“The Nation that Forgets History is Condemned to Repeat It”

Patriots' Flag Chestnut Neck Revolutionary War Monument Winter 2017

On Facebook, my friend, superb artist Joy Kreves, ‘shares’ this sign, significant in the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C.   These are described in that display as “early warning signs.”  I’ve decided to take this poster to the blog ‘airwaves.”

Sign now in Washington, former capital of the land of the free…

“Now we are engaged in…” a new Holocaust, with many races, and also poor, and most immigrants, as today’s victims.

Victimization has become our ruling force.

“Bring me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses straining to be free” (adorning our Statue of Liberty –    o, remember true liberty?   –  has been amended to, “And I will render you more tired, more poor, and may well send you back to your country of origin.”

If I had an American flag today, it would have to be the one with thirteen stars!

Where is my country?  Where is “this land is your land, this land is my land?”

“Where have all the flowers gone?”

What’s missing from this list of so-called ‘early warnings’ — but there were no early warnings in our situation, is the prevalence of rants and vindictiveness.

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THE FOUR SEASONS RESTAURANT — HAVEN OF EXCELLENCE — R.I.P.

4 Seasons Motif Restaurant Manhattan

The Four Seasons Motif outside the restaurant

Once there was a bastion of excellence, in Manhattan, called The Four Seasons.

Pool Room Four Seasons Restaurant

The Pool Room, The Four Seasons Restaurant

People think it was all about the food.  And, to a high degree, it was.  In that faraway year of 1959, when I moved to Manhattan, here was regionality and seasonality, and therefore savor and freshness and beauty such that no other cuisine could equal.  Not even Caravelle and Cote Basque.  Nowhere.

Metal Rain by Day 4 Seasons

Metal Rain Inside the Four Seasons, by day

Now, The Four Seasons is no more.  Several farewell nights took place, and many articles have appeared.  Nothing conveys the exquisite uniqueness that was our constant experience in every family meal at the hands of Four Seasons staff, from owners, through maitre d’, through waiters, and those invisible magnificent chefs.  All hands created that museum masquerading as restaurant, appropriately the jewel in the crown of the Seagram Building.

Palm Room Four Seasons Restaurant Manhattan

Palms and Tranquility, The Four Seasons Restaurant

The farewell articles go on and on about power lunches and billionaires and of course the movers and shakers of Manhattan.  The focus on guests splashing in what, –to us–, had always been, that sacred reflecting pool.  Seeing that pool room in vivid memory, I realize that its astounding simplicity and tranquility generated the air of haven in the middle of Manhattan’s notorious bustle.  Entering, it was as though a shawl of silence lightly descended upon our shoulders.

4 Seasons Modern Bench Manhattan Restaurant

Four Seasons Art

It cannot be true that all the superb art was reflected in that barely rippling water — yet that is how its multiplied beauty appears in retrospect.  Seeking images on the internet, nothing satisfies.   I am SURE there were Picasso tapestries hanging on stairway walls.  They appear nowhere today.  As Four Seasons appears nowhere today.  Progress and mercantilism dominate this century.  So are we deprived of this sanctuary whose aura to echoes the interiors of Chartres, Ste. Chapelle, the mosic-rich glittering basilicas in Ravenna on sunny days.

Night Scene Four Seasons Restaurant, Manhattan

Night Scene, The Pool Room, Four Seasons Restaurant

A major aspect of family meals at Four Seasons was the silken warmth of everyone’s welcome.  Come with Diane and Catherine, Werner and me, on a scintillating early autumn Saturday.  Settle in at a capacious table, carefully far enough from others so that privacy is maintained.  Hear the girls gently order their beverages; as Werner, their Swiss father, discussed wines with the sommelier.  Watch the girls’ tall gleaming glasses arrive with one waiter, as towering menus are settled silently into our hands.  See Catherine, –the younger but taller, with her long blonde Swiss hair–, open that menu and knock over her Coke.  Empathize with the horror on that young girl’s face..

4 Seasons Final Menu

Four Seasons Menu

See a brigade of waiters and busboys dash to our table.  Watch as though each had been Blackstone, the Magician.  Whisk!  off with the stained cloth and whatever had been so artfully arranged upon it.  Whoosh, floated the impeccable new one, like linens for an altar.

Hear the empathy in the voice of the headwaiter as he soothed our chagrined daughter:  “That’s nothing!,” he’s exclaiming.  “At night, we have grown-ups who catch their menus on fire!”

4 Seasons Plate with specialties Manhattan

Four Seasons Sampling

Laugh with all of us, and see Catherine’s shame erased.  Understand that this gentility was the hallmark of that restaurant.  We were not movers and shakers.  We were suburbanites, –upon whom I knew, as twice-former Manhattan resident–, that town looks askance.  We even dared to bring young girls, who happened to adore rituals and would eat anything (well, except petite friture in Villefranche, Provence, because, “Daddy, they have eyes!”

4 Seasons China

Four Seasons China

Werner knew, and we would come to know, that the poliltesse that suffused The Four Seasons was in the best European traditions, –as in Claridge’s of London, the Plaza Athenee and the Ritz of Paris.  But we weren’t in Europe — we were in America.  And for those few savory scintillating Four Seasons hours, we were experiencing the best of our country.  As with those legendary hotels and their sublime restaurants, what we took place at table rivaled beauty and majesty and tradition we had spent all morning absorbing in the world’s most important museums.

Metal Rain Four Seasons Restaurant Manhattan

Metal Rain by Night, Four Seasons Restaurant

The Four Seasons was not a museum.  It was alive, and its excellence could be counted on, time after time after time, no matter the origins of our guests

WAS alive.

IS no more.

So I must mourn this loss.

America is the less for this finale.

My words are so feeble.  I need Will to give me lines such as “Take and cut [it] out in little stars, and all the world shall be in love with night!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LIGHT-FILLED DINER — HYDE PARK — “WORTHY OF THE JOURNEY

NJWILDBEAUTY readers are accustomed, possibly too accustomed, to my being enervated and worse by lack of light.  On the other hand, you also experience in your writer a certain ecstasy in the presence of light.  Add to that the hint of time-travel and surprisingly satisfying food, and you have my all-time favorite diner.  It doesn’t hurt that major historical shrines of Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt await nearby.

It’s in Hyde Park (New York), where I travel on Roosevelt-quests, as much Eleanor, of course, as Franklin.  And it’s a step back into my teen-age years, except we didn’t have anything nearly so exciting in Detroit!

Hyde Park's Iconic Diner at Night

Hyde Park’s Iconic Diner at Night

Floats!  Time Travel...

Floats! Time Travel…

Glowing Interior

Glowing Interior

Franks

Franks

Sandwiches

Sandwiches

And, of course, COCKTAILS

And, of course, COCKTAILS

Homemade Chicken Noodle Soup and Fresh Hot Biscuits -- I would go back for this alone...

Homemade Chicken Noodle Soup and Fresh Hot Biscuits — I would go back for this alone…

Nouvelle BLT at Eveready Diner, Hide Park

Nouvelle BLT at Eveready Diner, Hide Park

Our Table, Our Reward after the (rain-slashed) Day's Long Ride

Our Table, Our Reward after the (rain-slashed) Day’s Long Ride

Howard Johnson’s, it isn’t!

That was the closest I’d ever come to a diner in my Michigan life.  First one I met was the Edison Diner in New Jersey in the 1980’s.  And it was industrial strength…

Mr. Coffee

Mr. Coffee

Whimsical and retro, I’m sure you see why I make at least one pilgrimage per Hyde Park trip, to the Eveready!  Breakfasts are hearty, hefty, also filled with light, even on downpour days– stoking us for continuance, whether to or from the Berkshires.

Night Delights, Hyde Park

Night Delights, Hyde Park

Even now, looking back on our October trip, this diner shimmers like a mirage.

The diner is right on Route 9, not far from FDR’s Springwood.  Stay at the ’50’s motel, impeccably kept, to which one is warmly welcomed, The Roosevelt Inn.  Make reservations by phone – the owner/hostess enjoys that.  This is also on #9, a few blocks north of the diner, and near one of the town’s timeless churches, which plays a hymn at 6 p.m. — which may well honor the Angelus.

The highlight of that day was a Ranger-guided tour at Eleanor’s home, Val-Kill, tucked into woods, just far enough from Sara Roosevelt.  The President loved going to Eleanor’s haven, for which he gave her the land; and for which he, an amateur architect, made clever plans.

Unbeknownst to me for decades, Franklin also had a Sara-haven on the Val-Kill property, Top Cottage.  If you’re not delayed by rain, heading to Hyde Park, you can arrange to visit both in one day.  Details may be found by checking the FDR Library site.

You used to have to pay for tickets and take bus to Val-Kill and then back and then another such arrangement for Top Cottage.  We could drive into Val-Kill, pay among a cluster of very friendly Rangers.  What I love about the Roosevelt guides, in Springwood and the Library, as well, is that they bring ‘my’ President and his lady back to life.  Even last October, it was as though Eleanor would come ’round the corner at any moment, pick up her knitting, and settle down next to Fala’s basket.

(Fala was FDR’s Scottie — very famous in his day, and thoroughly bereaved, as was I as a child, by the death of that larger-than-life man, my only president, due to all those terms…)

The night before departure for Hyde Park, my travel-and-hiking friend, Deb Hill, and I watched the last ‘reel’ of the splendid PBS special on the Roosevelts of the Hudson River Valley, by our arch-film historian, Ken Burns.

Franklin's and Eleanor's Train Station -- many a campaign speech took place at this site...

Franklin’s and Eleanor’s Train Station — many a campaign speech took place at this site…

This Welcomed the President Home

This Welcomed the President Home

This May Have Held Their Baggage -- Milk Cans of Hyde Park

This May Have Held Their Baggage — Milk Cans of Hyde Park

Another Form of Time Travel -- Fresh From Hyde Park Cows

Another Form of Time Travel — Fresh From Hyde Park Cows

BAGGAGE of Hyde Park

BAGGAGE of Hyde Park

Wild Grape -- Hyde Park Train Station

Wild Grape — Hyde Park Train Station

This is a casserole I made in advance, had ready to sustain us travelers, upon our return.

FOOD BACK HOME AFTER JOURNEY Strata, Ready to Bake

FOOD BACK HOME AFTER JOURNEY
Strata, Ready to Bake

STRATA - PART II

STRATA – PART II

STRATA READY TO BAKE -- A NOURISHING WELCOME

STRATA READY TO BAKE — A NOURISHING WELCOME

Lawrenceville Fire Company, Perennial Gift to the Community

As NJWILDBEAUTY readers know, I have recently moved to Lawrenceville, to a peaceful community called Society Hill, tucked up and away from the tiny town, and named for the Society of Friends.  As in Quakers, who filled this region and served it well, back even before our Revolution.

On voting days, I can walk to our polls, in the Lawrenceville Fire Company’s building .  Station 23 it is, and 23 is the number of my house.  Good omen.  203 was my number at Canal Pointe, and 2003 all my high school years on Northwood Boulevard in Royal Oak Michigan.

It’s always festive when I vote in my new place, because it takes place among these true friends, those who protect our community by day and by night, who polish up their phenomenal trucks and other vehicles, and stand them, gleaming, outside as we arrive to cast our ballots.

I wasn’t even well on the most recent voting day.  I thought I might not even be able to utilize that phenomenal rite, for which our Founding Fathers, often deliberating here and near here, pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.

Feeble as I felt, mid-morning I asked myself, for some reason, “well who are you, what defines you?”

One answer turned out to be that I write a blog about New Jersey and nature.  So I did that, that morning.

And what else am I, who else am I?

An American who votes.

So I went down to The Lawrenceville Fire Company and chose, among others, Bonnie Watson Coleman, whose splendid brother, Jay, is our vice president at D&R Greenway Land Trust, saving nature in New Jersey.

Who else am I?

A photographer.

So while I was down at the fire station, I took pictures.  Below is the Fire Company’s own picture.  I urge you to think of them now, at Christmastime.  Think how they leap into the fray, whenever flames appear — and how they advise us about such things as fire extinguishers and generously watering the Christmas tree. Think and get out your checkbook, and write them a thank you check.

Meanwhile, I think their vehicles look like Christmas.  Enjoy!

Lawrenceville Antique Fire EngineLawrenceville Fire Company
Mercer County Station 23
Address: 64 Phillips Ave, 08648
Phone: (609) 896-0972
“Protecting the North Since 1915”

Welcoming Doorway, Lawrenceville Fire Company

Welcoming Doorway, Lawrenceville Fire Company

A safe and honorable place to bring tattered flags

A safe and honorable place to bring tattered flags

We've come a long way with firefighting equipment

We’ve come a long way with firefighting equipment

Water rescue equipment

Water rescue equipment

Insignia of Honor

Insignia of Honor

Brush 23

Brush 23

The latest and the greatest...

The latest and the greatest…

How It Used To Be

How It Used To Be

Honorable Uniform, Ever at the Ready

Honorable Uniform, Ever at the Ready

Lawrencevillie Station 23

Lawrencevillie Station 23

Pride and Joy of the Crew

Pride and Joy of the Crew

Ready for Anything

Ready for Anything

RESCUE

RESCUE

Tools of the Trade

Tools of the Trade

Badge of Heroism

Badge of Heroism  re 9/11

The Power and The Glory

The Power and The Glory

God is in the Details

God is in the Details

This Simple Plaque Tells Their Story

Lawrenceville Fire Department 010

The first time I voted here, the department was called to a fire.  Here we all were, voting away, and there came the men, calmly hurrying, dashing into those uniforms we came to revere over and over during 9/11, climbing on to the polished trucks that had been all out on the sidewalk for us to admire.  Silently, surely, they whooshed away.

I asked, “Do you do this every time we vote?”

Smiles all around.

That day and this healing day, of capturing their luminous equipment, I felt so very proud to be American.

Restored Hunt House, Pole Farm — Constable scenes in Mercer County

Flag Windless Evening Pole Farm Hunt House and Trail June 2014 003

Peaceful Flag on Hunt House Grounds, Pole Farm

One of the fascinating aspects of this Pole Farm, that is so near to my new dwelling in bucolic Lawrenceville, is that there are many entries.  Each entry holds out its own bouquet of impressions and memories.

One leads to the overlook platform where we will watch short-eared owls in the depths of winter, ghosting out of surrounding stands of dense woods.

One very practical one leads over a series of hefty bridges, which will be very helpful after troubling rains.  They are not bridges over water, rather over land that can become waterlogged.  So one will be able to march without sloshing, when the mood strikes.

My latest discovery is the Hunt House entry, off Blackwell Road.  A generous parking lot awaits, which is where this flag dangles, in the absence of wind.  I’m starting with this because it’s the Fourth of July.  I spent the morning in the Abbott Marshlands, where there weren’t any flags, and barely any birds, but much beauty.

My friend, Anne Zeman, was there to take pictures for the Voices for the Marsh Photo Competition.  If one googles http://www.marsh-friends.org, one will learn what scenes and what processes are required for entry.

As we left each other, after hours of exploration, we reminded one another that this day is a celebration of freedom from tyranny.  Somehow, countless forms of tyranny are overtaking everyday Americans.

Somehow, those precious freedoms for which our Founding Fathers pledged their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor (and some lost all of these factors to bring us liberty) are being eroded at every turn.

We must never lose sight of the sacrifices and the brilliance of our Founding Fathers.  Even more important, we must not betray the liberty they won for themselves, our country, and ourselves.

The Hunt House is venerable — all three segments of which having been built in the 1700s.  It’s a beauty to see from the outside.  I do not know if everyday people are permitted entry in business hours.  As I understand it, Hunt houses the park headquarters.  If all their employees are as gracious and enthusiastic as Ranger Kevin (met at the red barn entry of Pole Farm), I assume visitors are welcome at appropriate times.

Hunt House Restored at Pole Farm June 2014 001Restored Hunt House, in late light, Pole Farm

A handsome picnic area rests to the left of this scene, very appealing, although too close to the parking lot for my taste.

Picnic Shelter Pole Farm Hunt House and Trail June 2014 007Picnic Area near Hunt House, Pole Farm

The same broad, strong, comfortable, quiet trails that make other entries so appealing, lead away from the house and its barn and the picnic area.

Evening Shadows Barn at Pole Farm Hunt House and Trail June 2014 009Hunt House Barn Shadows, Pole Farm

These trails lead in and around essential American scenes.  And yet, soon, one is transported into the landscapes made famous by Constable of Britain.

Lily Pads and Cattails at Pole Farm Hunt House and Trail June 2014 014Constable Scene, Hunt House Trails, Pole Farm

As usual, guests are relishing this regional treasure, many on foot and some on bicycles.

Cyclists Pole Farm Hunt House Trail June 2014 010Cyclists, Hunt House Trails, Pole Farm

On all the trails, all the people I meet are so cheerful, open and welcoming, themselves.  It’s a very American experience, these parks where solitude is a norm and silence a blessing.  Where birds thrive and trees burgeon and deer safely raise young.

Let Evening Come    Pole Farm Hunt House and Trail June 2014 011English Countryside near Hunt House Trails, Pole Farm

Yet, there is this sense of stepping into a Constable, over and over again.

Come Dine With Me Picnic Table by Lake Pole Farm Hunt House and Trail June 2014 013Lakeside Picnic Grove, Hunt House Trails, Pole Farm

I’m hoping some savvy family is celebrating the Fourth in this grove today.

Sharp Shadows  Picnic Grove Pole Farm Hunt House and Trail June 2014 012Long Shadows, Picnic Grove, Hunt House Trails, Pole Farm

Whoever they are, I hope they speak of freedom.

Wherever you are, I hope you remember true freedom, the sacrifices made to secure it in perpetuity, the powerful and brilliant and courageous men and women (don’t forget Abigail Adams and Annis Stockton and Martha Washington, who joined her husband on battleground after battleground) who birthed this land.

This Mercer County Park is an example of the best of America.  Use it.

And continually do everything you can to preserve New Jersey’s wild unfettered places.