fight, feed & flit, incorporated
Under today’s blue and white sky, the ruby-throated hummingbirds have had a fierce and fearless time of feeding, flitting and fighting all day! They are so territorial that they body-slam each other in mid-air as they make good on their get-outta-town threats. Smaller and more slender than my thumb, and faster than my shutter finger, their distinctive hum in the air is produced by 53 wingbeats per second! I was glad to capture a just a few images from all the drama and spectacle!
grateful for those who keep our parks clean, safe, and ready to use
From a concept that occurred to me during a simple trail walk four years ago to yesterday’s national celebration, I am thrilled with the attention and gratitude it brings from all over the country to all those who keep our parks and public spaces clean, safe, and ready to use. These unsung heroes deserve it!
It is these committed behind-the-scenes workers who ensure that when:
I was privileged to attend one of those public celebrations, hear a local Proclamation honoring their staff, and present a commemorative plaque to my colleagues of the Carlisle Borough Parks and Recreation Department at their community pool.
But if you missed yesterday’s occasion, you don’t need to wait until the next third Friday in July. Next time you visit a park, consider it a tribute to your local park and recreation providers to just mention a little thanks to the programmer, manager, maintainer, landscaper, facilitator, lifeguard, coach, event organizer or caretaker.
in the Cradle of Liberty’s most iconic places and spaces
This past week I had the honor to be included in a bit of wining and dining by the City of Philadelphia making its pitch to host my profession’s national conference in 2026. That will be the year of our nation’s 250th Anniversary, and the Cradle of Liberty was polishing its shine for us.
My colleagues and I were treated to whirlwind of visits to the convention center, hotels, and venues capable of hosting several hundred to eight thousand people during what would be a spectacular week full of professional development, learning, and networking.
From the thirty-third floor of the Loews Hotel we gaped at the Philly’s distinctive skyline and riverfront. We toured the expansive Pennsylvania Convention Center, inhabiting the old station of the Reading Railroad (of Monopoly fame). Reflective of that legacy, its grand entrance area depicts the iron rails still leading to the stopblock columns at the end of the line.
We swung by Love Park, Boathouse Row, and the Eakins Oval, where we met the artist painting a 450’ x 75’ mural about Ben Franklin and his kite on a sometimes-parking lot. We lunched at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Its most popular sculpture of Rocky Balboa, now moved to the bottom side of its iconic front stairway, still draws 200,000 people a year.
We toured the Tustin Rec Center, where its new basketball court memorializes Kobe Bryant and his daughter Gianna. Tustin’s playground is where the former Los Angeles Lakers star frequented when he was younger, and the refurbished court is now making the sport more accessible to children in a safe environment.
We skipped through the Reading Terminal Market (an eclectic and busy gastronomic bazaar of more than 80 merchants), dropped in at the Barnes Museum, called on Ben at the Franklin Institute, and viewed the Fels Planetarium.
But my most memorable moment was a well-appointed evening meal in the National Constitution Center with a grand, inspirational view of Independence Mall. Facing “America’s Most Historic Square Mile” containing Independence Hall, The Liberty Bell, Franklin Court, Declaration House, and many more historically significant sites, I was both enthralled and grateful just to be there.
Looking just as I remember
Recently rediscovered in my cache of things inherited from my maternal grandparents is this simple series of paper-covered wood blocks. Depicting the forehead, eyes and ears, nose and mouth, and neck and upper chest, this vintage toy’s four interchangeable blocks can be arranged into dozens of kooky faces for pure entertainment and inspirational imagination.
It was a toy Grandma kept at her house for when my brother and I visited. She kept it in a small pasteboard box that originally contained an Airguide DIXON desk thermometer-hygrometer, which was undoubtedly my Pappy’s, and which is also undoubtedly lost to time.
But time was the very gift this vintage toy afforded: in my childhood, an escape to creative imagination and fine motor development in our chubby little fingers; and to my grandma, a respite to catch her breath from our incessant activity. And today, a snatch of time travel: back to the simple, carefree days at Grandma’s house.
from there you can see eternity
Last Saturday we skipped over two ridges and two valleys amid central Pennsylvania’s corrugated countryside to purchase some perennials.
On our way, we enjoyed the scenery of both the Rothrock State Forest on the mountains and the productive farmlands in the valleys – taking special note of how neatly these farmsteads are maintained: no junk, no weeds, no untrimmed borders, no peeling paint, nor even any disorganized equipment of any kind.
We had entered Amish country. Our main destination was a particular greenhouse known for its abundance and variety of home-grown plants. Its parking area included places for non-motorized vehicles. It is owned and tended by polite, plainly-clothed Amish men and women, who, when they converse with each other, use their own dialect. They take cash or check, but no debit or credit cards. And they’re not open on Sunday.
On our way back north, we noticed a simple sign pointing to “Historic Hilltop Cemetery” and hung a right onto an S-curving dirt road leading up a conical hill with an enclosed split-rail fence at the summit. The grooved dirt eventually petered out to a grassy path between crop fields near the top. The view was spectacular and better than these pictures show. And like the rest of its well-tended surroundings, the cemetery was immaculate.
We discovered the gravestone of Captain William McAlevy, veteran of the Revolutionary War (b. 1728, d. 1822, aged 94.) In 1778, he had built a nearby fort, whose name lives on today in the unincorporated village of McAlevy’s Fort. We also noticed the headstones of a few soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic, from Civil War days.
What a special spot for a peaceful place to spend an eternity! We respect those who had gone on before for their part in our nation’s history, and to those who today tend their graves, allowing folks like us to visit and appreciate.
in the lustrous month of May
A walk in the local park this evening featured many sights and scents of the season. All were found by the side of the walking/biking trail in the natural profusion of a splendid springtime.
I’ve identified them by common name, but you may know them by others, since many have up to a dozen or more aliases. Some of the most noticeable fragrances came from some of the least flashy flowers, like common buckthorn. Some of the most intricate fruiting bodies were found on trees, like the delicate cones of the larch. Some were tiny and low to the ground, like gill-over-the-ground, while others were showy and full of themselves, like the Japanese snowball viburnum.
I also noticed many walkers, bikers, joggers, and happy doggos sharing the route through the park during this grand evening. We were even treated to an authentic garage band (in its garage!) playing 70s tunes for the appreciative listeners in lawn chairs across the street at the park’s perimeter.
There’s lots to appreciate outdoors. Now get out! It does a body (and mind) good!
my brother, my friend
When we were little, my mom was often asked if Brian and his brother Timmie were twins. No, she’d reply, they’re 20 months apart.
You’d think, with that small a degree of separation, we would have been a lot alike. But, as it frequently happens in siblings, we were quite different in personality, talents and interests. He drove me nuts, and I know I exasperated him.
That’s not to say we didn’t get along, however, because we did. We played together every day, back on the farm (‘course, there weren’t any other playmates our age in sight!)
And we continued to commit acts together through our teens, like the time our parents were away vacationing, and we chopped down (with an axe) an old apple tree in the yard that our dad had casually mentioned that, someday, he’d get rid of. Our Grandma conspired with us to get a man she knew who had a chain saw to cut off the stump even with the ground. We lived on grape juice and sandwiches: I preferred peanut butter and jelly, but Brian made the same every day: mincemeat baloney, cheese and ketchup in white bread.
Our paths diverged more in high school when Brian first experienced hallucinations, and later heard voices, in what was eventually diagnosed as schizophrenia.
As an adult, he battled those same demons, along with depression, anxiety, and unpredictable psychotic episodes in decades of discerning what was truly his reality.
He did take some college courses on writing, which he truly enjoyed, and was an ultimate fan of many old-time movies and science fiction TV shows. And he had a couple of menial jobs, but eventually he could no longer cope well enough to be productive in them.
Under the influence of an arm-length’s list of narcotics to control the nastiness, he often appeared “blank,” without much of a personality. And while there were many long periods of an acceptable status quo, the drugs never cured him, and it became more difficult to determine the cocktail’s exact right proportions to maintain that increasingly slim balance.
But through it all, his mild-mannered personality and good-humored wit would serve him and endear him to those who knew him.
Yet he had more to suffer. On the day of our mother’s 80th birthday party, Brian got lost on a route he knew so well. He drove about the streets of Bethlehem until he ran out of gas, and was able to pull off on a side street to park. Someone asked him if he was ok, and he said no. They called an ambulance for him. There was no room at Muhlenberg Hospital, where he usually went, so they took him to St. Luke’s instead. There, because they didn’t know him, they ran some tests his usual doctors probably wouldn’t have. They found a brain tumor.
Brian celebrated his 50th birthday with the first of three surgeries to counter the cancer’s terrible, inevitable advance.
Despite the harshness of his life, Brian remained a kind soul who complained only of physical pain, but never his lot in life. See My brother Brian: a victorious tragic life.
He remains my example in patient perseverance, and all-around good guy I wish was still with us. But that’s selfish of me; he’s now free of his lifelong afflictions and I’m glad for him. Today would have been his 65th birthday. I miss him, my friend, my only brother.
Be a positive role model, not a model jerk
I’ve been a fan of Gary Larson’s Far Side cartoons since their start. And this particular one tells me that not only does God love diversity, he’s also got a sense of humor!
Unfortunately, humoring a jerk doesn’t prevent the problems they create. And when you work with a jerk, it’s not just irksome—it can be a major career-disrupter!
Of course, the first, best way to deal with jerks is to be certain you’re not one of them! Many people learn to become jerks at work by mimicking their managers and their coworkers. So the fewer who act like jerks, the less their contagion will spread.
But of course, there are always plenty of jerks to go ‘round. No matter what their role or relationship, you need to know how to manage them for your own (and possibly mutual) benefit. Once you make sure that you have a clear understanding of their questionable behaviors, you can then tailor your response to fit the particular person and situation. Some cases call for swift, direct and assertive action, while others call for more subtlety, patience, and persuasion.
The book Jerks at Work: How to Deal with People Problems and Problem People by Ken Lloyd, is a wonderful resource offering hundreds of real-life workplace questions with practical considerations, suggestions and insights to employ in all sorts of jerk defense and management. Because the author says it all so well, I quote from his introduction and summary:
“Jerks can be present in every aspect of work life, from the first contact in the employment process to the last day on the job, and all points in between. For example, jerks can clearly highlight their presence when conducting job interviews, and in the way they treat new employees. At the same time, there are applicants and new employees who feel compelled to demonstrate that they, too, can act like jerks. With every assignment, task, chore, meeting, project, deadline, objective, and interaction, jerks are always seeking that special opportunity to let everyone know who and what they are.
“In leadership positions, jerks can truly come in into their glory. They can be invisible, omnipresent, inequitable, intransigent, nasty, unfair, unethical—the list goes on and on. And interestingly, jerks as subordinates can be just as outrageous, as can jerks as co-workers.
“One properly placed jerk at virtually any level of an organization can be linked to a vast array of problems that include leadership ineptitude, widespread unfairness, abysmal teamwork, resistance to change, twisted feedback, conflict escalation, pointless meetings, communication breakdowns, employee stagnation, muddled decision-making, inequitable rewards, staff rebelliousness, and a very uncomfortable environment. And as the number of jerks increases, so increases the number of problems.
“Although there are no automatic or canned solutions for the problems jerks create, there are some strategies that can help, provided that every problem is analyzed individually, and specific steps are developed to handle each. With a solid strategy in mind, many actions taken by jerks can be stopped and prevented, or at the very least, avoided.
“There are some key pointers that anyone at any job level should keep in mind in order to be a positive role model, rather than a model jerk:
Invest in yourself and your future. Jerks at Work can arm you with the knowledge and sensitivity to combat jerk behavior in your employers, coworkers, employees—and most importantly, in yourself.
some reflection on jobs well done
One of the roles of my job is to host an annual statewide conference for the professional development and networking of our members. This year’s production took place last month in Hershey, Pennsylvania, where we were gratified to see our attendance reach our normal pre-covid levels (and distribute a staggering amount of chocolate!). As usual, the conference was the culmination of a year’s worth of planning and preparations, and resulted in a productive, but intense time of collegial sharing and learning. By its completion, I was completely “talked-out” and need some quiet, recuperative, alone time.
So after we’d packed up our materials to head home, I took a side trip by myself to The Hershey Story Museum on downtown’s Chocolate Avenue. (Yes—downtown Hershey’s streetlamps are fashioned like the iconic Hershey Kisses!) Fortunately, the museum wasn’t crowded at that time, and afforded me a couple of hours to leisurely stroll through the exhibits, communing, but not conversing.
Some years ago, I had read an excellent biography on Hershey, and learned a good bit about his life, and extrapolated some character- and business-building lessons for my own edification. See this Sweet Inspirations! blog post.
The Museum really does its founder well. Its interactive, engaging, fun, and modern exhibits depict the comprehensive story of Milton S. Hershey’s life and the history of his picturesque, namesake town.
As an 8-yr-old Cub Scout, I remember touring the original chocolate factory, and witnessing the actual transformation of cocoa into chocolate before my seeing, smelling and tasting senses! Alas, the days of tourists in the actual factory, however, are long-gone; although its modern accommodation is a Disney-esque ride through Hershey’s Chocolate World—complete with strolling Hershey bar characters, swooshing of liquid “chocolate,” and singing animatronic cows, before depositing you in a chock-filled candy and merchandise gift shop.)
The Museum was all I needed at that moment: Peaceful. Engaging. Reflective. Unhurried. I enjoyed viewing the machinery used at the original factory, the interactive displays, the stories of the early business failures and successes, and the images and artifacts from the founding of a bit of utopia in the fertile farmlands of 1903.
Like other industrialists of his era, Milton Hershey envisioned his company town as a model enclave, removed from the influences of the big city. But he brought a more beneficent corporate paternalism to his project than many of his contemporaries. A sign above his desk read, “Business is a Matter of Human Service,” which he apparently took to heart.
Spending lavishly on the town, he provided well-equipped houses for workers to buy, free education through a junior college, and even an amusement park and a zoo. I learned from the museum, that he encouraged his workers to start their own businesses, even if they competed against him. One H.B. Reese, who worked in the Hershey dairy farm, took him up on the idea, and independently created and sold Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from just down the street, using Hershey chocolate in his confections. Forty years later in 1963, his sons amicably sold the business to The Hershey Company.
Before I left the museum for my long drive home, I enjoyed a well-made Reuben sandwich from the in-house Lisa’s Café, savoring the peaceful atmosphere surrounding several jobs well-done.
of pastimes and past times
The other day we took a short trip to the abandoned ruins of nearby Scotia Barrens, tucked away in the mixed hardwoods of central Pennsylvania. We’d heard about them, but didn’t know anything of their origins.
Our directions were to enter at the gate (which one?) and stay to the left at each branch of the trail. We apparently lucked out on our first pick, and found ruins within a few minutes of walking in the early spring woods.
Our first discovery was the concrete block outline of an old square foundation, that still had some duffy steps cut down into the ground in what may have been a cold cellar. But there were few clues to anything else of its history.
But soon, the brightly-glaring graffiti on a concrete structure caught our eyes through the green-tinted brown: an odd-shaped, rusting, reinforced concrete collection of columns and plates with an interior pit, leading to what appeared to be an old spillway.
On either side of this structure were two tall narrow berms that were higher than the top of the structure. Could it be a railway line that permitted an emptying of hopper cars? Yet if there had been a trestle, there was no trace of it. The berms sloped down on either side to the valley floor in 200 feet or so. Clearly they were manmade, and, judging from the size of the trees growing on them, was abandoned some 60-75 years ago.
Leading a hundred feet in the opposite direction from the incongruous concrete skeleton were parallel lines of squat, square posts, each bristling with a stubby, rusty rebar or two. At the other end of this dotted line was another superstructure, likewise decorated in lively graffiti and mystery.
As we headed back to the gate, we met an old man wearing a blaze orange sweatshirt and a white beard scraggling all the way down his neck, and his border collie named Duke. We asked him if he knew anything about the ruins, and he declared he sure did!
His is the only house on the nearby road, we learned. Duke thinks the whole property is his backyard, and the old man allowed that he lets him believe it.
He told us that the structures were from the 1940s when the place was open-mined for iron ore, and washed out of the ground. The berms were to retain mud from flooding away. But the earlier industry was logging to create charcoal the nearby Centre Furnace. In the 1880s, Andrew Carnegie purchased the land and was the first to employ steam shovels to dig an open pit for ore. (“Did you see the pit?” No? Well, follow me!”) Carnegie sold out to a local company in 1890, who eventually shut down operations in 1909. And within a few years, Scotia became a ghost town. Except for its brief respite in the 1940s to meet the World War 2 demand for iron, its days of being reclaimed by nature have continued ever since. The land is now preserved as Pennsylvania State Game Lands 176.
