A Year of Discovery

10/22/2014 – One year ago today, I was discovering Mesa Verde National Park and marveling at the civilization that existed there for centuries. It was sunny and dry, with cold clear nights that kept me from camping-hey, I camped in Utah for two nights at below freezing temps! Today I am in Spokane, staying with friends and following a new routine -eat breakfast, search job boards, then rewrite my resume, cover letter, and fill out an online application when I find something interesting. I’ve targeted Memphis as a possible new home-the people, culture, and weather appeal to me, but no offers yet. Plan A was to work for the National Park Service for the winter, Plan B is Memphis - Plan C I haven’t formulated yet.

Like any human endeavor, the past year has had ups and downs, successes and failures, and left one question unresolved. While I’m working to resolve that one issue, I decided to close down “The Year of Discovery” blog. Of course it will still be available-the main reason I created it was to keep track of my trip around the country and all the great people and places I encountered – so feel free to keep or start browsing. Since I still want to write and photograph-and maybe some different posts-I have a new blog. It is on Tumblr but has its own web address. So here we go:

Web address - http://willittlepitcher.tumblr.com – a short Wil plus a variation of the English translation of my last name-little pot may have drawn the wrong attention. A pichet is a small vessel for measuring liquid or grain, and apparently my Father’s French Canadian ancestors added the “te” sound which was incorporated into a new spelling. Though named William after an English ancestor, the name became popular only after the Norman French William conquered my Mother’s native land. But the old French Willaume was taken. Then I found a saying-“Little pitchers have big ears”. It is meant in a negative tone as a warning not to talk too much around children, but I take it in a positive light. I hope to keep my ears and eyes and mind open as I experience life. I love learning and that’s the only way you learn.

The title “Destination of the Override” is from a Clash song called Stop the World-one that I had forgotten. You know I’m a fan, but didn’t want to use something popular or easy to figure out.  I also didn’t want to use something sappy. I hope to see and listen, “scanning the wild wind” to find some new meaning.

So, click on the link, enjoy, and pass it on-remember you don’t have to sign up to view posts, just to comment. You don’t even have to look, but thank you if you do and double thanks if you pass it on. All content will remain “family friendly”.

I can tell, the wind is risin', the leaves tremblin' on the tree - Robert Johnson

10/5/2014 – So my “Year of Discovery” comes to an end. This week I’ll be leaving Rhode Island to continue my job search. Personally, it’s a little bittersweet. While accomplishing my goals of getting out to see this great country and hearing/retelling its stories, I have yet to decide on where among them to live and work-I’ve been unsuccessful at finding work. While spending extended time with some family members, I didn’t take time to visit all of them and sometimes spending time with family is difficult. While helping my Mom somewhat, she is now banged up from a fall and I’m not going to be here to help with recovery. The world is worse off without two great women in my life-my Aunt and my first love-and four beautiful dogs who all passed this year, but better off now that Chris Jr. and Willem have joined the fray, and a puppy named Emmitt is keeping us safe, or at least entertained.

What have I discovered? Look back to find your favorites, but first and foremost are true friends and supportive family. Next, is the great natural beauty of this country in places like the Grand Staircase, Everglades, and Carlsbad Caverns. Then there were so many friendly, courteous, helpful, and warm people along the way-many of them foreigners taking time to travel around this nation where some citizens do not. Attending Episcopal churches wherever I stopped added a dimension to the trip I hadn’t thought about and wouldn’t have found had I not decided to start standing up in public to profess my faith and thanksgiving last Easter. I discovered our American history of human tragedy at Amache, the Lorraine Motel, and Meriwether Lewis’ largely ignored grave in Tennessee, but great human triumph at Mesa Verde, the many memorials to Nathanael Greene, and Greensboro’s preserved Woolworth lunch counter. I discovered truly American culture-a mix of everyone else’s-in San Antonio, Memphis, and New Orleans.

And me? I discovered I could sleep in a tent, live simply, that I don’t need everything I had-or the pressure to keep earning ever more money to pay for more of it. I found I could walk for hours in a desert wilderness, that I still felt a big “WOW” at the sight of massive mountains, blooming desert, lively swamp, or crashing ocean. I can make my own cookies now and am trying to follow in my Canuck ancestors’ kitchen footsteps by making a decent meat pie.

What’s left to discover? I would like to revisit some spots I didn’t fully explore, try to be more patient and caring, to seize opportunities instead of resting, and figure out where this adventure ends with regards to home and job. I will be starting a new blog on Tumblr, a new project. I would like for it to be a little different, though words and photography-video if I can figure it out-will be the tools.

When you've got worries all the noise and the hurry Seems to help I know, downtown - Downtown, written by Tony Hatch

9/29/2014 – Visiting Rhode Island, one of the things I have come to appreciate is a walk around the old downtown, the city center of Providence. Growing up on a hill overlooking the city, I looked on the only true classic skyscraper in the city, the former Industrial Trust building. When we got a rare chance to go shopping downtown, the old classic outdoor “mall” of Westminster Street beckoned, with classic department stores like Shepard’s and Cherry&Webb We felt guilty just walking by and gawking at all the expensive pieces at Tilden-Thurber, a high end china and jewelry shop. One thing I didn’t notice as a kid was the buildings themselves-their architectural detail and features. Covering all of the old city center and its historic buildings would take more time than I had left here, so I decided to focus on Westminster Street, gawking once again like the boy who was never going to buy anything from Tilden-Thurber, but equally awed by the preservation of these buildings and their architectural details by public and private organizations.

The street ends-or begins-at its intersection with Weybosset Street in the financial district. The star of the show has to be the Turk’s Head. The building, completed in 1916, is V-shaped-the classic flatiron-and was the tallest building downtown at the time. The stone figure is a replica of a wooden one found on Jacob Whitman’s house and business in the 1750’s, meant to help his shop stand out. The original was from the merchant ship Sultan.

The Industrial Trust (Fleet/Bank of America) Building is an icon and its stories could fill pages. Probably the most interesting one of the 1928 skyscraper is that while under construction, workers would fish in the water flowing into the bottom of the structure. I have seen a picture of them with poles, but not one of any fish. The sad story is that the building is now empty and in disrepair.

And I love to live so pleasantly, Live this life of luxury, Lazing on a sunny afternoon - The Kinks

9/28/2014 – It’s hard to imagine how time slips away from me here. In the fall, I had a few days in the city and a visit to the very quiet beaches, and then the holidays were here. As I begin to scramble for job opportunities, searching hundreds every day, and play personal assistant for my Mom, the days are getting shorter and the nights cooler. This weekend turned out to be summer’s last hurrah. Fortunately my niece picked the right time to invite me out for a hike with her and her man (yes, she is a grown woman-didn’t I tell you my family is old?).

They're taken from playgrounds and schools, In tender years made to go the pace that kills, In the sweatshops, 'mong the looms and the spools                                                                   We Will Sing One Song - Joe Hill

9/1/2014 - On Labor Day, it was already hot and humid when I left at 8am so I was happy I walked on Saturday. Driving, I went looking for more access points along the river, but had really only one goal in mind-to photograph the massive buildings that once were the Atlantic Mills. Standing astride both sides of the Woonasquatucket, the mill which defined Olneyville for a hundred years started in 1852. The current structures were built in the 1870’s and 80’s. Unlike Lyman and Allendale, which were cotton textile mills, Atlantic produced wool muslin called delaine (In researching this entry, I discovered how Delaine Street in my old neighborhood got its name!) At approximately 17 acres, the mill was the largest in the city, contained three and four story buildings with uses as varied as spinning and dyeing, storage and office space, and one building whose purpose was to contain gas overflow from the heating of coal for power, round to withstand the pressure. The mill employed 2000 men, women, and children in its heyday, including a young girl who became my Father’s Mother (Mémé) and possibly one of my Aunts. The candy striped twin towers define the skyline and never fail to catch my eye or remind me of the circus. Still in use, the mill buildings have hosted numerous businesses, from producing wool muslin, khaki, mood rings, to housing department, office supply, furniture stores, and a weekend flea market.

I took a short walk to see a little of my old neighborhood. At the end of my paper route were once a small block of mill houses, tiny shacks across from Atlantic built to house employees. Sykes Lane is now the entrance to a car wash. A block away, St Adalbert’s school still stands but hasn’t been used for decades. Turning up Capron Street there is an empty lot where once stood the house where my family lived before I was born. They moved there to be within the boundaries of St Teresa’s parish school and so were allowed to attend (the French catholic parish didn’t have one and going to the Polish church school wasn’t an option, as they weren’t members). I remember that hilly street for where I went sledding a few times after finishing my paper route. I once lost control of my sled after an icy snowstorm, jumping off before it hit a telephone pole.  About a block away is the house where my Mother always told me my Father was born, “with an ax under the bed to cut the pain”. This is the neighborhood where my Mémé and Pépé came with their parents from Quebec and worked as kids, where my brothers, sisters, and I worked in laundromat, drugstore, community center, walking a paper route, and lacing sneakers in the former Atlantic mill building.

Won't you cleanse my soul Put my feet on the ground - Al Green/Mabon Hodges

8/30/2014 – Hard to imagine I’ve been back in Rhode Island for nearly two months; a month since I last wrote anything or took a picture. We did a lot of visiting after my Mom’s birthday and started working on some projects for her-mostly cleaning and organizing. We lost several days when she had a major physical (most are brain incidents) seizure, which take a lot of physical and mental recovery. I was with her-difficult when all you can do is try to give her medication, wait to see if it works, then call for an ambulance when it doesn’t. Two days later she was getting her heir done and we were eating giant sandwiches at the Cherry Hill Grille.

So by Labor Day Weekend, a little stress relief was in order. Driving and walking between my Mom’s and niece’s-where I inhabit the basement for the summer-I sometimes follow what was once called the river road, following a segment of the  Woonasquatucket River. This was the second great industrial power plant after the Blackstone and is filled with ghosts, remains, and repurposed mills from Georgiaville to Olneyville and into the heart of the city of Providence. I explored two old mills along the river on foot, took in the sights along the river where I could, and on Monday took a drive to a third and explored a little personal history.

First I walked to Allendale. The mills there were started in 1822. I discovered the old spill dam and the still formidable looking building that once housed the company store. Beautifully repurposed, the mill is now the home of many, having been reborn as “The Mill at Allendale” condos. I didn’t want to take too many pics for fear of invading someone’s privacy. Staying true to the “Rhode Island System”, the building next door was built at the same time and housed the company store. It is as big as any old market or department store I’ve seen. Following Slater’s system of a mill village made sure company pay came back to the company.

As I looked for another river access point, I turned down the short Warren Avenue. It dead ends at a point where you catch a beautiful view upriver and also a sign reminding you of the river’s industrial past. Part of an EPA Superfund site, signs all along the river warn passersby not to wade, swim, bathe, or eat the fish. Still, the sights along the river were relaxing-vegetation, a small frog, ducks, and dam.

A mile downriver there is a historic marker. The Lyman Mill was established here in 1811; the first in what is now North Providence and water power innovator. Daniel Lyman built a small spill dam to create Lymansville Mill Pond, a move to ensure available water power during drought. The current structure is from the 1880’s and is nearly or completely empty-there are many companies’ signs around the buildings, but the whole complex is in rough shape. Graffiti ranging from rude to artistic “adorns” the building in and out. I had to laugh-and take a pic-of one display where someone couldn’t figure out how to draw a “Y” on the inside of a second story window that would look right from the outside.

I walked back to my niece’s house, passing a few company built houses and wishing I had brought some water for my nearly three mile mill village hike.