DISEASE--a scary, upsetting DISEASE that makes you hope you can get through the treatment so you can get back to your life--if at all possible.

A friend who has had breast cancer sent some quotes from the book, with the comment: "I Finally Found My Club! Good laughs @ all the BC bullshit. Thought this book might be helpful if you know others who aren't using their B.C to accomplish a spiritual makeover... & don't expect B.C. to fix what's wrong w/ them."

"My only growth was the one removed by the surgeon."

"Its completely life affirming to want to remain who you essentially are, good...and bad, rather than make permanent accomodations for a disease that you have to believe is just passing through."

"Lots of us decide we don't have to stop our lives to have cancer with all the trimmings - support groups, chat room visits... You don't see a lot of TV or magazine stories about those of us trying to keep b.c. impact to a miniumum."

"I felt about the Cancer Club the same way I did when I got my first invitation to join AARP."

"I draw the line at "Cancer was a gift"... You hear it a lot"

"B.C. wasn't a journey that led me to anywhere worth going...."

"Wherever you go on b.c. web sites somebody is trying to sell you an angel...I hate to say it but if you had a guardian angel before you got b.c., apparently that angel was a fuckup....(or) a slacker..and not just angels, fairies too.  I don't know where fairies land on the spiritual ladder ...(but) it seems that those of us who battle serious diseases are practically being overrun with them.  If Lou Dobbs weren't so concerned with Mexicans sneaking across our borders, he'd probably do a big expose about fairies..."

"Pink Ribbon Barbie" should be stripped, head shaved, (one-breasted) & forced to replace her pink tulle dress with a green hospital gown...."

"I was happy in Healthyville. Couldn't I just get a short-term sublet in b.c.world briefly then move back to my old place..?  I felt pressured to go into the Pink Ghetto, but I couldn't stay there, I couldn't breathe... I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there..."

I tend to agree with Ms. Lewis. Bad disease is a plain bad deal. Scary (if you like life), with little redeeming about it.

As a contrast to our occasional New England houses, a reader thought we might like a peek at the 250-acre Rose Ranch, 50 minutes from Missoula. It's for sale, asking $995,000. Pretty nice views and nice wetlands on it, but 250 acres seems a bit small for Montana. I wonder whether they have Grizzlies.

This is a 46' Palmer-Scotto built in 1939. She is for sale in Belfast, Maine. Details and more photos here.

Milford is a pleasant seaside village with a nice harbor that sits between Bridgeport and New Haven, and is a bit far for a NYC commute although it has a Metro North train station and a number of intrepid train commuters. Its fine harbor lies at the mouth of the Housatonic River. It's a comfortable but not wealthy middle-class town which doesn't put on airs but which has fairly high property taxes, and has a serious racing yacht club in the wealthiest (by income) state in the country.

The house below is right in town in the historic district, in walking distance to the train and to the marina and harbor. Built in 1836 probably by a ship captain, but totally updated with a/c, 1st class kitchen, 5 bedrooms, family room addition on the back, etc. Look at the pictures of it: I think it is a perfect Yankee home which I would be very happy to live in, modestly elegant, with 1/4 acre offering enough space for flower gardens and tomatoes without burdening you with maintenance - plus a handy 3-car detached garage with room for a duck boat or a spare sports car. Asking only $749,000. (And again, no, we do not sell real estate. We just appreciate interesting shelter.)

(The old house is too exposed to the street, though. I think it could benefit from a 4' hedge or picket fence out front along the sidewalk with a row of hydrangeas, and some nicer, less-random and more vigorous plantings in front of the porch - either a simple perennial border or a low hedge. And maybe a red Cherokee Dogwood or Magnolia in the middle of the the right side of the little front lawn. A cool thing about America is that, when you improve your plantings, you inspire your neighbors to do it too. It starts them thinking. The current plantings in front of this nice house insult the simple dignity of the place.)

Overall, however, this house sits there like it's been there for a while and wants to be where it is, and I admire it very much.

An excerpt from Bejart's 1959 Le Sacre de printemps. Maurice Bejart died last November. I believe this is by the Wuppertal Dance Theater:

Jules found this bit from Blazing Saddles - "Taggart, take this down":

YouTube is becoming an excellent outlet for short films.

Anchoress posted this exquisite and gentle short by Joe Gleason, The Dinner Guest, which, to me, combines the theme of anticipation with the ancient theme of the power of the word, wherein God the Playwright, like the mystical weaver at the loom or Aslan's singing the world into existence, creates time and space and everything that was, is, and will be. Bryn Terfel is singing a Welsh folk song.

Our Dylanologist just sent us the video he recorded a week or two ago - 32 seconds in Prague. He always pans too quickly: http://www.dr-mercury.com/site/mags/prague.wvx

(Thanx, Dr. Merc, for hosting his film.)