University Settlement

The staircase of Kingston bluestone showed most of its steps worn to a gentle concavity by the tens of thousands of people who have come through the building’s portals in the 125 years since it went up. University Settlement House represented  I.N. Phelps Stokes’ debut architectural effort. Carefully renovated and restored over the years to be useful in the present and yet respectful of the past, the structure still hums with activity. When I toured the place, preschoolers were eating a hot lunch, passing chili and rice around their knee-high table with utmost mannerliness.

University Settlement began in 1886 with six boys gathering two times a week in a Forsyth Street basement. At the time, more than 3,000 people lived in the typical Lower East Side block.  Immigrants poured into the neighborhood, most desperately in need of basic services. About ten years later a competition determined who would design an urgently needed new structure. Reformers like Stokes and some of his peers took a serious interest in changing conditions, their interest piqued by the galvanizing photography of Jacob Riis. In the new building, limestone and brick and five stories tall, a local could get a bath, take an English lesson, enroll in a kindergarten class (then a radical notion, when it was considered normal for children  to work in sweat shops). There was also the adventure of the Metropolitan Museum of Art sponsoring an exhibit of some of its finest works at the Settlement and, moved by the widespread interest evinced by locals in art, to finally open the its doors on Sunday to accommodate people who labored six days a week.

Jacob Riis Documented Tenement Dwellers

If you ever happen to enter the building (at Rivington and Eldridge Streets), you see the tall ceilings, the gracious dimensions, the intricate stone mosaic work underfoot. Huge sash windows admit copious amounts of light, something we take for granted but that for Lower East residents of the turn of the last century would be a blessing after the cramped, sunless tenements in which they resided.  I’m planning to come to the Settlement House some time in the Fall to give a talk about I.N. Phelps Stokes and Edith Minturn Stokes, their commitment to philanthropy, and what led a white shoe guy like Stokes to throw himself into designing the Settlement House. I hope people will come, if only to see those bluestone steps, worn by the tread of all those the Settlement has served over the years.

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The Group

I got a request from someone who asked if I would like to visit with her book club. Yes! I spoke with reading groups regarding The Women of the House and it was highly enjoyable to hang out with a group of well-read, well-spoken book lovers. Sometimes there were snacks, too. So if you or anyone you know has a reading group that brings in authors, do let me know in a comment and I might be able to come.

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A Riverine Surprise

A beach near the cabin, in Croton, allows us to not only admire the beauty of the Hudson but to actually submerge our bodies in it once in a while. So the following, from one of my favorite e-newsletters, Hudson River Almanac (hrep@gw.dec.state.ny.us), gave me pause:

“John Plass, an angler – while fishing for striped bass – caught a 17-inch-long Atlantic needlefish…

“Natural selection designed the Atlantic needlefish to be the consummate predator. They are sight-feeders with over 20% of their adult length taken up by slender, tooth-studded jaws. Adults can reach nearly two feet in length and will frequently leap out of the water in pursuit of prey. Known more as a temperate to tropical marine species, their presence in the Hudson went largely unnoticed until about 25 years ago. They seem to have adapted well; since larval needlefish have been captured more than 50 miles upriver, it is likely that they are spawning in the estuary. In July 2009, Chris Bowser and Brittany Burgio seined up a three-inch Atlantic needlefish at river mile 85 (Norrie Point). A needlefish oddity occurs when you cook them: They are delicious smoked, and their bones turn Kelly green.

“Tom Lake. Photo by Chris Bowser.”

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The Common Beach Bag

“Your list of must-reads starts here” goes the headline for the New York Daily News list of summer’s best books.

To my delight, The Orphanmaster is one of the picks.

I can just see The Orphanmaster, its cover engrimed with wet sand, pages sticky with Froz Fruit juices, spilling out of someone’s beach bag. Or gripped in a sunbather’s hands as she squints against the sun.

The novel will debut on June 19, just in time for the July 4th weekend. All right, two weeks before, but who’s counting. I always start getting in the mood for holidays at least two weeks in advance. (More for Thanksgiving, which means serious hunkering down with the recipes. Click on the Food section of the blog to see more on the dishes Blandine and Drummond would have consumed.)

I wish I was at the beach now, for the annual Blue Angels air show, when you stand with your ankles in the still-bracing early summer ocean and the jets drop so low you feel you could extend your arm and touch them.

A strawberry Froz Fruit would be nice right about now, too.

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Roadside Perfume

I call them wild roses, but I’m actually not sure what they are. White clusters of petals on long stems that are extremely prickly, with a deliciously honeyed scent if you drive with your windows open. Someone once told me that the blooms are invasive, that the plant was imported to America from Europe for border gardens but it went rogue and escaped to the woods. The petals are confetti in the Spring air.

Can anyone tell me the actual name of these flowers?

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Golden Days of Spring

The immature Hobbit garden:

The immature Oliver:

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Newsday

Newsday enters the fray of top ten summer reading lists: read it here.

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USA Today!

I’m posting today’s USA Today item on The Orphanmaster as a hot summer read, but it looks cooler in print!

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A Reader of Fictions

Nice blog post re: The Orphanmaster at A Reader of Fictions. It seems you can win a free reader’s copy.

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Good Housekeeping

The Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval for The Orphanmaster: check it out.

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Turtle Science

Another turtle today scuttling, scuttling across the rough soil of the Hobbit garden (as yet unplanted). They scoot away surprisingly fast, as if they have important business elsewhere.

The camouflaged nest lies undisturbed. Surprisingly to me, a turtle wound up in exactly the same spot last year and we picked her up and moved her down to the swamp, assuming she had gotten turned around and needed to go home. Of course she was anything but turned around; from my one minute of research into painted turtle incubation habits I find that females build their nests in the same spot year after year. So we merely fouled up her plans when we sent her back to the swamp.

This year she got luckier.

It will take something like 72 days for her eggs to hatch. Then the hatchlings will winter underground in that compact pit of a nest until the warm weather returns, when they will start the sunbathing-on-a-rock regimen for which I love them (and which keeps them alive, by regulating their body temperature). That is, unless they get eaten first by raccoons. Or Oliver.

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Mother Painted

The painted turtle dragged herself deliberately up the slope from the swamp, across the grass to the base of an overgrown hill that rises in front of the cabin. When we found her she had already begun to dig, gouging the dirt with her scaly back legs. Her claws were sharp as thorns. Not two hands long and vulnerable to any predator, she seemed to paid us no mind. A picture of total focus on the duty at hand.

As we watched, she dropped her eggs into the little hole she had dug, five small white ovals like white jellybeans. Each one she stomped down into the ground with one foot, then the other, sending it deeper into the earth.

We drove away, someplace to go.

When we returned she had departed. Of a hole there was no sign, dirt now entirely covered it. And over the dirt, over the hole, the painted had spread a perfect camouflaging mat of bits of grass and crumbled leaves.

If you hadn’t witnessed the alabaster eggs pop out from under her shell, you would never believe the turtle had been there at all.

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Rabbit Trick

Oliver has snuffed three rabbits in the past 36 hours. True, he is a pit-beagle, can you expect him to be more respectful of animal life? Still it is disturbing to pick up the bunny by the ear after he’s broken its neck and gummed it up. (I leave the picking up to Gil, truthfully.) The dog wants to show off its kill, brings it to us intact, perhaps conserving it for a later snack.

These rabbits make their habitat exactly where we put in the new vegetable garden, and in fact I watched Oliver corner one of them against the picturesque Hobbit fence. Yelping, in a frenzy. I know that once I put in my lettuce those rabbits would trash it.

Still.

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Reusable Stumps

We harvested the old cut lumber from downed trees in the woods around the cabin, some of it pretty gnarly, with weathered a mild description of its condition. A light brown mouse ran out of the hole in one! Leaving its little pink babies? Who knows. These chunks of stumps made the fence around my new vegetable garden, and somehow with the dark topsoil leveled within the palisade the effect is very Hobbit-like. Now on to the tomato starts, and perhaps some morning glory vines threaded around the outside of the chunky, earthy fence. But first a bit of fertilizer, maybe the kind I saw at the garden store made of lobster shells?

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Planting a Seed

I’ve got a month until The Orphanmaster debuts… thus a lot of time on my hands. Yes, I have a few events for Love, Fiercely. But for the most part this is a waiting game, watching my tour dance card fill up and crossing my fingers that readers will like the book.

Hence the pyramidal pile of topsoil lying beside the driveway in a carved out section of marsh. Waiting to be raked level, watered, planted with tomatoes, beans, cukes. A vegetable garden. Just the time filler. Working my muscles, I will forget the workings of my mind.

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