My Town Monday (Travel Edition): The Birthplace Of Nero Wolfe

I suggest beginning with autobiographical sketches from each of us, and here is mine. I was born in Montenegro and spent my early boyhood there. At the age of sixteen I decided to move around, and in fourteen years I became acquainted with most of Europe, a little of Africa, and much of Asia, in a variety of roles and activities. Coming to this country in nineteen-thirty, not penniless, I bought this house and entered into practice as a private detective. I am a naturalized American citizen.

– Nero Wolfe addressing the suspects in "Fourth of July Picnic" (1957)


In the birthplace of the man Archie Goodwin describes as weighing "a seventh of a ton" I came across a clock tower with no clock. I was informed that every Ottoman-ruled town had a clock tower to indicate the Muslim prayer times, and Podgorica's 18th century tower is one of the few remaining structures.

Don't know who he is or represents but I started calling him Slim. The gentleman hung around the radio and television station


A majestic looking Orthodox church in the capital city.


Yes, I still find cemeteries fascinating. And this one has plenty of character to spare.

"In life everything must have an aim, except orchids." I couldn't find any orchids which every Wolfe aficionado knows is the detective's favorite but I did find this colorful tree sprouting a unique flower all its own.


Why did it have to be a black cat in my path? THE MOUNTAIN CAT MURDERS leapt to mind.

Scarlet Johansson looking over my shoulder as I walk the streets of the great detective's birthplace. The song "Return of the Grievous Angel" was running through my head

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My Town Monday: Out To Sea Edition

I recently spent some time crossing the Atlantic ocean which Wikipedia describes as "the second-largest of the world's oceanic divisions. With a total area of about 106.4 million square kilometres (41.1 million square miles), it covers approximately one-fifth of the Earth's surface and about one-quarter of its water surface area. The first part of its name refers to the Atlas of Greek mythology, making the Atlantic the 'Sea of Atlas'."

After weeks, of tossing n' turning, it was most welcomed when the water became like glass.

I considered asking the captain to head for the pot of gold.

Besides the dolphins, the flying fish put on the greatest show. This poor guy leaped a little to high and landed on deck where he died. Here is a YouTube video clip of these amazing creatures.

Ah, sweet land and a winged creature saying 'hola.'

After many weeks at sea, welcoming site: land (Strait of Gibraltar). Alas, we floated on by. Put two red eyes in my hoodie flying up behind me and you have a Jawa looking over my shoulder.

A very important sign on any ship. Lackluster food is served three times a day with the highlight being ice cream on Sunday afternoons!

And miles to go before I sleep / And miles to go before I sleep.

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My Town Monday (Retro Edition): Xunantunich

I was going through some pics of the Mayan Ruins in Belize. I worked and lived in the capital of Belmopan from 2005-'06. On a rare day off, my wife and I were able to explore Xunantunich, one of the many incredible sites remaining from one of the oldest known civilizations.

The ferry crosses the Mopan River to pick us up.


"Welcome to the Ancient Maya City of Xunantunich"





In front of the grand pyramid, El Castillo.


On the steps, preparing to ascend.





My charmer.


View of the main plaza from the top of El Castillo.


The El Castillo frieze.


The steep descent.

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And Then There Was Maine… An MTM post

Elaine Ash and I exchange books by mail with the frequency that some order Netflix. My most recent borrow from Ms. Ash, Stephen King’s 2008 short story collection Just after Sunset, arrived shortly before I departed for Maine, a place I’ve never been and of course King’s home state. Appropriately, I came to Maine on a mist covered day and it was the perfect ambiance as I settled into bed that night to read “Willa,” the first offering in Sunset’s terrific anthology. Speaking of atmosphere, take a look of this pic my charmer snapped -- I can imagine how incredible this is going to look at the height of summer. When the sun briefly burst through the dense murkiness, we managed to capture a couple of extra pics. Some locals expressed their dismay that we arrived on such a foggy week but to us it was King-creepy ideal.









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My Town Monday: Life in West Africa

I worked in Cameroon from 2004-2005 and aside from learning so much about the culture in this part of West Africa, I became good friends with Boh Cyprain. This is a pic of us goofing around on the highway to Kribi in Africa. Mr. Boh and I have stayed in contact and here is his eighth MTM highlighting his country's customs:

BEFORE MATERNITY LEAVE EVER EXISTED

Maternity leave had long existed in the African context before we have gradually grown to embrace what a worker will benefit when she gives birth in active service. In Cameroon particularly in the remote villages of the centre Region, there exists a kind of maternity leave which has to do with keeping the wife way from the husband for period of at least three (03) months.

Here, it is but normal that when somebody's wife takes in, she is not very subjected to pre-natal visits due to lack of medical facilities, she remains with the husband for up to the period of seven (07) months and she moves to the parents' home where the mother with her world of experience keeps a close watch over her daughter all through till she is delivered of the baby. This change of domicile is considered very important as the husband's family cannot take the same amount of care as would the wife's during such a delicate period in the life of their daughter. It is not disrespect as someone might think but an obligation because her return to the husband entails a big ceremony.

During her stay at the parents, she is being monitored and whenever child movements become intensive indicating an approach to the period of labour, the family constructs something in the form of a cage around the bed on which the mother to-be will be staying with the new born (this takes the form of a mosquito net ). When the baby finally comes, the mother and new born are moved into this new haven. Access to this area is very restricted; in fact, it is granted only to the father of the baby and the grand mother who has the charge of helping to bath the baby and supply food to the nursing mother. This is done to keep away those who visit with ill-intentions; people are not allowed to carry the baby as it is done in other regions in Cameroon for fear that someone might have rubbed bad charms on his/her palms and may successfully place a plague on the child if allowed to carry. From time to time, the grand mother bathes the young mother with juice gotten from a collection of boiled herbs; with this, she massages the new mother's stomach in a bid to give it back its original shape. The routine continues until the husband expresses the desire to have back his wife; however, the wife's family will never in this region suggest that the husband should come for his wife because this will mean that they will lose all the gifts and feasting that comes when she’s returned at the request of her husband; thus, "a bride price is never completely paid no matter the articles and cash gifts you give the day the marriage proper is celebrated."

When the husband's family is set or prepared, they send a messenger to their in-law family to declare their intentions to take home the wife on a proposed date. The wife's family might change the said date depending on the tides of the time because some families insist on carrying out their harvest before any such occasion can hold because it entails a lot of feasting. If there is a famine they have every reason to have the dates changed. When finally both families reach a compromise, they both invite their close relations and the day the male family comes, they bring along gifts just as in the day they came to pay the bride price or 'dowry'. There have been situations wherein husbands' families have come and gone empty handed (without the wife and new born) because the in-law family wasn't satisfied with what they brought in the name of gifts.

On the D-Day, the women folk sit together while the men do same; that is to say the men from the husband's family join those from the wife's family while the women do same. Food and wine are served to the male side by the women and while they are eating, some elderly women are assigned to keep a close watch on them with attentive ears; this is because during this meal, nobody is allowed to eat the bones from the meat no matter how soft they could be. All dogs if any at all are chased away from this area because not even a dog is given a bone to eat or any part of the meal. When feasting is completed, all the bones and leftovers are now gathered and a pit is dug behind the main house and these remnants are now buried into the pit. This is done in order to guarantee the solidarity of the new family that is just beginning to build.

After this, the presentation of gifts starts and immediately after that, the woman's father makes a speech expressing his feelings as per the quantity and quality of the gifts he has just been presented. He gives his consent and the husband's family is now allowed to take home his wife; in a situation where the woman's father fails to give his consent, pledges start coming in or a quick remedy is sorted to avoid any disgrace.

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My Town Monday: Notable Residents from Freeville, New York

I haven’t posted much about my hometown because, unfortunately, I’m rarely there. For the past fifteen years, I’ve worked all over, from Washington DC and North Carolina to Belize and Cameroon, and now Louisiana. I’m a gypsy at heart so I enjoy the traveling and wouldn’t change a thing. But as soon as I step back in Freeville -- I’m home.

I’m not the only famous (all right, enough with the chuckling!) resident who feels this way about Freeville...

Many of you may already know the name Amy Dickinson; she took over the Ann Landers’s advice column for the Chicago Tribune with “Ask Amy” in 2003. If that isn’t enough to make her Freeville’s most famous resident, her multi-million book deal with Hyperion will certainly give her the top spot! The Mighty Queens of Freeville: A Mother, A Daughter, and the Town that Raised Them, her first of a two book contract, will be out in February.

My sister, Meta, and Amy were both from Dryden high school’s Class of ’77, though Amy might not remember Meta’s kid brother from down the street (I was seven years old at the time). Even so, I can’t wait for the release of Amy Dickinson’s book. It's gotten a lot of early positive reviews and I’m looking forward to a fresh perspective on our little hometown as seen through the eyes of one of Freeville’s “Mighty Queens.”

From the Cortland Standard, Monday, January 12, 2009.
I used to ride my bike over that bridge all the time as a teen, going into town from my house.

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My Town Monday: 'Cranmer' Hollow, New York

This MTM post is less about Cranmer Hollow and more about the people from the town, in particular, my family. Yes, folks, another slice of my family history.

I found among my father's papers a clipping of my great-grandfather's wedding announcement from 1898 (pictured to the right). The couple from Cranmer Hollow, NY would divorce some years later, though the marriage produced three children, the first of whom, Alfred, died within two months of birth. Helen was born on August 7, 1900 and my grandfather, Fred, came along on January 7, 1904.

Digging further in the papers, I came across a great picture of Aunt Helen and her husband, Vincent Campbell, celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary in 1978. I just love the old 1918 photograph of them. She's quite pretty and obviously very stylish, though, what's she wearing on her head? They were an active couple into their golden years with rollerskating being their main hobby. My great aunt Helen passed away in 1985.



Cranmer Hollow, named after my family, has unfortunately today become the easier sounding Cramer Hollow.

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Please, if you get a chance, stop by One Word, One Rung, One Day and show your support for My Town Monday creator, Travis Erwin, who recently lost his home in a fire. There is also a site dedicated to helping the Erwin's rebuild. We wish Travis and his family all the best.

My Town Monday: Another City, Not My Own

Ok, I stole that title from Dominick Dunne but it seems appropriate. I mean, I've yet to highlight my hometown in upstate NY, but I hope to do that soon.

Meanwhile, I spent a relaxing weekend writing in the town that James Lee Burke calls home in New Iberia, Louisiana (well, at least part of the time), and it was here that I managed to make some headway with two short stories and the new e-zine, Beat to a Pulp.

For an afternoon distraction, my wife mentioned going to Avery Island where Tabasco is made.

It was a nice tour. A guide gave a brief speech, showed us to a room where we watched a ten minute video, then we walked past the manufacturing lines and into a small exhibit space. We learned a lot about how peppers become the infamous hot sauce.

50 acres of Avery Island are dedicated to growing peppers. The best are selected for their seeds, which are shipped to Central and South America where the majority of the peppers for the sauce are grown.

The peppers are picked and immediately processed with salt mined from Avery Island.

The salted peppers are shipped back to Avery Island to be mashed and stored in oak barrels for three years. (These barrels come from the Jack Daniels company who use the barrels for only one year in making their whiskey. The Tabasco company uses the barrels for 21-23 years, at which point, they're broken up and sold as BBQ wood chips, flavored with whiskey and Tabasco!)

Once the pepper mash is done, it's mixed with distilled vinegar and stirred for 23 days. Only then is it ready for bottling.

The process is actually more detailed than that. If you're interested, the Tabasco website has a great video.

The iconic diamond label showing how to get there.


The main building where tours begin.


Unfortunately the manufacturing lines weren't running on Saturday.


The country store and gift shop.


Browsing the goods. Got some spicy dark chocolate and hot cinnamon mints.


Little d braves the 'wind chill.'


WT?!

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My Town Monday: Last of the Rayne

This post ends my MTM look at the amazing town of Rayne, Louisiana. A quick recap from previous entries: Rayne is known as the Frog capital of the world and stands out with all its frog murals gracing many of the city's building. Along one of the main streets is a cemetery facing the wrong direction that made Ripley’s Believe It or Not. It was the site of one of the country's WWII POW camps. To top it all off, Rayne is home to several frogs who were sent into space. I didn’t blog about this last one but Rayne's Chamber of Commerce explains all about our little green friends going where no other frog has gone before.

So, what's left? Why, the annual Frog Festival, of course! Little d and I had been waiting all year for the frog derby and jumping contest. We were disappointed when the September festival was postponed because of Hurricane Gustav, mainly because we weren't sure if we'd still be in town for the new November dates. But we're still here, and we happily spent a beautiful Saturday afternoon at the fun-filled event. There was a midway with plenty of rides (we opted for the ferris wheel), games and food. We missed the early morning frog derby *Groan!* but we were able to catch the live Cajun music, an arts and crafts show, and a big parade. Here are a few pics:





















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