Finding Peter Boland

There was only a one page letter with sketchy details when my husband began his research into his family history. He's tenacious! From that letter he has written a large volume covering multiple lines and weaving history and local color into the narrative of his family tree. My dearest wish is that he will start his own blog about his personal journey into the past and share the process with other genealogists.

A little over a week ago Peter and I flew to Washington, D.C. for a warm boisterous family reunion. While we were in the area we took the opportunity to drive out to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia and Winchester, Virginia; two sites that played a role in the story of the brothers, Patrick and Peter Boland, during the Civil War.

Patrick was my husband's great grandfather, an Irish stone cutter from County Galway and resident of New York. When the Civil War broke out, it was on Bolivar Heights, in Harpers Ferry where he and his N.Y. regiment were taken prisoner by the Confederate Army. That event probably saved his life. Eventually he went home to father nine children and the line continued.

Irish records are a challenge, so finding Patrick's brother, Peter, was an exciting discovery...until his story slowly unfolded. The spare details were stark and unemotional in military records and a widow's correspondence.

I imagine a warm spring afternoon in Harpers Ferry with time off from the monotonous duties and drills of camp life. They were so young...and Peter and his mates were carousing on the shore when someone playfully pushed him into the Shenandoah river. Peter couldn't swim and the current swept him away in spite of attempts to rescue him. He left a grieving widow in dire straights at home in New York. Peter's wife, Maryann, was denied a widow's compensation because his death was not combat related. The term used in the pension file by Peter's commanding officer was engaging in horseplay. Maryann died several years later.

Peter is buried in Winchester National National Cemetery in Winchester, Virginia. The cemetery is relatively small, immaculately maintained and most of the graves are Civil War dead.

The cemetery website provided my husband with a map of the grave location and so together, with his sisters and brother-in-law, we at last found Peter Boland. It is unlikely that Maryann ever saw her husband's final resting place, in fact I think we may have been the first of his family and descendents to visit. As we left on that overcast October afternoon, I turned back to look, one more time, at the yellow roses we left by his stone.

Boo!

This delightfully decorated fence was seen in Northport, Maine in early October. I hope it survived the storm.

Halloween has been postponed for many children on the east coast (including my own grandchildren) after Sandy's terrible destruction. Let's hope the lights will come back on and their lives will get back to normal soon. For E, M & A.

The Unquiet Island

A small rockbound island lies a mile off the coast from our cottage. I view its compact muffin shape from my windows every day, although sometimes it is hidden by fog. When the mist materializes, the water of Casco Bay is a vast subtle palette ranging from silver to violet and the island I think of as Avalon looks like a mirage...a vision from an ancient tale.

It is a bustling destination throughout the summer. Lobstermen chug past, hauling and setting traps in their noisy diesel boats. Friends come and go, bringing picnics and children who swim from the rocky shore. Labrador retrievers leap from the dock to retrieve sticks and then shake themselves near companions who shriek from the shock of cold water spray. The paths smell richly of pine and the osprey dive and swoop about their nests keenly aware of the photographer's lens below them. All summer long the island is a place of joy and discovery.

Eventually everyone leaves, boats are pulled from their moorings and even the osprey have left for their long journey south. Late in the season the island is still, sun filters through pine, but evidence abounds that it is not quiet...

The remains of a seagull's feast are scattered over ledge. We never see the seagulls dropping the clams and crabs from a great height in their effort to crack the shells open for the tasty morsels inside.

A spider quietly spins a web, its perfection caught in sunlight.

Along the path to the southern rock beach we find many clumps of pristine white feathers. They lie nestled on dry leaves and pine needles. No breeze penetrates the trees to rustle the feathers. It is so still, yet they are testimony to a terrible aerial battle.

...and constantly the waves shift eel grass and seaweed against the rocks, salt spray twinkling in sunlight.

Mere Point Sunset ~ Series of 5

I think this series illustrates the watercolor wash feeling I love in photography. Here, I have tried to blur the lines and create paintings with a shallow depth and silhouetting.

This was one of our last glorious sunsets and I doubt we will see another before we finish packing and leave for the winter. A heavy wet weather system has firmly asserted itself over our bay. The view beyond is gray fog through rain spattered windows.

Inside

The angle of the sun is lower now. Light pours inside illuminating the interior of the cottage in a way that always brings an ache to my heart. The old walls, beams and mullioned windows are never so beautiful as they are at this time of the year. I've been experimenting with a variety of camera settings in an effort to capture the atmosphere. Please click on the images to view in a larger size.

These days feel like stolen time, nearly everyone has left and soon, we too, will retreat to thicker walls.

Monarch Migration

As summer ends we keep a careful vigil for the Monarch butterflies. Somehow their arrival signifies health and balance in our cove. The migration begins with the sight of a fluttering scrap of orange, often seen in contrast with a brilliant blue sky. if we are lucky, the butterflies will fill the air, alighting on flowers in our garden and on wildflowers everywhere. These shots were taken a few weeks ago of Monarchs attracted to wild mint growing at the end of our road. I noticed several of the brave little creatures are already showing the wear and tear of the long journey south.

We took the boats out of the water several days ago, but before we did, we made one last visit to our favorite small island. There, in that beautiful solitude, I found the distinctive Orange Monarch butterflies you see below.

Goldenrod

In the beginning of August feathery glints of bright yellow appear along roadside and shoreline. Soon after, the touches of color swell to undulating waves of golden plumage. The wind shifts, bringing crisp Canadian air that sweeps away summer's pollution from south and west. With this change, the goldenrod is in constant motion, swaying in a gentle dance by the water.

Goldenrod in bloom heralds the end of our all too short summer. The conventional wisdom is its appearance means six weeks til frost. Today the air is fresh and clear, the sun warm on my back, although we have been warned the temperature will dip precipitously tonight. Tomorrow we may have frost...

The Dogs are Milling

The photos above were taken in August, but they could have been from any year, or any Maine summer's day in our little colony. One of the great pleasures of the this place is that the dogs can run free; the way they used to do in our childhood memories. Cottage doors open first thing in the morning and out they go! It is not unusual to have an old friend, grinning, tail wagging, waiting patiently on the front walk for a favorite playmate to appear. Incredibly they all get along and can determine property boundaries better than any surveyor.

Shortly after opening our cottages, too many years ago, my dear friend and neighbor, Mary, breathed in spring scented salt air. Felt the unaccustomed warmth of sun on her face and in a moment of pure happiness, said

I love it when the dogs are milling.

Sailing Through Fog

We hoped the sun would break through the low gray ceiling of clouds on our drive to Boothbay Harbor. Our trip on a schooner in that picturesque bay had been planned in advance and we were looking forward to giving the children a Maine experience of slicing through vivid blue water with wind filled sails and island views. They know our own stretch of coastline, but Maine has many treasures yet to be discovered.

At last we arrived and carried our canvas bags weighted down with snacks and drinks and made our way to a dock already partly shrouded in stubborn fog. We boarded our schooner with a warning from the captain about capricious Maine weather...although we are no strangers to the old saying, if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes!

The pretty harbor disappeared from view and suddenly we were wrapped in dense impenetrable fog. Occasionally we slipped past docks piled high with lobster traps and a few other boats and sailors. The scenes were mesmerizing and eerily beautiful. Sky melted into water in that silent world. Voices on board were hushed and the sense of calm was absolute.

Sometimes fog is as comfortable as being wrapped up in an old quilt.

Brave Cooper!

Cooper takes a flying leap off the dock to "save" Miss 6. Startled onlookers all hold their breath until he pops up like a cork. He can swim!