On Behalf of Playing Outdoors

In the neighborhood in Marshfield where I grew up in the 1970s and 80s, the kids were allowed to roam the streets until dark -- and sometimes after. Mostly we played in each other’s yards, rode our bikes, or played kickball, baseball or other games in the big triangle where three streets came together. We were almost always outdoors – skating or sledding in the winter, swimming in the summer when a parents was around to supervise.

One of our favorite places to play was a vacant lot that we dubbed Kids’ Highway. It was only a half-acre, but it seemed much larger. It was thickly wooded, and older kids from the neighborhood had created a network of bike trails among the trees.

When I first learned to ride a bicycle and was allowed to pedal “around the block” with a friend, I was cautious about entering Kids’ Highway. It seemed mysterious -- a place more for older kids than an elementary-schooler like me. Its dense stand of pine and cedar trees didn’t let in much light, so it was always dark inside. Toward the back, in a spot where parents were least likely to see what was going on, there was a clearing where – the story was told – some of the boys had fist fights, or smoked cigarettes. Sometimes empty beer bottles could be found there too. (Back then, it was fun for us to collect all the different, colorful bottle caps, hoping for an unusual one.)

Once I overcame my fear of biking along the root-knotted trails through Kids’ Highway, I liked to race my friends to see who could pedal through the fastest, without “wiping out.” These were the days before mountain bikes, so there were plenty of falls.

At the far end of Kids’ Highway was a large pile of dirt – probably 15 feet high – that also had a path worn into it. The more adventurous boys would try to jump their bikes off of it, creating a ramp of compressed dirt at the bottom. I would sometimes run down it, but it took me years to work up the guts to hurtle my bike down that hill and “catch some air.”

One of the best features of Kids’ Highway was a tall tree – probably an oak -- with lots of strong branches – perfect for climbing. The tree was in the corner of the property, so once you got up into it, you could see far down three different streets. I wasn’t inclined to climb the tree (not higher than the first realm, anyway), but one of my friends was. One day we packed a picnic lunch and took our one-speeds (mine had a banana seat!) on a “bike hike.” We ate our sandwiches under the tree, and then my friend decided to climb. She got high enough to get scared -- and would not come down. I had to go all the way back to her house to find her father, whom I hurriedly led back to the tree, to help her.

Kids’ Highway was a magical place. You rarely saw an adult there. As the name implied, it belonged to the kids. So you can imagine our outrage when one day some workers came to cut down most of the trees. Before long, trucks dug a big hole, and more workers poured a foundation. In a matter of weeks, Kids’ Highway was gone – someone’s house was there instead.

People say that children don’t play outside anymore. I don’t think that’s true – I know plenty of kids who play outdoors – and enjoy it immensely. Perhaps what has changed is the roaming. The tree climber and I (still friends, yes, 30 years later), debate whether it’s safe for her eighth grader to ride his bike half a mile to the town center, when we ourselves did it in fifth grade, from farther away. We’ll think twice (or more) about letting the younger children stay outdoors – and more importantly out of earshot -- until dark.

Our generation of parents may be more cautious about letting our children roam free. Our towns – and streets -- are much more populated now, and in general, the times demand closer supervision. But it’s important that we not let go of the notion of playing outdoors, especially in areas that are not fenced it. There is so much to learn from pretending to be explorers in the woods, making discoveries absent from the purview of a parent. So much to learn in burying “secret treasures” in the forest peat and then trying to find them a week later. So much to learn from creating one’s own games – where the tools are forked sticks instead of joysticks – making one’s own entertainment rather than demanding to be entertained.

When my son and his friends are old enough, I want to be able to say, “Go out and play,” and not worry that I’m asking them to do something that’s just not done anymore. We have a nice, big wooded lot in our backyard – I hope my son will create his own Kids’ Highway there someday.

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
December 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

North River Men of Times Past

I found the following article on microfilm at the Ventress Memorial Library in Marshfield. Back in the 1970s, Walter E. Crossley of Pembroke wrote a column entitled “As I Remember,” which was a series of remembrances, mostly about the North River. This one appeared in the Marshfield Mariner on June 15, 1972.

What strikes me most about the subject of this article, a man named Nat Magoon, is that he was able, more or less, to live off the land, even through the winter, right here on the South Shore. I doubt that there is anyone who would be willing to do such a thing nowadays.

Such reminders of times gone by make me thankful for modern conveniences – but also curious about how to make do with less.

OLD MEN ON THE NORTH RIVER
My choice of the old river man falls on Nathaniel Magoon, better known as Nat.

If someone had addressed him as Mr. Magoon, he would have looked about in surprise to see who was being spoken to. He lived in a small house, inherited from his parents, for practically his entire lifetime. This was located squarely in the middle of the present 139 route at the Water St. intersection.

A LEISURELY GENT
Nat (I still think of him by that name) was a leisurely moving, rather stout man. I have heard my mother say that when Nat went to the one room school with her, he spent most of his time asleep. If called on by the teacher, however, the proper answer was immediately given. I imagine his formal schooling ended early. For Nat’s way of life, anything beyond the three R’s was wasted.

He was pretty much self sufficient. He acquired the few dollars of cash he needed by trapping in the cold winter and, on occasion, he did odd jobs. If he had an unlucky winter, he worked for a few weeks on the town highways in the spring.

Nat could make a split oak basket strong enough to stand on or he could shape an ax handle, if need be. When he needed a boat, he built one. His dory may have been a bit rough by present standards, but it served him for forty years.

Can we say as much for one of our modern fibre glass or plastic boats?

The trapping and hunting season started with the first. The came the muskrat up until spring. The furs brought cash, the bodies food. An occasional duck, partridge or rabbit furnished variety. Potatoes and other winter vegetables came from his own garden and were stored in the cellar.

Eels were speared all winter. And with the coming of spring, Nat looked forward to the herring run. Fresh and salted, they were on the menu for a long time.

HIS SPECIALTY
He had one specialty. A scoop or two of flour, a few other ingredients were stirred together and baked in the oven and, in a short time, produced biscuits that made the local housewives green with envy.

By the time the herring run had ended, summer had arrived and there were garden vegetables, fish, clams and a turtle now and then. They did nicely until fall when the round started over.

On a nice day with a fair tide, Nat could be found down on the river, sometimes with Mr. Simeon Phipps, but more often alone. His trips on the river were leisurely voyages. He started from what is now the Pembroke Marine and Route 139 and rowed just enough to keep off the bank. A couple of buckets of clams and a goodly catch of flounder were his reward. There was peace and quiet on these trips and plenty of time to observe nature. There was never any hurry.

This was Nat’s way of life. It was as he wanted and it sufficed him for many years.

He was held up to us boys as a bad example – no job, a lazy good-for-nothing. He envied no one and was free from the hurry and strain of our present competitive existence. I sometimes wonder if he had something that is largely lost today.

There were many others of that era. Some I knew personally, some by hearsay. They, no doubt, varied as to appearance and habits but the basic pattern was the same.

There were the Hendersons and Pratts from Norwell, the Flahertys of Third Cliff, Phillips and Rogers of Marshfield, William Cann, Melvin Ewell, several Damons and many others. I do not attempt to remember them all. The hurry and stress of our modern era has about, if not quite, done away with their mode of living. I doubt it will ever return.
By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
November 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org. Visit http://keziabaconbernstein.blogspot.com for an archive of the last 12 years of Kezia’s articles.

Another View of the 1898 Portland Gale

The Rexhame Dunes, which was the location of the mouth of the North River prior to the Portland Gale of 1898.

Local lore is full of tales about The Portland Gale, the November 1898 storm that relocated the mouth of the North River. These accounts tend to focus on Humarock, the Seaview section of Marshfield, and the lower portion of the North and South Rivers, where the storms effects were most dramatic.

But the Portland Gale wreaked havoc up and down the shores of New England. What follows is a letter dated December 2, 1898, less than two weeks after the storm had hit. It tells how the village of Brant Rock endured The Portland Gale. The letter was originally published in the South Shore Mirror newspaper on November 23, 1967, in a column entitled “Marshfield Matters” by Mrs. D.B.

Times change, but storms continue to pound our coastlines year after year. This year (so far!) we have been lucky. I think it’s useful to be reminded how powerful Mother Nature can be.

The letter is not signed. Originally, it continued for a few more paragraphs, but my copy is faded and truncated, so I can’t share the rest of it with you. (A note to local historians: if you have a copy of the rest of this letter, I’d love to see it and publish it here!)

Brant Rock, Dec. 2, 1898.

Dear Friend:

Your letter received and will try to give you a little account of how we are left at Brant Rock. I cannot tell you just how many houses are wholly destroyed (I have only looked over one beach as I caught a cold taking a sea bath out of season, and have not been able to get out of doors much), but a great many, nearly all are damaged to some extent.

Walter P’s store and Ocean House are not damaged to any great extent. Our large Stetson cottage was the only one out of our five that was damaged much. Walter P. had four houses nearly destroyed, one barn and his large stable damaged considerably.

Mr. Bryant was the greatest loser. Nearly all his houses are wrecked, six or seven I think, and his dwelling house burned, leaving them with only the clothes they had on when they fled to the church. Mr. Houghton’s and Whiting’s and Tribur’s nice cottages are damaged badly. Edgar Phillips’ house is gone entirely, and the roof is at my back door.

Millis Brigg’s house at the corner on Dyke Road has sailed over to ‘Cut River.’ “Twilight” cottage has been obliged to move back out of the street nearly on to the back street.

Sea walls are all gone. There is hardly room to drive a team by Churchill’s, the bank has washed away so, but the hotel was not hurt much, or the houses up the street. The roads are full of great rocks and wreckage of all kinds, lobster traps, boats and furniture. I can look out of my window and see a nice bed lounge and stoves, etc. scattered around.

Webster Park (this is now Fieldston) is a thing of the past: the sand hills are flat. Scarcely a house remains to tell there ever was a settlement there. Mr. Foster and Mr. McLaughlin must be losers by thousands of dollars.

Duxbury beach is nearly destroyed. A great many houses are destroyed and others are badly damaged. In the height of the storm a schooner was driven over the beach into the bay safe. H. says your house seems to be all right. Our own dwelling only had some glass broken.

I have tried to give you an idea how things are, but I cannot describe things half as bad as they are, and now I will give you a little of my own experience. There are others who had just as narrow escapes, but I can only give you mine.

Saturday we felt there was a storm brewing, but the water was very calm. Towards night it commenced to thicken, and at 6:30 it commenced to snow and blow. The southeast wind changed to northeast. We did not sleep much for the wind was something fearful. At 8 a.m. Sunday the breakwater gave way and seas broke through on the street.

At 8:30 the street was full of water, and H. said Mr. Bryant’s family had gone to the church and must get the children dressed to go. So the men took Mr. C’s three little ones, Mr. Landry’s two, and my two little ones to the church; also Mr. Peterson’s two youngest. It was all they could do to get there.

We went into the station (Coast Guard) and I thought I was wet and uncomfortable then, but it was nothing compared to what I got later on.

We had only been in the station a few minutes when Mr. Cahoon’s house and one of the station hand’s houses went down with the ‘Clifton’ the second house from the station next to ‘Melrose.’ Mrs. Cahoon just escaped with her four children, the youngest five months old. They only had what clothing they had on.

Then we thought the station was going, but they ordered the men to break down the doors on the street side to let the water and rocks go through, and that was what saved us. They did not dare for us to go upstairs. They ran a line over to the church and fastened it to the stone porch, thinking we might get over on that, but Mr. Harris, who carried it over, nearly lost his life getting back. The rope slackened up and the rocks knocked his feet from under him and the rope got around his neck. Henry and Baker went to his rescue.

So you can see what danger there was to get into the street and off your feet. They ran the lifeboat out and strapped life preservers on us, even to the little baby. When we found there was a chance for the station to stand, and we were drenched through, and the rocks were coming in by carloads, the men said we better get up stairs.

It was full sea at 10:30 and about 11:10 Bryant’s house caught fire and burned down. At that time the tide had ebbed so the men fought their way down with the wind blowing a gale, but the fire was confined to Mr. B’s dwelling and his house next to it he used as an ‘office.’ The office was only partly destroyed. He only saved a few papers however.

We came back to our house thankful to escape with our lives and find a dry house. If we had only known, we could have stayed in our house, safe, but there are houses piled up all around us.

Mr. P’s houses all came down on us. Mr. P, Leslie, Annie and Mrs. P left and went to The Ocean House when their house got so full of water the kettles washed from under the sink. They thought the Ocean House was built stronger, as the piles it rested on were driven by a pile driver very deep in the mud.

Mr. Peterson’s family and mine left our homes at night and went up on the hill and stopped in a house of Mr. Flavell’s over night. Others, about 30, stopped in the church. We were afraid of the night tide, but the wind changed and we were saved. I consider we were fortunate, compared with Mr. P. and Mr. Bryant, but have lost enough.

by Kezia Bacon-Bernstein
October 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

Fun Fall Activities

(Sauchuk Farm corn maze photo by Chris Bernstein)

Autumn has arrived! The days grow shorter and cooler, and many of us revel in the crispness of the air and the absence of humidity. Fall brings lots of opportunities to spend time outdoors. The South Shore offers all sorts of traditional fall activities – you just need to know where to find them.

Apple Picking – Quick, before it’s too late! Mounce Farm at 481 Union Street welcomes visitors to its orchard on Saturdays and Sundays from about 9:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. You can pick your own apples for $5.00 per bag, or buy them pre-picked. The orchards will only be open the last two weekends of September, and maybe the first weekend in October, so act fast. Or check out C.N. Smith Farm at 325 South Street, or Singleton Orchards at 160 Pine Street, both in East Bridgewater.

Pumpkin Picking – You can pick your own pumpkin, then bring it home and make a jack o’ lantern. Most pumpkin picking begins in October and is weekend-only. Check out the pumpkin patches at The Baker Farm, 101 Bakers Lane, Marshfield -- but call first: 781-834-4021. Or visit Cretinon’s Farmstand, 86 Landing Road, Kingston, the aforementioned C.N. Smith Farm and Singleton Orchards, or Beaver Brook Farm, 645 Summer Street, East Bridgewater. Also, at Sauchuk Farm at 234 Center Street in Plympton, you can take a hayride around an 8-acre field of corn to a giant pumpkin patch and find just the right one to grace your doorstep on Halloween. You’ll find a similar hay ride/pumpkin picking opportunity at Bog Hollow Farm, 80 Wapping Road (Route 106) in Kingston. There, from October 11-13, you can also get lost in “The Maze,” try the hay jump, visit the animals check out farm equipment like tractors, truck and excavators, and even pose in a fireman costume with an antique fire truck.

Corn Mazes – Sauchuk Farm, just off Route 58 in Plympton offers a giant corn maze. From the air, you can see its elaborate design, with three jack o’ lanterns, two spiders, and the name of the farm all carved into the cornfield. From the ground, it’s just a sea of corn and you’ll do you best to find your way through (don’t worry there are clues, plus two tall overlooks from which you can gauge your progress). The corn maze is open weekends through October 26. There you will also find hayrides, (see below), a cow train (where children can ride in “cows” created from barrels that are towed behind a tractor), a corn box (think sandbox, but with dried cow corn), and more.

Hay Rides – What fun to ride in the back of a tractor-drawn hay cart and observe the landscape of a local farm! Mass Audubon’s South Shore Sanctuaries, based in Marshfield, offers 1-hour hayrides for up to 30 people at their Daniel Webster Wildlife Sanctuary. Call 781-837-9400 for more information. Hayrides are also available at Singleton Orchards in East Bridgewater.

Watch a Cranberry Harvest – Southeastern Massachusetts is home to a number of cranberry farms. In general, the farmers don’t mind if you stop to watch them harvest their crop – as long as you respect private property and stay out of the way of the equipment. Most cranberry bogs feature farm stands where you can buy freshly harvested berries, too (it’s not okay to help yourself directly from the bog). Check out these bogs, featured on the Cranberry Harvest Trail Guide. Many feature farm stores and offer tours by appointment: Flax Pond Cranberry Company, 1 Robbins Path, Carver; Bog Hollow Farm, Kingston (see above); and Cranberry Hill, 103 Haskell Road, Plymouth.

View the Fall Foliage – One of the best ways to see the rainbow of changing color in the fall foliage is to take a walk in the woods. Check out the trails along the Indian Head River, via Luddams Ford in Hanover, or the paths overlooking the North River at Nelson Memorial Forest in Marshfield. Take a stroll at World’s End in Hingham, or Willow Brook Farm in Pembroke. Really, anywhere you go where there are trees, you’re bound to find a spectacular view at this time of year.

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein
September 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org. Visit http://keziabaconbernstein.blogspot.com for an archive of the last 12 years of Kezia’s articles.

Pick Your Own Fruit this Summer

I've discovered a great way to enjoy the outdoors, promote healthy eating in my family, and support local farmers, all at the same time -- patronizing a Pick Your Own Fruit farm.

Nearly every week this summer from mid-July on, I visited Tree-Berry Farm on Route 123 on the Norwell-Scituate line. Sometimes alone, sometimes with my 2-year-old son, I picked a few pounds of blueberries. It's fun, it's fast (an adult can easily pick a quart in 15 minutes), it's even safe for kids, since the farm is divided into sections, and each is fenced in. And it's relatively cheap. This summer a pound of blueberries there cost $2.60, while at the supermarket, the average price was $2.99 per pint!

Picked fresh, these fruits and vegetables taste better than what you'll find at the store. They also last longer, because when you bring them home, they haven't been sitting around on trucks or in refrigerators for days (or weeks) already.

Naturally, Pick Your Own food is only available when the fruit or vegetable is in season. But you can gather extra and freeze it, or make your own jam or jelly.

And you can feel good about supporting your local farmer. Maintaining agricultural land preserves open space and helps to stave off development. Often food grown at small farms like these is chemical free or organic. Or if pesticides are used, it's generally in far less volume than on conventional, non-local produce.

Below is a list of nearby farms offering Pick Your Own items this year. You can learn more about local farms, farm stands, farmers markets and other venues for purchasing locally-grown fruit and vegetables by visiting the website of the Southeastern Massachusetts Agricultural Partnership at
www.umassd.edu/semap/welcome.cfm.

o The Baker Farm, 101 Bakers Lane, Marshfield. Founded in 1700, this 93-acre farm run by Laurie Baker offers Pick Your Own strawberries, blueberries and pumpkins in season. Call ahead: (781) 834-4021.

o Tree-Berry Farm, 135 Cornet Stetson Road (Route 123), Scituate. Founded in 1974, this 9-acre farm run by Beverly Westerville offers Pick Your Own blueberries and choose-and-cut Christmas trees. In blueberry season (mid-July through August), they are open 7am to 1pm daily - just call ahead to be sure: (781) 545-7750. For trees, call in early November for dates and times or visit www.tree-berry-farm.com.

o The Blueberry Farm, 698 West Washington Street (Route 14), Hanson. Founded in 1947, this 5-acre farm run by Jack and Pat Concree offers Pick Your Own blueberries (in season) weekdays from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. and weekends from 8-6. Call first as conditions vary: (781) 447-1584. They are members of the Mass Cultivated Blueberry Growers Association and have been growing for over 20 years.

o Lipinski's Farm, 19 Franklin Street, Hanson. Founded in 1932, this 50-acre farm run by Steve Lipinski offers Pick Your Own strawberries in mid-June. They also have farm stands in Brockton, Plympton, and Pembroke, offer hayrides (by appointment) and a corn maze in September and October. Call (781) 293-3440.

o C. N. Smith Farm, 325 South Street, East Bridgewater. Founded in 1925, this is a 90-acre, third generation family farm run by Chris Smith, Jr. The farm stand is open year round, and they offer Pick Your Own peas and strawberries in June, string beans and blueberries in July and August, corn in August, raspberries in August and September, and apples in the fall. Plus they have a petting zoo and seasonal events. Call (508) 378-2270 for hours, or visit www.cnsmithfarminc.com

o Beaver Brook Farm, 645 Summer Street, East Bridgewater. Founded in 1920, this is an 83-acre farm run by Brian & Katie Cavanagh that offers Pick Your Own pumpkins from late September into November. Call (508) 584-6528.

o Coyne Bog Blues, 34 N. Carver Road, West Wareham. Run by Linda Rinta, this farm, nestled in beautiful countryside amidst lush trees, offers Pick Your Own blueberries seven days a week mid-July through August. Call (508) 295-3254.

by Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
August 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

Surviving The Dog Days of Summer

Hot. Hazy. Humid. These are the Dog Days of summer, when so many of us find it hard to get – or stay – comfortable.

The Dog Days of Summer is an actual natural phenomenon in the northern hemisphere. It is the hottest time of the summer, extending forty days from July 3 to August 11 (the dates can vary somewhat in different latitudes and climates).

Although many think the Dog Days’ name is derived from the way people often feel at this time -- dog-tired, or dogged by the heat and humidity, the name actually refers to Sirius, the dog star, the brightest star in the night sky, which is part of the constellation Canis Major (the big dog), visible at this time.

Sirius shines most brightly in July and early August, when it rises and sets with the sun. In late July it is in exact conjunction with the sun. (The Dog Days extend twenty days before and after this conjunction.) The ancient Greeks, Romans and Egyptians all believed that the heat of Sirius joined the heat of the sun to create the hot, humid weather so common in mid-summer. But it’s actually the earth’s tilt that causes the extreme heat.

The ancients also associated the Dog Days with drought, plagues, and madness. In modern times, we see it more as a period of inactivity, stagnation, general discomfort, and plain-old “bad hair days.”

So what can you do to beat the heat and survive the hottest time of the summer without breaking the bank? Staying home and camping out in front of your air conditioner with an endless supply of popsicles may be the most appealing option. But if that’s not going to work for you long term, consider the following approaches. Many of these are not quick fixes – so you may want to wait until the Dog Days have passed to attempt them.

• Close the window shades on the sunny side of your home. If you don’t have shades, consider installing them – or curtains or draperies.

• Install ceiling fans to help cool the house. Run them when you’re at home.

• Clean or replace ventilation system filters each month.

• Install a programmable thermostat, and keep your house cooler when you’re there, warmer when you’re not.

• Have a professional conduct an energy audit of your home (NStar is offering these for free in some local towns right now). Among other things, this will help you to determine whether or not your house is adequately insulated.

• Replace an older central air-conditioning system with a more efficient “Energy Star” one. Have your central air serviced each spring.

• Shade window-unit air conditioners from direct sun to improve their efficiency.

• Replace single-pane windows with double-pane, high performance glass to reflect the sun’s rays (and reduce heat loss in the winter).

• Plant a tree. In time, it will provide valuable shade to help keep your house cool.

The Dog Days are almost over. Soon enough we’ll be complaining how cold it is outside. Consider taking some long-term steps to make subsequent Dog Days more tolerable.

Sources:
http://curious.astro.cornell.edu/question.php?number=178
http://wilstar.com/dogdays.htm
http://www.space.com/spacewatch/dog_star_030815.html
http://www.pueblo.gsa.gov/cfocus/cfjune2001/focus.htm
http://www.ftc.gov/bcp/edu/pubs/consumer/alerts/alt091.shtm

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
July 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

The North and South Rivers: A National Natural Landmark

Do you know that we have a nationally recognized landscape in our midst? Like California’s Mount Shasta, the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia, Kentucky’s Red River Gorge and Ship Rock in New Mexico, the North and South Rivers are one of our country’s National Natural Landmarks.

In 1977, the National Park Service/Department of the Interior designated the North and South Rivers of Plymouth County, Massachusetts, a National Natural Landmark (NNL). The rivers were recognized as “possessing national significance in illustrating the natural character of the United States,” The area of designation comprised 5400 acres, including over 3600 acres of saltwater marsh.

This came after years of hard work by former Pembroke residents Jean & Jack Foley, Marshfield resident Bill Finn, and other members of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, who nominated the rivers for the NNL program, and worked behind the scenes to help make the designation a reality.

In September 1977, the Foleys and Finn provided a boat tour of the North and South Rivers to Dr. H. W. Vogelmann Ph.D., who had been contracted by the government to review the rivers for NNL designation. Vogelmann also viewed the area from an airplane, and at the end of the year submitted an evaluation to the Department of the Interior, recommending that the rivers receive the designation.

Vogelmann observed that, “the marshland systems of the North and South Rivers are extensive and complex,” and noted that the rivers were “classic examples of drowned river mouth estuaries.” He said, “Extensive marshland systems and relatively unpolluted rivers are a rare occurrence near a metropolitan area like Boston.”

National Natural Landmark status was conferred soon thereafter. This was especially significant because until then, the program had only accepted more nationally well-known sites. There were only 66 NNLs at that time.

“But nothing happened,” remembers Finn.

The official designation date for the North and South Rivers as a National Natural Landmark is 1977. But according to Finn, it took several years for the designation to be declared. Repeated inquiries to the National Park Service (NPS), attempting to determine whether or not the rivers would receive the designation, yielded nothing. Finally in 1979, when Paul Tsongas of Massachusetts was elected to the US Senate, the wheels began to turn. Theta Leonard, who worked for Tsongas, along with the senator and Bill Finn, worked with the NPS to tie up loose ends.

Finally in May 1980, during the second annual Massachusetts Rivers Celebration, a dedication ceremony was held on the grounds of Mass Audubon’s North River Sanctuary in Marshfield. Tsongas, US Congressman Gerry Studds, MA Senator Allan McKinnon and MA Representative Philip Johnston, as well as representatives from the NPS and other state and federal agencies, joined NSRWA members and officials for a canoe trip down the North River. A wooden sign stating that the rivers had been designated National Natural Landmarks was presented “to the people of the North and South Rivers watershed.” Another sign declaring that the State of Massachusetts had recognized the North River as its first Scenic and Protected River was presented as well.

According to the NPS “the National Natural Landmarks program recognizes and encourages the conservation of outstanding examples of our country’s natural history.” To date, only 587 sites have been designated. In order to obtain NNL status, the site must be “one of the best examples of a natural region's characteristic biotic or geologic features.”

The program was founded by Secretary of the Interior Stewart Udall in 1962. Its primary goal is to “encourage the preservation of sites illustrating the geological and ecological character of the United States, to enhance the scientific and educational value of sites thus preserved, to strengthen public appreciation of natural history, and to foster a greater concern for the conservation of the nation's natural heritage.” Sadly, the program has languished in the past two decades. In 1989 an official moratorium was placed on adding sites.

All sorts of different landscapes may be considered for NNL designation. The present sites include lands used for ranching, agriculture, recreation, nature preserves, research areas, camps, conference centers, and commercial ventures. They vary in size from a 7-acre bog and a 960,000-acre glacier. Some, like Connecticut’s Dinosaur Trackway, involve only a single remarkable feature, while others encompass large, widely diverse landscapes.

Unlike the lands in the National Park system, National Natural Landmarks are not owned or managed by the federal government. They may be privately or publicly owned.

The Natural Landmark program’s aim has been ”to encourage and support voluntary preservation of sites that illustrate the geological and ecological history of the United States, and to strengthen the public’s appreciation of America’s natural heritage.” In order to maintain NNL status, the only requirement is that the “significant natural values of the site” are preserved as much as possible. No new land use restrictions are set upon the site. The NPS does make occasional visits to verify a site’s condition and maintain good rapport with landowners.

Public access is not a foregone conclusion. Some NNLs may be too ecologically fragile to permit visitors – or it might be the best remaining example – in the country, or even worldwide -- of a certain, often irreplaceable, type of landscape feature.

Last year the North River Commission and the NSRWA hosted Deb DiQuinzio of the National Park Service - Northeast Region, for boat tour of the North and South Rivers. DiQuinzio said,

"I was pleased to learn of the efforts to enforce speed limits and to monitor dock construction, vegetation removal and other activities having negative impact on the North River. Also the continued improvement to water quality and opening of the North River to recreational shell-fishing. It is for these and other preservation activities that National Natural Landmark status can be used as a tool, and to bring together the diverse owners, users, and stewards of the rivers for the common purpose of protecting these nationally significant, natural resources."

To learn more about National Natural Landmarks, and to read a complete listing of NNL sites, visit www.nature.nps.gov/nnl/Registry/USA_Map/index.cfm.

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
June 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org. Visit http://keziabaconbernstein.blogspot.com for an archive of the last 12 years of Kezia’s articles.

Outdoor Summer Fun

Yoga at the River's Edge happens every summer on Saturday mornings at various outdoor sites.

Summer is just around the corner. It's the time of year when many of us want to be outdoors as much as possible, and lucky for us, there is plenty of opportunity to do so. Why not grab your hat, sunscreen, bug repellant and water bottle and check out the following:

Eat Outdoors. Many area restaurants offer al fresco dining, and some are right on the water. You can enjoy everything from fine cuisine to clam shack fare, often with a view (although you might be viewing a parking lot). You can bring your meals outdoors at home too. Lunch and dinner are often served on the patio, but why not breakfast too? Or consider a picnic.

Sleep Outdoors. Myles Standish and Wompatuck State Parks offer campsites, or consider pitching a tent in your backyard. Wake with the sun, and the birds, and the other sounds of the natural world. My parents converted an old pool shed into “the casita,” a rustic cabin in the backyard that contains a bed and a bookshelf. Guests actually request to sleep there, even though the nearest toilet is a hundred-foot uphill walk away.

Shop Outdoors. Cohasset, Marshfield and Plymouth all have weekly Farmers' Markets, where you can purchase seasonal fresh produce, baked goods, live plants, crafts, and even lobster. Many of the local arts festivals scheduled to take place this summer offer artisan booths with a variety of art prints, jewelry, home decor, and quirky gifts.

Count Fireflies - for a cause. The Museum of Science, along with researchers from Tufts and Fitchburg State College, is starting a citizen science project to study the fate of fireflies. They are trying to get as many people as they can to become firefly watchers. It involves -- once a week -- counting the number of fireflies you see in your backyard in a ten second period and reporting your findings on the internet. Even if you see no fireflies, that data is important.
Find out more at www.mos.org/firefly.

Go for a Walk. Each town on the South Shore offers a number of different walking trails. From the coast to the forest to a meadow to a lakefront, there are seemingly endless choices. Check out one of the area's newest trails, on the Driftway in Scituate. A new walking path runs from the Driftway Conservation Area, along the edge of the marsh behind James Landing, and then connects with a leg of the former Old Colony Railroad, just south of the current railroad's terminus. You can walk far out into the marsh along the old railbed, and enjoy some unique perspectives.

Get Out on the Water. Rent a canoe or kayak -- or bring your own -- and explore the area's many rivers. The North, South, Herring, Green Harbor, Jones, Back, and Weir Rivers all have navigable portions with public access. Or test your mettle at the NSRWA's Annual Great River Race (watch this newspaper for more details).

Go swimming. There are public beaches all along the coast, as well as inland ponds that welcome swimmers. My favorite “secret” swim spot: the South River from the rear of Rexhame Beach in Marshfield. It's relatively warm and shallow, and the view is spectacular. Just beware of the current, and never swim alone.

Practice Yoga. Join the NSRWA and certified yoga teachers for the twelfth season of Yoga at the River's Edge, Saturdays from 8:30-10 AM at various outdoor sites along the North and South Rivers. It's the perfect way to begin a summer day!

Walk in the rain. When I was a child, my friends and I would don our bathing suits during a warm summer rainfall (not a storm) and walk around the neighborhood barefoot. The cooling asphalt smelled so good, and the rain was so refreshing! You can wear “real” clothes to do this too.

Pick Blueberries. Come July, many local blueberry farms will be open for business, where you can grab a pail or bucket and pick your own. Kids seem much more apt to eat fruit when they've harvested it with their own hands. Sometimes you can pick raspberries too.

Eat Ice Cream. There's nothing quite like cold ice cream on a hot summer day. My favorite ice cream stand, Dairy Twist in Pembroke, offers traditional ice cream, soft serve, frozen yogurt, sugar-free ice cream, and even slushes and sorbet for the lactose-intolerant. There's something for everyone. Also check out some of the other great, independently-owned ice cream shops in the area: The Latest Scoop in Brant Rock, Heidi's Hollow in Hanson, FarFar's in Duxbury, and Peaceful Meadows in Whitman and Plymouth.

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
May 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

Do You Use Freecycle?

Several years ago, my husband pulled into our driveway with his pickup truck and said, “Honey, you’ve got to come with me to this yard sale. They’re giving everything away for free!”

We drove up the street, following the signs to the “Yard Free.” A family was moving out of state and downsizing from a large Colonial home to a condo. Rather than try to sell the items they didn’t need anymore, they were just giving them away. They probably figured that they could get rid of a lot more stuff that way. And I’m sure they did. We took home a patio umbrella, a lounge chair, a set of bowling balls in their own custom bag, a set of four outdoor chairs, and plenty more that I can’t recall at this point.

I’ve never seen another Yard Free, but there’s something almost as good out there – the Freecycle Network. Freecycle permits you to post notices about things you’re getting rid of – or things you want to acquire -- on the internet. A list goes out each day to everyone in your Freecycle group, and if someone wants an item – or can fulfill a request for one – they e-mail you and make arrangements for pickup. There is no cost involved, and you end up giving away or getting stuff for free.

There are 4,342 Freecycle groups around the world, including 82 in Massachusetts alone. It is recommended that you join the most local network so you don’t have to use up precious fuel driving all over the place to pick up your free stuff. Some local groups include Bridgewater, Brockton, Canton, Cape Cod, Carver, Hingham, Holbrook, Kingston, Plymouth, Quincy, Rockland and Weymouth.

According to Freecycle, “It’s all about reuse and keeping good stuff out of landfills. It is *not* a place to just go get free stuff for nothing. It *is* a place to give or receive what you have and don't need or what you need and don't have -- a free cycle of giving.”

Basic Freecycle etiquette asks that you give at least one thing away on the network before you start posting notices for things you’d like to receive. And that once you’ve claimed a Freecycle item, you pick it up promptly from the giver – don’t just say you’ll be over “eventually” for that sofa for which they are itching to find a new home.

It’s such a green thing to do. By passing along an item on Freecycle, you are reducing the amount of trash you discard, as well as reusing things that still have life in them.

What can you post on Freecycle? Almost anything. I gave away a child’s car seat that my family didn’t need anymore, as well as two small vacuum cleaners. I’ve got some clothing slated for a future giveaway, as well as some VHS tapes and old computer equipment.

What can’t you post? The usual no-nos – pornography, alcohol, tobacco, drugs of any kind, firearms/weapons or human beings (this isn’t a place for personal ads or matchmaking services). You’re also asked to leave your politics, religion, moneymaking schemes and bad manners at home.

My rules for putting something on Freecycle are slightly more complex. Is it worth my time to sell it on eBay? If not, can I give it away locally? To a friend? To the clothing bank? To the food pantry or another charity? If not – if it’s too bulky (a giant bolt of floral fabric), too strange (a handsome painting on velvet of a Doberman Pinscher), too random (37 partially-used balls of wool yarn), it’s time to post it on Freecycle.

It feels good to pass along things that are still perfectly usable – just not by you. You get to de-clutter your house without feeling guilty about supplying yet another item to the already-too-full local landfill. Plus, you know that someone else is making use of your cast-off.

Plus, the Freecycle Network makes it easier to get rid of something you’re fairly ------ but not entirely – sure you won’t need again in 12 years. If it turns out, many years down the line, that you really did need that set of snowshoes, you can post a notice stating so, and very likely someone else in the network will have some they’re ready to part with.

So far, I haven’t found much on Freecycle that I’ve wanted to acquire. I was delighted to receive two metal folding chairs that I needed for a yoga class. Soon I will post a notice seeking one of those plastic (or wooden) outdoor playhouses for our son. I’ve been tempted by notices for other toys, as well as ink jet printers and a wooden fence – but not tempted enough to actually send an email to find out whether the items have been claimed or not.

I’m looking forward to further opportunities to pass things I don’t need on to other people. Freecycle is inspiring me to take stock of and part with items that have been cluttering up my house for years. Especially now with many towns adopting Pay As You Throw trash removal, Freecycle provides an excellent alternative to just-throwing-things-away.

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
April 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

Skunks and Skunk Cabbage Mean Spring is Here

One night in early March I caught my first whiff of skunk spray in the air – a sure sign that spring is on its way.

Other than Pepé LePew and the fact that they are smelly (and can make you or your pets smelly too), I have very few associations with skunk. So I did some research to learn more about these much-maligned critters.

The skunks that live here in New England -- Mephitis mephitis nigra, the striped skunk -- are easy to spot. Their distinctive black and white striped fur and bushy tail make them stand out at dusk, or when your headlights flash on them while driving at night. Unlike other members of the weasel family, they are not especially agile. Their gait is wobbly, and with short legs, they move rather slowly. Perhaps that is why so many of them end up as roadkill. Generally an adult skunk measures 29-36 inches in length, tail included, and weighs 6-10 pounds. The males and female look alike, although the males are 25% larger.

Striped skunks usually make their homes in fields and woodlands, but they are just as happy to live under a porch, deck or shed. Because of their short legs, skunks don’t climb well, but they are excellent diggers. Sometimes they dig their own burrows, but more often they take over that of another animal, such as a woodchuck or fox. The burrows are from 6-20 feet long, with a round room at the end lined with leaves and grass.

Nocturnal, they rest in the burrow during the day, and search for food by night. While foraging, they usually stay within a one-mile radius – but they will go as far as five miles if they need to. Their diet consists primarily of small rodents, insects, and seasonal fruit – but they also will eat the eggs of turtles and ground-nesting birds, as well as garbage and pet food. While not true hibernators, they do tend to settle down in groups of three or four for the colder seasons, emerging only when the weather grows warmer than 30 degrees.

Here, breeding season for skunks is in February and March. Litters of two to ten are born between late April and early June. Six to eight weeks later they are ready to learn how to forage for food with their mothers (the fathers are not involved with raising the young).

While we tend to associate skunk with the stink they can make, the truth is, they spray this scent as a last resort. Skunks will spray when they sense they are in danger – but when possible, they prefer to walk away from danger altogether. If you find yourself face to face with a skunk, it is best to back away slowly. And bear in mind these warning signs. Before a skunk releases its spray, it arches its back, raises its tail, turns its back toward its target, and stomps its feet. The musk is released in a fine spray from two glands on the skunk’s rear end. It can travel a distance of 15 feet – and there is enough in the glands for 5 consecutive sprays.

Taking up residence under your deck, perhaps, or getting trapped in your garage, skunks can be a nuisance. Mass Audubon’s Living with Wildlife is an excellent resource, accessible via the website http://www.massaudubon.org/Nature_Connection/wildlife. It includes some guidelines on skunk problems and how to avoid or fix them.

Another sure (and somewhat related) sign of spring is the emergence of skunk cabbage in wetlands. In mid-March I noticed the rounded purple heads beginning to emerge in a swampy area of my back yard.

Eastern skunk cabbage, or Symplocarpus foetidus, is one of the first plants to bloom in the early spring. This foul-smelling plant produces a bulbous, mottled purple flower, about 4-6 inches tall. The flower appears to be lying in the mud, leaves or moss in which it grows because the stem and leaves do not emerge until later in the season.

The leaves are large – 15-22 inches long and 12-15 inches wide. When torn or trampled upon, they are quite smelly. The smell is not harmful to humans – and in fact it attracts pollinators such as bees and stoneflies to the plant, and helps prevent larger animals from damaging it.

Skunk and skunk cabbage – smelly when disturbed and not especially attractive -- might not be among our favorite things in the natural world. But by winter’s end, it’s a joy to see them . . . some of the first signs of spring!

Sources:
www.massaudubon.org/Nature_Connection/wildlife
www.wikipedia.com
Living with Wildlife: The Skunk in Massachusetts – Massachusetts Department of Fisheries & Wildlife

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
March 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

Exploring at a Toddler’s Pace

My son Abel will be two years old in May. Our house is small, and when winter began, I was concerned that as the cold days wore on, it would start to feel like the walls were closing in on us. But so far, we’re doing okay. We’ve learned that we can still play outside as long as the temperature is above thirty degrees. And if it’s colder than that but sunny, if we bundle up, we can still take a short walk or enjoy a brief stay at the playground.

One mild Saturday in February, we were on our way out the door, headed to the playground. It was one of those days where time kept getting away from us. I’d bundled up Abel in his coat, hat and mittens, then realized that he needed a diaper change. Then the phone rang. Then Abel became fascinated with a toy on our screen porch. When I asked, “Do you want to go to see the big slide? Do you want to ride on the seesaw?” he said “No.”

So maybe the playground wasn’t going to happen after all. Anyway, it was getting close to naptime.

Done amusing himself on the screen porch, Abel asked, “See Dada? See Dada?” Then commanded, “See Dada in barn!”

My husband was trying to get some work done. But I figured we could go down and say hello at least, and tell him we weren’t going out after all. On the way out of the barn Abel spotted my husband’s tractor, and commanded “Tractor! Ride!”

This is a common occurrence. Abel likes to sit on the tractor and pretend he’s driving it. So we “rode” the tractor, and then we went to the shed to “ride” the other tractor, and sit on the motorcycle -- and then we did the same loop again, because Abel wanted to touch all the wheels. “Wheels!” he shouted.

We do have outdoor toys. We have a sandbox and a swing and a little slide. We have a wagon and a tricycle and two dozen different-size balls. But these days Abel is more fascinated with Dada’s “toys.”

So I said to Abel, “I know where Dada has ANOTHER tractor. Do you want to see it?”

“Anudder one? ANUDDER one!” He was excited.

I said, “But first we have to take a walk in the woods.”

“Walk in da WOODS!”

Abel has been walking for almost a year. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?”

So we followed a path through the woods, to the clearing where my husband stores yet another tractor. After “riding” it and touching the wheels, Abel was ready to move on.

“Do you want to see the baby river?” I asked. Using the word “baby” to describe something is guaranteed to get Abel’s attention.

“Baby river! Baby RIVER!”

Abel has finally learned the difference between a river, pond, and ocean. At least most of the time.

We took the typical toddler route along the path, stopping to investigate deer scat, surveyor’s flags, and big sticks, which Abel would hand to me to carry.

A tiny brook skirts the rear border of our property. It’s maybe two inches deep, and sometimes you have to look carefully to see if it’s flowing. The mild days had caused a lot of snow to melt, so the brook was flowing fairly well. Abel actually shuddered with excitement. “Baby RIVER!”

At first he seemed afraid to get close to it. I gave him a long stick so he could make ripples in the water. He inched closer and closer, until he ended up sitting down at the water’s edge, splashing with both his feet and the stick, and getting quite wet. It was hard to tear him away.

After about ten minutes of playing in the brook, Abel and I headed back to the house for naptime, gathering sticks the whole way.

A toddler will spend a long time being fascinated with the simplest things. So on a day when it seems like there’s nothing to do, a simple tour of the backyard can provide all sorts of fun. We both got some fresh air and exercise, Abel saw something new, and I had a chance to slow down and enjoy the quiet of the forest.

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
February 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

The Brant Rock Dike Feud

Driving along Route 139 in Marshfield’s Green Harbor, you might not notice that the road passes over a tide gate, also known as the Brant Rock Dike. The harbor itself lies to the east of the gate, while to the west, the tidal Green Harbor River and its marshes stretch out toward the horizon. Although beautiful, it seems like an ordinary kind of place. You’d never know from looking that the Brant Rock Dike was the site of quite a bit of controversy back in the nineteenth century.

The Green Harbor River rises from springs and ponds near the Garretson Cranberry Bogs on the Marshfield-Duxbury line. It passes under Webster Street, and flows through the Green Harbor Golf Course and Mass Audubon’s Daniel Webster Wildlife Sanctuary. Continuing through a basin of wide, grassy meadows, it enters a tide gate at Turkey Point and empties into the sea via Green Harbor itself, on the Brant Rock/Green Harbor line.

Originally the river’s path to the sea was much less direct. Passing what is now the harbor (which was then just another bend in the river), it continued on a circuitous route through narrow marsh creeks, and eventually into Duxbury Bay.

Ever since the Pilgrims settled in Marshfield, there have been efforts to improve the river’s navigability. In 1633, a canal was dug to better connect the river to the bay. In 1636, this canal was widened and deepened per order of the court. In 1806, a group of Marshfield landowners successfully petitioned the court for permission to dig a more direct canal from Green Harbor to Duxbury Bay. Known today as the Cut River, this canal flowed through the marshes and meadows behind Green Harbor Beach, and out to sea near present-day Canal Street on the Duxbury line. But soon after the canal was complete a November storm closed off its mouth completely.

An even more direct outlet was cut in 1810 – and remains to this day. While prior attempts to improve the river’s navigability had been permitted -- or even decreed -- by the court, this was a case of townspeople taking matters into their own hands. According to Joseph C. Hagar’s book, Marshfield, 70’40” W, 42’5” N: The Autobiography of a Pilgrim Town, “This labor was done under cover of night and about forty men were engaged in the undertaking.” (This was not an uncommon practice – attempts to improve the outlet for the North River were also made in this fashion.)

By eliminating the narrow last leg of the river, the 1810 cut dramatically increased the incoming tidal flow to the Green Harbor River. This was a boon to local fishermen, as it improved the harbor’s navigability. However the owners of farms bordering the river saw things differently. The increase in both the volume and the frequency of saltwater flooding to their lands was a big problem, as crops don’t like salt water.

So in 1871, a group of farmers petitioned the court to construct a dike, or tide gate, that would block the flow of saltwater upstream, and create more arable land. The dike was constructed in 1872, with the condition that “Should shoaling take place above the level of mean low water in the channel in consequence of dike construction, it was to be removed by the Marsh proprietors.” Shoaling did occur, and thus began the “Brant Rock Dike Feud.”

By 1876, shoaling in Green Harbor was significant enough that the Harbor and Land Commissioners demanded its removal. The fishermen claimed that “the value of the harbor was totally destroyed,” as there wasn’t enough water for their boats to enter the harbor at times other than high tide.

The farmers did not respond to this request. They said the harbor was made illegally, while they followed proper channels to get their dike. They argued that boats had trouble entering the harbor at lower tides even before the dike was built. They claimed that shoaling would have happened anyway, without the construction of the dike, and that if they removed the shoals, the problem would return soon enough.

The situation remained in stalemate until one angry anti-diker, Henry Tolman, contrived to force the issue by blowing up the dike. Word of his plan got out, and a Boston detective firm was hired to keep an eye on him. Marshfield selectmen warned that “No man can catch him but a woman can,” so a female investigator was assigned to the case. After becoming acquainted, Tolman invited her to accompany him to the dike in the middle of the night. He brought along a wheelbarrow of dynamite, fuses and “other equipment necessary to achieve the destruction in view.”

Tolman was arrested. Unfortunately, the police acted too soon. Tolman was stopped while still on the road above the tide gate, not down in the sluiceway where the detonation was to occur. In court he claimed that he was only transporting the dynamite Brant Rock, and he was doing so in the middle of the night so he wouldn’t endanger anyone. He was allowed to go free, but “under bond for the rest of his life.”

The dike feud continued for decades. In 1898, the Massachusetts legislature passed a bill that called for the removal of the dike. But a few days later, Governor Wolcott vetoed the bill, because it included a clause guaranteeing the farmers be paid damages for what would once again be salt-ruined land. So the dike remained.

Really, no one won the Dike Feud. Unfortunately, Hatfield/McCoy-type spats continued in town meetings and other venues for many years. Although the farmers got to keep their dike, the promise of arable lands upstream never did come true, as their crops did not grow the way they had hoped. Meanwhile, the fishermen continued to deal with shoaling in the harbor – a problem that continues to this day. But Green Harbor’s cod and lobster fishing industry has prospered for many years nonetheless.

It is important to know that shoaling has always been an issue on the Green Harbor River, even before the dike was built. According to Jim O’Connell, a Coastal Processes Specialist at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, “the channel would be shoaled with or without the dike.” O’Connell continues, “The harbor tidal prism (volume of water between high and low tide) is too small to flush the channel to a point to keep the channel open; wave and wind dynamics move sand into the channel and current velocities are too low to move the sand back out.”

Does the dike contribute to the need for periodic dredging in Green Harbor? It is certainly a factor, but so many other issues must be considered as well. Professor of Geography Reed Stewart cites a few: sea level rise, the building of seawalls, and the changes in the amount of sand washed south along the beach since the realignment of the North River mouth in 1898.

“Even after extensive study, the Corps of Engineers cannot figure out how to keep the entrance channel from shoaling,” says O’Connell. “Natural coastal processes are at work here that we humans cannot overcome!”

And that’s really what it comes down to. No matter what we do to change the course of a river – dig canals, reroute channels, build jetties, perhaps even blow up tide gates – Mother Nature will always have the upper hand.

Source:
Hagar, Joseph C. Marshfield, 70’40” W, 42’5” N: The Autobiography of a Pilgrim Town. Marshfield Tercentenary Committee (Marshfield, MA, 1940).

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
January 2008

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

Visiting Norwell’s Fogg Forest

Last January, I made the resolution that I would visit at least one new conservation parcel in 2007. I finally succeeded, in November, by going for a walk with my sister and my son at the 40-acre Fogg Forest in Norwell.

Fogg Forest is one of those places I have driven past for years, always intending to investigate, but never actually stopping to do so. The main entrance is located right on Main Street/Route 123. For years it was marked with a large wooden sign that read ‘Conservation Area,” although that sign is now gone.

From the street, the property just looks like a big grassy field. The grass is mowed regularly, so it doesn’t really appear to be the typical conservation place. But if you walk away from the road, toward the rear of the field, you will see another sign and the trailhead.

There you will find the main trail, which forms a half-mile loop as it passes through a mixed pine and hardwood forest, dotted here and there with large rhododendron shrubs and crumbling stone walls. It’s relatively easy walking – the trail is wide enough for a jog stroller, but not so wide that two adults can walk side by side.

From the main trail, you can explore several narrower, one-way trails that generally lead to private properties. One of these (take your second right once you’re on the main trail) leads to a bridge that crosses Black Pond Brook and eventually opens to the Central Street entrance to the property. According to the Town of Norwell’s website, it’s another half mile to Central Street.

If you prefer long walks, Fogg Forest probably isn’t the best choice for you. But if you don’t mind a shorter hike, or plan to spend most of your time birding or paying attention to the finer details of the woods, Fogg Forest is a quiet, relatively uncrowded place to stretch your legs. I’m sure it’s beautiful after a snowfall, too.

To Get There: From Norwell Center, proceed 1/4 mile west on Route 123 to the property. Look for a large grassy field. You can park along the roadside; there is room for about 4 cars. There is also access, along with benches and a picnic area, from Central Street, but no parking.

For a trail map, visit http://www.geocities.com/norwelltrails/fogg.html

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
December 2007

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

The Land Doesn’t Change

A mill building in downtown Adams, MA.

My maternal grandmother passed away in November, after a long illness. “Babci” (the Polish word for grandmother) had been living in a local nursing home these past few years, but on the occasion of her death, my family and I traveled to the Berkshires, to the small town of Adams, to attend her wake, funeral and burial.

Babci grew up in Adams, as did my other grandparents, my parents, and the rest of my extended family. As a child, I spent a lot of time there – climbing Mt. Greylock, swimming in nearby lakes, and riding my bike on old country roads. But after my paternal grandparents passed away in the 1980s, I stopped visiting Adams to any significant extent. Certainly, my family drove out there a few times each year to see great aunts and uncles -- and to bring Babci to Marshfield for visits -- but we rarely stayed more than a single night.

Many people have heard of North Adams, the city directly to the north that’s home to the Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts (formerly North Adams State) and Mass Moca, the contemporary art museum. Founded in 1778, Adams was once a thriving town in its own right – first as a farming community, later as a mill town, thanks to the brisk flow of the Hoosic River.

Beginning in 1814 with the opening of the Adams South Village Cotton Manufacture Company, Adams’ population flourished, jumping from 2,000 to 4,000 between 1820 and 1835. It continued to grow well into the 1900s, as woolen, lumber and plastic mills and the promise of good wages drew people there. A state of the art cotton mill, Berkshire Cotton Manufacturing Company, later Berkshire Hathaway, was founded in Adams in 1889; over the years they added three more mills and became Adams’ lifeblood. It was a boomtown. The cotton mills even managed to prosper through the Depression, and thrived during World War II.

But after that things changed. The new post-war economy brought a decline in wages. The mills moved south, where they could find cheaper labor and weaker unions. In 1958, Berkshire Cotton closed down its Adams operations. The boom went bust. Textile-related industry remained for many years, but job opportunities diminished greatly. Now the only remaining mill is Specialty Minerals, which mines and processes limestone.

And so the town of Adams struggles to reinvent itself. Many nearby communities have turned to tourism. The more posh Berkshire towns of Lenox and Stockbridge have relied on this for decades. North Adams and Pittsfield are seeing some success as they follow suit. But even with such draws as Mt. Greylock, the highest peak in Massachusetts; the Ashuwillticook Rail Trail, a rich cultural history, and a shiny new visitor center, Adams has a long way to go. Jobs are hard to find. Population continues to drop.

My grandmother was buried in the Polish cemetery, up high in the hills of the Hoosac Range. Driving back into the heart of town after the services, we were treated to a panoramic view of Adams. Looking down from the mountain, we could see the valley below, the river flowing through town, the church steeples, dairy farms with green pastures, beautiful stands of trees in their red-gold autumn finery, Mt. Greylock towering above. This is the way Adams looked before the mills came to town. This is how it is today.

The land doesn’t change. Humans and their industries come and go. Mining and deforestation may alter the way a place looks, but the land itself remains the same. The casual visitor may only see closed down restaurants and storefronts, but like any town, Adams means “home” to generations of people – there is much more to it than what one sees on the surface.

Is there a way for Adams to get back on its feet? Will the prosperity of other towns filter into Adams? There is talk of a “recreation area” up on the mountain. Is the landscape enough to draw people in?

The South Shore is experiencing its own “boom” these days, with the revival of the commuter rails and an influx of population. The landscape continues to change as more and more homes, “big box” stores and “lifestyle” shopping centers are constructed. Lucky for us, we have set aside thousands of acres of land as open space. Thanks to Conservation Commissions, land preservation groups such as The Wildlands Trust and The Trustees of Reservations, Community Preservation Act funds, and foresight of voters, we have ensured that – no matter what the future holds -- the land itself will remain.

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
November 2007

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

Vacationing at Home

Staycation means extra time exploring in the jog stroller!

My husband and I used to travel twice a year, usually in the fall and winter. Even last year, after our son was born, we still managed to go away for a week in September. Although a 6-day stay at a friend’s Vermont condo with our 4-month old was far less glamorous than the 2-week vacations in Mexico and road trips in the American West that we’d enjoyed in prior years.

This fall we chose to stay home. Now that our son is more than a year old, travel for pleasure has taken on new meaning. It’s hard to “get away from it all” when you’ve got a trunk full of baby gear and a little one in the back seat who doesn’t appreciate scenic vistas or long drives.

Not going away was a conscious choice. We contemplated planning a toddler-friendly trip – perhaps renting a house where we could sightsee by day, but also have a quiet place to retreat to during naptime. A place where we could cook our own meals and have room to spread out our son’s toys. It was certainly possible -- still, it didn’t seem worth the effort. No destination was compelling enough to warrant the energy required to make it happen.

Staying home had its own appeal. Two weeks off from the 9-5 job (for my husband) so he could spend more time with our son. Extra opportunity for me (the primary caregiver) to work. More time for both of us to catch up with projects around the house that never seemed to get done. And best of all -- more time with each other. It wasn’t our typical vacation, but it sounded nice – and cheap.

And good for the planet. Typically our vacations involve airplane travel, and often a rental car on which we put at least a thousand miles. The carbon emissions that this “trip” would generate would be significantly less. Sure we might venture into Boston one day to visit the Children’s Museum – but that was nothing compared with – for example -- driving from San Francisco to Seattle and back.

As it was, we spent a lot of time visiting with friends, going for walks, checking out local playgrounds, and just hanging out in our own yard. Since we weren’t working as much, our morning and nighttime routines were more relaxed. We could stay up late or sleep in (as much as our son permitted), and let our days develop at their own pace. We didn’t feel rushed. It was a wonderful reprieve. One of my favorite memories from that time was sitting on the Sea Street Bridge in Humarock with my son in his stroller, sharing a snack of Goldfish crackers, and watching the boats and seagulls pass by as he exclaimed “Boat!” “Bird!” “Cracker!”

The challenge of vacationing at home is that you can take on too many projects and end up resting less than you would on a normal week. That was certainly an issue for us – but still we both managed to achieve a good balance of down time and “getting stuff done.” As for our son, he seemed to enjoy “helping” Daddy fix the tractor and organize the basement.

I have to admit, do miss the travel. There are plenty of places in the world I’d like to see, and plenty of places I can’t wait to show to my son. I can’t imagine that it will be easy to watch my parents and sister leave for Mexico this winter without us. But on the other hand, travel just doesn’t seem important right now. I know we’ll get back to it someday.

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
October 2007

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

A Baby’s View of Nature

On Sunday afternoons Abel (my 16 month-old son) and I often spend time with my parents. In the summer we hung out around my folks’ pool, but now that fall is here, we like to go for walks. Recently we explored the Norris Reservation in Norwell.

When we’re in the woods, I usually transport Abel in a jog stroller. However on this particular Sunday, the jogger had a flat tire, so we opted for a backpack specially designed to carry children. I had purchased it at a yard sale months ago, but this was my first time using it.

A pack loaded with a 20+ pound child isn’t easy to lift onto one’s back. My dad had to help me get Abel up there. And we weren’t sure for how long Abel would tolerate this new outlook. But it turns out that he loved it! As opposed to moving along at stroller-level, it must have been a great novelty to have his head up among those of the adults.

So we set off into the woods. You enter the Norris Reservation by heading down a wide trail that leads to an old mill pond. This is a favorite fishing spot for young families, and sure enough, a father and his two boys had just pulled a small fish out of the water. As we approached, they were examining its scales before throwing it back “to his mother.”

As soon as Abel saw the pond, he shouted “Pool!”

“Pond,” we said. “That’s a pond, Abel. Lots of water – just like a pool.”

Abel has a vocabulary of about sixty words, and can sometimes get his point across quite clearly. “Pool” is his word for most things watery – swimming pools, puddles, the ocean, the rivers.

We started down the path that leads to the old boat house, a favorite spot for many who walk at the Norris. “We’re going to see the river, Abel,” my father said.

“River!” replied Abel.

These days, Abel mimics a lot of the words he hears, but doesn’t necessarily know their meaning. We talked some more about what we might see along the trail. Every once in a while Abel would say “river,” excitedly.

Soon we were at the boat house. We stood at the railing, and looked up- and downstream.

“Pool!” Abel cried, his eyes shining with delight.

“This is the North River,” my mom explained.

“Boat!” said Abel, seeing the vessels moored not far away.

“Yes, there are boats on the river,” I said.

“Pool!” shouted Abel. “Pool, pool!”

My father gathered a handful of stones. Abel has recently figured out how to throw things. He often grunts with the exertion as he throws, but then giggles as the object meets it target. We began handing him the stones, and one by one, he tossed them into the water.

“Rock!” he exclaimed, as each one left his hand. “Pool!” This distracted us all for several minutes.

After awhile, we headed back to the trail and continued our walk. The woods grew denser around us, but every so often we could still see the river through the trees. “See the river?’ we asked Abel.

“River!” said Abel. “River, river!”

He said river! Had he learned a new word?

After climbing a hill, we paused to look out from another vantage point. The river was below us now. “See the river?’ we asked.

“Pool!” said Abel.

We continued through the woods. Abel did a fair share of happy-sounding nonsense babbling, and every so often, he would say “river.” I began to wonder if it actually was the forest he was associating with that word. We have yet to succeed in teaching him “forest,” “woods,” or “trees.”

At another stop to look out over the water, we asked, “See the river, Abel?”

“River!” he replied.

After an hour or so, we had completed our walk. As we passed the mill pond, Abel was beginning to nod off in his back pack. But when he saw the water, he managed to summon enough energy to comment upon it. “Pool . . .” he sighed.

Has he learned the word “river?” We’re not sure. But we’ll be returning soon to the Norris Reservation, and to many other of our area’s nature preserves, to find out.

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
September 2007

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

Nature Brings a Sense of Peace

Abel at Garfield Park in Norwell.

It was a cool, quiet, Sunday morning in August. Abel, my 15-month-old son, and I had been at Gaffield Park playground in Norwell for about a half hour. It was our first visit there, and we’d already checked out the swings, the toddler-size jungle gym, and some of the woods that surround the park.

Our next destination was the “big” slide. Abel loves to go down the toddler slide, but he also enjoys riding the “big” slide in my lap. He was excited to see this “big” slide for the first time. I let him scramble up the many tiers of the jungle gym, following closely behind. Once we reached the top, I sat down and he crawled into my lap.

You may remember reading last year in this column how shocked I was by the changes to my life that motherhood brought. Becoming a mother really threw me for a loop. I wrestled with post-partum depression for my son’s first few months – and struggled quite a bit longer with depression-related anxiety issues.

Through much of Abel’s first year, I could function well enough, but I really didn’t feel like “myself.” My doctor likened it to being between the rungs of the monkey bars. I had let go of one, pre-parent, version of myself, but had not yet grasped hold of the new “mother” version.

Identity-wise, I was in sort of a free-fall. It was scary when I had time to think about it -- but as any mother of a young child will tell you, when you’re raising a little one, there really isn’t much time for thinking. Not the thinking you used to do before you were a parent, anyway. Not the big picture thoughts that come up when you take long walks in the woods, or spend an afternoon kayaking on the river.

Back to the slide. We were up high -- ten to fifteen feet off the ground. Abel was secure in my lap, with my arms around him. I had scooted to the lip of the slide, and was just about to push off, when I paused, just for a few seconds.

I could hear the wind in the trees. I could smell the peat and decaying leaves of the woods around us. I could sense the presence of the North River, which isn’t far, as the crow flies, from Gaffield Park. I could hear birds and insects and distant traffic. None of this was remarkable except the simple fact that for the first time in at least 15 months, I was noticing it.

Could it really have been that long since I’d stopped to be aware of my surroundings? Since my mind was quiet and content enough to experience such simple peace? Apparently so.

Spending time outdoors has always been an important part of my life. I love to go out on the water, to visit nature preserves, to find someplace beautiful and just sit and listen – and watch. Such activities have always made me feel good, and more connected with myself.

In his first 15 months of life, my son has already visited a number of conservation areas here on the South Shore. He’s been to the beach; he’s sat beside the rivers. His dad and I – and the rest of his family -- look forward to exposing him to much, much more of this. We hope he’ll experience the same sense of peace and contentment there that we often do.

Sitting at the top of the slide with Abel nestled happily in my lap, I felt so grateful. To have survived the first year of motherhood; to have reared (so far), a smart, healthy, sensitive child; to have so much to look forward to in the years to come – even if some of it might be scary.

“Are you ready?” I asked Abel, giving him an extra squeeze.

He giggled.

“Here we go!” I said, pushing off.

And down the slide we went, both smiling.

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
August 2007

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.

Our Resident Rabbit

A cottontail rabbit.

A cottontail rabbit has taken up residence under our screen porch. Every evening we see it nibbling the weeds that grow in the gardens around our house. It doesn’t seem to mind us watching – even when my one-year-old shrieks with delight.

We’ve seen an increase in rabbits in our yard this year – in fact, an increase in wildlife in general. A family of turkeys trots across the lawn every day around dusk, the mother along with ten babies. A hawk perches on the roof of our barn or in the trees above our house, and we have regular evening visits from a family of deer. Our back yard connects to a wide corridor of undeveloped land, close to the highway, so I imagine these creatures are roaming free in their natural habitat – what’s left of it. But nothing comes as close to the house – and its inhabitants – than the rabbit.

Massachusetts is home to two species of cottontail rabbits, the New England (Sylvilagus transitionalis) and the Eastern (Sylvilagus floridanus) . The two species look very much the same to the untrained eye, although the former is generally a little bit smaller in size. But they prefer different habitat. According to the Massachusetts Department of Fish and Wildlife, the New England Cottontail likes denser areas – mountains, shrub-dominated wetlands, brush-filled woods, as well as regenerating clearcuts, and densely-forested power line corridors and highway medians. The Eastern Cottontail, on the other hand, prefers more open areas -- pastures, fields, farms, stone walls, marshes, and suburban backyards. Their home range can be anywhere from half an acre to more than 40, depending on the terrain. Since our resident rabbit is hanging out so close to the house, I’m guessing it’s the Eastern variety, even if the woods out back are brushy and fairly dense.

Cottontail rabbits are active at dawn and dusk. They tend to be solitary, and very territorial. They are herbivores, eating tender green vegetation – including grasses, clover, and garden veggies --when it is available, and bark, twigs and buds in the colder months.

The Eastern Cottontail rabbit has long ears and, true to its name, a short, fluffy tail. It is reddish brown or brownish gray in color, with lighter color on its belly and the underside of its tail. It has big eyes, weighs 2-4 lbs., and can range from 12 to 20 inches in length.

Eastern Cottontails breed in the spring and summer. During mating season, the male and female perform a sort of dance, wherein the male chases the female until she stops to box at him with her front paws. Then, they each take a turn jumping straight up into the air. Now that’s something I’d like to see!

Eastern Cottontails nest in shallow depressions in the ground which they line with grasses, other plants, and fur plucked from the female’s belly. After about a month, the female produces a litter of 1-9 young, who leave the nest at 3-5 weeks of age. The female may mate again very soon, and she can have up to four litters per year.

Cottontail rabbits can move quickly, leaping distances from 10-15 feet at a time, and running up to 15 miles per hour. They stand on their hind feet to watch for predators, which include fox, bobcat, hawks, owls, snakes, and even pet dogs and cats. When chased, they sometimes dart from side to side to break the scent trail. Just as much of a threat is the hunter -- the Eastern Cottontail is the most widely hunted game animal in the eastern United States.

Our resident Eastern Cottontail doesn’t have to worry about being hunted – unless it strays beyond the bounds of our neighborhood. I don’t even mind that it has eaten a hole in our compost bin, where it seems to take much of its nourishment. We will enjoy watching it come out for its evening meal, and hope the hawk that perches on the barn can continue to look the other way.

Sources:
http://www.mass.gov/dfwele/dfw/dfwcotontail.htm#History
http://wildwnc.org/af/easterncottontailrabbit.html
http://www.nhptv.org/natureworks/easterncottontail.htm

By Kezia Bacon-Bernstein, correspondent
July 2007

Kezia Bacon-Bernstein's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org.