To All the Mothers

It's Mother's Day.

I am not a mother myself, nor do I think I will be one anytime soon, so I do not celebrate myself today.

I haven't spoken to my own mother in over three years, nor has she tried to reach me, so I do not celebrate my mother today.

Today, I celebrate all the people in my life that have gathered close to mother me when I've needed it most.

To Maria, who has not only shared but in effect donated her mother to me and embraced me fully as her sister. Who tucked me in to her couch on Christmas night when I was ravaged by the flu, and who makes sure I always have a stuffed animal to cuddle up with when I sleep over.

To Maria's mom, who calls me "Sandra" lovingly and tells me to cover up my cleavage and always tells me she loves me before she hangs up the phone.

To Edith, who bought me Theraflu and orange juice on her way to work when I was too sick to walk across the street to Duane Reade. Who made me homemade guacamole so I would have something soft and delicious to eat after gum surgery. Who ran through the late night streets of San Diego looking for something to cool the disastrous sunburn on my legs after kayaking in La Jolla.

To Michelle, who has picked me up off the floor and ground more times than I can remember, and who never gets grossed out by anything (except dust and mice and cockroaches).

To Nicki and Chrissy, who rescued me from my college break homelessness and gave me a place to stay with their families, despite my recklessness with new-found freedom.

To Jon's mom, who taught me how to wrap presents, welcomed me home for Thanksgiving, and gave me Benedryl when I discovered I was severely allergic to their dog.

To Alexis, who gave me a gift certificate for my first eyebrow wax well into my 20s, telling me, "It's time." She was so right.

To Cara Edwards, who took me shopping in London for my first box of tampons, an essential item that was somehow not allowed by my overprotective, Catholic parents.

To every person who has painstakingly taught me how to cook, bake, put on makeup, survive a bikini wax, love myself, and be loved by others, I celebrate you today. I would not be the same person without you.

And I am still learning....

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Ossining Weir Chamber & Old Croton Aqueduct, Part I

At least this morning's rain didn't cancel our trip to explore the Weir Chamber, one of the access points into the Old Croton Aqueduct in Ossining, NY. I'd first heard of the tube access when I toured the Bronx portion of the old aqueduct a couple of years ago, and I've been dying to get in there ever since. Getting a little wet on the walk over there was not going to deter me from finally climbing through the brick-lined tunnel.

The Old Croton Aqueduct was a lifesaver in the mid-1800s when New Yorkers were living with fetid water that was barely suitable for washing and that the horses wouldn't even drink. Cholera outbreaks were rampant. After years of dumping their sewage in the streets, the city inhabitants had polluted and contaminated all the fresh springs of Manhattan and the nearby rivers, necessitating fresh water to be brought down from Upstate. Engineers chose the Croton River as their water source, and built a gravity-fed aqueduct (inspired by the Romans) whose downhill grade lowered it 13 inches for every mile.

It soon proved to be insufficient as New York's population exploded and individual water consumption increased tremendously. Eventually replaced by a newer Croton Aqueduct, ultimately an even newer one that took its fresh water from the Catskills prevailed - which is still how we get our fresh water today.

The vestiges of the old aqueduct are surprisingly well-preserved and maintained, save for a few spindly tree roots that have started invading the brick and mortar tunnels.

The Weir Chamber was one of several chambers that provided workers access to the inside of the aqueduct for observation and repairs. The one in Ossining is open occasionally for visitors.

aqueduct pedestrian bridge

Weir Chamber door

plaque





inside pedestrian bridge (note water line)



in the hillside (note rock ceiling)

below pedestrian bridge

By the time we emerged from inside the aqueduct, the sun was shining, and the only rain falling was the residue shaken off the tree leaves above by the wind. Instead of taking the Metro-North train back to Grand Central from the Ossining station where we'd arrived, we decided to walk along the aqueduct a couple of miles south to the next station, Scarborough.

Ventilator #8



After walking through a bustling (though somewhat unsavory) commercial area near the Sing Sing prison, and through a couple of town parks and the parking lot of the Hillside Terrace apartment complex, we crossed over into lush wilderness. Save for the houses visible down the right side of the aqueduct ridge, and the faint white noise of distant traffic, we would have really thought we were in the middle of nowhere.





Ventilator #9

The path of the Old Croton Aqueduct can be really confusing, and features a few diversions off the original path because of private property that it crosses through or other obstructions. In addition to some resources online, Google Maps does mark the path with a green line, and the map sold by Friends of the Old Croton Aqueduct also proves to be pretty handy in navigating the sometimes confusing pathways and signage.



After walking a great majority of the trails along the Bronx River, it's nice to have another hike that I can conquer this summer, one piece at a time...

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Plight of the Independent Woman

I can get myself up in the morning, even if I don't want to.

I can make rockin' eggs and scrub the forks when I have to.

I can buy myself peonies and select the smallest buds to bloom the biggest and longest with the most fragrant scent.

I can pay the rent, contest the traffic tickets, and sue the pants off anybody who owes me money.

I can get sick, get hurt, get surgery and deal with chronic pain all without any insurance.

I can jump off a cliff, hike a mountain, crawl through a tunnel, slog through sand, and climb down rocks without a guide, a compass, or an outstretched hand.

I can find a job, move away, and be anyone I want to be.

I can go out and get off.

I can take myself to dinner and be wooed by any number of swarthy bartenders, waiters, busboys and chefs at the swankiest of places. What I can't pay for, I can get for free.

I can watch scary movies and rock myself to sleep.

I can cry so hard I wish I'd never wake up again, and do it all over again the next morning.

I can do all these things all by myself.

But it would be nice to not have to.



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A Day in Not-So-New Newark

When I got cast in a music video shooting in downtown Newark, I was excited. Sure, Newark isn't the nicest city in the Tri-State area, but I've been there many times and was happy to cross state lines in order to appear on camera alongside a major recording artist.

However, despite its proximity to New York City, Newark isn't a very fun place to hang out. Its downtown is a visible manifestation of the recession's effect on Anytown, USA. Then again, Newark has been struggling for as long as I can remember.

The Paramount Newark movie theater's old marquee still hangs above the three storefronts that now occupy its lobby, two still in operation (selling wares like "Flavor Thug Wear"), flanking one empty one whose still-lit fluorescent lights dangle from the ceiling tiles by their wires.



Amidst the clothing and video stores and Mexican, Caribbean, and chicken food vendors along Market Street stand completely abandoned buildings, with as many as three separate retail spaces long-since neglected and emptied. Fading billboards loom above, their arrows pointing downwards towards banks and taverns that no longer exist.

When the video crew drove up an old brown Cadillac Coup de Ville and shot out its windows, the crowds of gawking locals barely noticed. Pedestrians ushered into abandoned buildings to get out of the camera's view didn't flinch at the filthy carpeting or the smell of urine that made the cast nauseous.

People didn't seem to have anywhere to go. The same guys with dreadlocks walked back and forth down Market Street all day long. Others loitered amidst racks of sunglasses and bandannas, or hung out of second-story windows aiming their Blackberry cameras at the action below. An older woman in a bright turquoise track suit mingled seamlessly in with the extras, and despite not having filled out a time card, managed to get a lot of camera time.



It's hard to imagine Newark's heyday, when the movie theater was open for business and vaudeville was alive and well. 

It's hard to imagine any future urban renewal for the area, despite how bustling it is.

What can be hoped for except stabilization - preventing a downward spiral - in a city just across the river from another city that is always new?

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Photo Essay: Walkway Over the Hudson

It was a dream of historic preservation and adaptive reuse that seemed like it would never come true.

And then the Poughkeepsie-Highland Railroad Bridge, severely damaged in a fire in the 1970s and completely out of commission in the 1980s, reopened as Walkway Over the Hudson, the world's longest pedestrian bridge.

The new bridge, opened last year, is new and beautiful. There's just not much there.


facing west towards Highland


approaching Hudson River crossing, facing northwest


facing east towards Poughkeepsie

That is, until you really look.

We'd walked across one way and then back before we discovered the vestiges of the old railroad system on the Poughkeepsie side, surrounded by No Trespassing signs, enshrouded in the bright green overgrowth that flanks either side of the land approach to the bridge.

signal tower

tracks





We visited the Walkway on a remarkably uncrowded day. Maybe because it was a Tuesday. Maybe because of the dark clouds looming in the distance. Maybe because there's nothing actually on the walkway, and nothing really to get to on the other side in Highland.

Would it have been worth it to take a three-hour round trip train ride up and back from New York City just to cross the Walkway off my bucket list? Probably not, though I would have regretted not seeing it at all. But since we were already nearby, fear of heights, water, and thunderstorms be damned, we had to go see it. And it was lovely.

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Photo Essay: Bash Bish Falls

On an excursion to the Hudson Valley to visit Mike, we wanted to climb Overlook Mountain to snoop around some ruins, but the threat of thunderstorms was too severe to embark on the three-hour, two-mile steep hike out of cell phone range.

We asked Mike what else there was to do outdoors that wouldn't leave us stranded on the highest point should lightning start to strike.

"Have you ever been to Bash Bish Falls?" Mike asked us.

We liked the idea of being the lowest point and surrounded by water in the coming storm, so we said, "Let's go."

The 3/4 mile hike to the falls starts in Taconic State Park near the easternmost border of New York State, an area with plenty of trails and other outdoorsy destinations (like the perhaps better-known Copake Falls).





Soon you cross over into Massachusetts for Bash Bish Falls State Park.



After a cool, shady walk along an ascending ridge, with the sound of running water in the distance, you reach a steep, stone staircase that takes you down to the falls.





It's peaceful and empty down there, but it is not quiet, with the bifurcated falls crashing into the pool below. (No swimming allowed but apparently people do anyway when it's warmer out.)

You are surrounded by trees. And rocks.





And one tiny purple flower, sprouting up from the wet, interstitial earth between the boulders.



If you're not going to get into the falls (which we did not), the only thing left to do is climb back up.



It always feels steeper going up than on the way down.

It did not rain until much later in the day, allowing us to fit one more local trip in...

....To be continued.

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On the Waterfront: Domino Sugar Refinery

Sitting at the bar at Blue Ribbon Bistro a few weeks ago, I was eavesdropping on James, the (infamous) bartender, talking about his fascination with "out West." He said, "You just don't get those wide open spaces here in the East..." he said, and I nodded knowingly.

Especially in New York, there's always somebody around. And if there isn't, it's not peaceful. It's really terrifying.

Even the abandoned buildings in New York City aren't really abandoned. They're never really totally empty. They get invaded by graffiti artists, crackheads, homeless, and, in the case of the North Brother Island typhoid hospital, breeding harbor herons.

After walking across the Williamsburg Bridge (for the first time ever) on this hot, summery afternoon, I decided to walk down to the East River waterfront and go snooping around the old Domino Sugar refinery, whose yellow sign is a landmark of the Brooklyn waterfront as much as the Pepsi sign is a landmark of the Queens waterfront. The plant processed sugar cane for nearly 150 years, until processing ceased in 2004. Sometime around then, I was invited to a few (possibly illicit) parties in the Domino Sugar building, which I can't for the life of me figure out why I didn't attend when I had the chance.

Now, the abandoned factory complex - which has been purchased by a private corporation and a Brooklyn developer - exhibits the curious intersection of 19th century industrial architecture and 21st century operations. Peeling paint intermingles with very recent signage. Rusty chainlink and barbed wire seamlessly melds into shiny new fencing and scaffolding.





Vines grow along old brick facades...



...while the refinery manager retains his old parking space.



I rattled a few cages and tried a few doors despite all the signage warning me of video surveillance and encouraging me to report any "suspicious activity," but I couldn't get in. I found a couple broken windows behind a fence but not accessible enough to stick my camera in and shoot with a flash. Every entrance was painstakingly blocked off, and although I didn't see a soul, I did feel...watched.



I walked along the side of the building, and a cool breeze shot up my skirt from the grates below. The air conditioning was on - a sure sign of livelihood within the abandoned structure. Sure, the cool air smelled like...abandonment...but having the air on could only mean some kind of activity inside. Indeed, the refinery was not as abandoned as I would like, at least not today...



Still, despite the unvandalized signage along the main access driveway, the adjacent lawn is overgrown, and there are some rusty relics lying about.





The future of the Domino Sugar refinery is still uncertain, though borough president Markowitz recently supported the redevelopment plans to turn the multi-block complex into a huge residential development. Plans for the new development are part of a new exhibit at the Center for Architecture in Manhattan, on view until May 29.

For more photos outside the refinery - and inside! - visit:
Bluejake
Nathan Kensinger

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