4th of July, 1826

Nelson, Ohio ~ 1826

Elizabeth Garrett, a pioneer woman, and daughter of John and Eleanor Garrett, the founders of Garrettsville, Ohio, begins a diary dated July 4th 1826. She says, “I shall have transcribe a memorandum which I have kept for a year past Elizabeth Y. Garrett”. Even though the transcription is dated July 4th 1826, the wording suggests that she is writing a memoir looking back at the recent past.

One must admire the sense of immediacy to Elizabeth’s expression and her facility for journalistic prose in the following excerpt. She is not writing a day-by-day account of trivial events, but rather in her mind, chronicling something of great social importance.  In this case, it is the jubilee of American Independence being celebrated in Nelson, Ohio for the very first time. Elizabeth’s journalistic character takes on substance as she shares her knowledge and perception of community in a historical context.[1]  This isn’t the first time she shows appreciation for public opinion and affairs. Elizabeth comes across as a solidly concerned and responsible constituent of her town, despite the fact that women would not vote until almost 100 years later.  She attests to the innovativeness and patriotism of the citizens of Nelson in their enthusiasm to celebrate the American Independence Day. At the time of writing Elizabeth is only 26 years old.

July 4th 1826  attended the celebration of Independence at the centre of Nelson.  It was the first time that any thing of the kind had been attempted in this town as it was the fiftieth year – the jubilee of American Independence they thought proper to celebrate it here, as well as in other places.  The day was fine; and a large number of citizens attended.  A procession was formed and we walked to the meeting house, where a discourse suited to the … was delivered by the Rev’d Mr. Booth the declaration of Independence was read by David Garrett, and an ovation, pronounced by Mr. Washington.  The procession was again formed and they marched to Mr. Bancroft’s tavern and dined, we returned home before night, well pleas’d with the performances of the day.

Curiously, Elizabeth highlights David Garrett’s role as a statesman, reading the Declaration of Independence, without even mentioning that he is her brother. This third person perspective reinforces her intention to maintain objectivity.[2] Elizabeth was obviously pleased by the congregation of citizens in her town and the festivities that ensued on this historic 4th of July.   She shows pride and eagerness to be a part, evidenced by her choice of the pronoun ‘we’. Her words project hopefulness for the future.

One must recognize that Elizabeth Garrett, in the act of writing, is not only making a contribution to her town’s history, but is also beginning a literary tradition found in the next generations of her offspring. Her own daughter, Lizzie Atwood, at 13 years of age, also becomes a fastidious reporter of local goings on. This journalistic aptitude is passed to the next female descendent, Cornelia Atwood Pratt Comer, who becomes a prominent writer in literary circles at the turn of the 20th century.  Like her mother and grandmother, Cornelia writes diligently, leading to a career as a prolific author of short stories and literary criticism.  Although Cornelia publicly denied the influence of her roots,[3] her success may undoubtedly be attributed to the acute intellectual prowess of her mother Lizzie, and grandmother, Elizabeth Yeatman Garrett, who both, faithfully and valiantly, kept pen and paper at their side.

A special thanks to Dave Dreimiller, for reading and editing the script.


[1] In accordance with what Lynn Z. Bloom says in her article ““I Write for Myself and Strangers”: Private Diaries as Public Documents”, Elizabeth’s writing shows that she ‘conceives of an audience external to,” herself.  The July 4th transcription is a perfect example of a diary, which William G. Gass says, ‘originates as “emotionally naked’ writings that metamorphose into public documents.  This happens he says when the ‘writer already has an eye on history’ which is the case here for what Elizabeth writes.

[2] Elizabeth’s objectivity toward her brother David is quite different in tone from the endearing words she uses later in her diary to describe her brother John, who is ill and comes home to visit.

[3] “The Critic”, October 10, 1896, Miss Cornelia Atwood Pratt, p. 205.

Lesson in Fishing

When my son was a little boy, I thought I had to teach him how to fish, because every boy needs to know this. I knew nothing about the sport, but I went out anyway, and bought fishing equipment for our next big camping trip. Upon arrival, at dusk, in Maine somewhere, out to the dock we went. With his nifty fishing hat, dungaree vest, and fishing poll in hand, I told him to stand at the end of the dock, and cast the line. The next thing I knew, he had fallen into the lake, not sure how. I hope he learned a lesson, and that this is not the last time, he will ever fish.

If you come back someday.

I am the forest
I am the forest.

The day is waiting!  Dawn passed before I awoke, and the sun is getting too bright for comfort.  Alas, one mustn’t begrudge the sunshine, though there is nothing like a rainy day to set thoughts in motion.

Having awakened with a clean slate, alongside one of many chores, and things to do, I ask, “Which will prevail?  Meandering my way through unprescribed discovery, or following the rule of accomplishment, and purpose?”  Balance is the prudent course.

To open the day, here is a poem by a Finnish artist, named Eeva Lisa Manner (1921-1995).  The title, “ASSIMILATION”

Assimilation that I have travelled. I will show you a way that I have travelled. If you come If you come back some day searching for me do you see how everything shifts a little every moment and becomes less pretentious and more primitive (like pictures drawn by children or early forms of life: the soul’s alphabet) you will come to a warm region it is soft and hazy but then I will no longer be me, but the forest.

Adjustments

It never ceases to amaze me how my body adjusts itself to time change, after traveling from East to West.  Seven hours difference between Finland and Connecticut is quite a bunch of time.  At nine o’clock at night, I realized it was really four in the morning, and at two, three, and four in the morning, in Connecticut, I found myself with wakeful eyes, as my mind and body were still in mid-morning mode back in Helsinki.

One of the activities that brings balance back into daily life, after travel, is exercise.  This morning, a stroll helped me to realize that I really was back home.  On my way, without my third eye hanging around my neck, I observed one of the places which normally catches my eyes on this routine journey, and that is the wetlands, hidden in the woods alongside the road.  I was amazed at the light and reflections glistening on the water.  The colors were dark, saturated and vibrant, and I thought, “what beauty there is in the world.”  On my way back home, I was reminded once more of the wonders of nature, when on the other side of the road, I heard a rustling in the brush. With a closer look, I saw a wild turkey, and a group of small fuzzy babes following close behind. Upon moving in on the mother and her brood, there was, suddenly, an abrupt  swooping sound of the flapping of wings from the opposite side.  A huge turkey  emerged out of the wetlands, and crossed overhead.  The loud noise expressed by this clumsy and heavy pre-historic like creature, told me I should retreat from my benevolent pursuit.  So, I was on my way.

Little by little, and thankfully so, my nights get longer, and the fatigue wears off. This has enabled me to get back on track, and at least think about being more productive. With living in general, we learn that adjustments, both physical and emotional, happen over the course of time.  They say that the “T” word heals everything, even jet lag.

A New Day!

Upon awakening this morning, early, falling out of bed I tried to get my feet back on the ground.  It was still dark, when a quick flash from outside flickered before my eyes.  Lightening! Then followed the thunder.  The gods are awake.  Thor is calling in the morning.  Then the sound of rain could be heard on the pavement.  Thankfully, it was a new day!

Google, “House of Cards”

Google images, ‘house of cards’, and you will get endless pictures of Kevin Spacey, not to be confused with Sissy Spacek.  Google Wikipedia ‘house of cards’, and you will find that the term goes back to the 1600’s, and an interesting explanation of how to build a solid house of cards, and how they collapse, as well.

Google ‘house of cards, Tolstoy’, and you will find that the creator of the Netflix series, “House of Cards”, Andrew Davies, will be producing a new series (for Netflix), based on Tolstoy’s “War and Peace”.

Read Part Eight, Chapter IX of Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina, A Novel in Eight Parts”, and up comes a reference to a ‘house of cards’, in the stream of consciousness of the character, Levin, as he ponders the idea that human thought and reasoning, are as fragile, as a collapsing ‘house of cards’.   Here it goes:

Following the given definitions of vague words such as spirit, will, freedom, substance, deliberately falling into the verbal trap set for him by philosophers or by himself, he seemed to begin to understand something. But he had only to forget the artificial train of thought and refer back from life itself to what had satisfied him while he thought along a given line – and suddenly the whole artificial edifice would collapse like a house of cards, and it would be clear that the edifice had been made of the same words rearranged, independent of something more important in life than reason.

Is it no wonder that the script for “House of Cards” is smattered with references to Tolstoy? How about it, Mr. Davies? Tolstoy was a master, and perhaps Davies’ favorite  author.

This inquiry goes to show, that our sources of information on the Internet, leave much to be desired, and though “House of Cards”, enthralled me, for a time, until after the perky little journalist was thrown under the train. (so many scenes in Tolstoy’s writing take place at the train station, including the tragic end of Anna), I soon became bored with the endless gimmicks used to keep the audience’s attention, and stopped watching it.

We must question to what extent our spirit, will, freedom, substance, are being invaded, and controlled by the limited availability, and information offered on the Internet.  Should this be of concern?  I think so and only confirms that there is no substitute for literature and art, to probe the senses.  I wonder what Tolstoy would have to say?

Had To Move On

Around this time last year, I was on the airport train at Barajas, heading to the terminal to catch my flight.  Reminiscing in my mind about what lie ahead after the trip, I turned to my right, and saw the face of a young girl.  She was crying. Feeling sad for her, I wondered what could have been the matter. It might have been anything.  Her expression of emotion, and the fact that she was all alone, made such an impression on me.  Although she was in public, she seemed as if no one was around her, and no one could feel her pain; but I did.  That she even felt the freedom to let it go, unconcerned that dozens of people might be looking at her, seemed so humanlike to me.  Most people would have kept their feelings bottled up inside, or feigned happiness.  When the ride was coming to an end, I wanted to make some connection with her, a sympathetic look, or a gentle touch on her arm; but the lack of proximity to her didn’t lend itself to any gesture. My stop came along.  She stayed on.  I didn’t want to leave her behind, but as usual, I had to move on.