Krakatoa:The Day the World Exploded

NOTE The review below also appears on my Goodreads page, where you can find full biblioraphic details. You can also view my "reviewed" shelf to see close to 150 reviews of other books across all the genres I read. I have begun copying my reviews to this blog because Goodreads recently made such links as I provide above hard to read and impossible to follow without an account. This is inexplicably like a paywall, even though accounts are free.

The upside is that I can add some features to this review -- such as a map -- that are not easy to include on the Goodreads platform itself.

This book had been on my to-read list for a long time, predating my use of Goodreads for such things. A friend who has been my close collaborator in geography outreach and education bugged me to read this almost from the moment it was published. That friend, in fact, spent the final sabbatical of his career in the general neighborhood of this book, presumably because Winchester had conveyed so much about the region's physical and human geography through his telling of this one very local and short-term event with global and long-term consequences.

I finally turned to it -- in the audio version read by the author -- when I had just finished another book and was reminded of this one through a mistaken (on my part) connection. The false connection was the 1816 "year without a winter" that author Brinda Charry used as the setting of her Boston novel Hocus Pocus. When she described this during a talk at the Boston Book Festival, my mind went to Krakatoa. I soon realized my mistake -- the major major eruption of Krakatoa was not to take place for many further decades. But it brought the book back to mind at an auspicious time, and I was rewarded with Winchester's discussion of that 1816 event in the later chapters of this work. It was an 1815 eruption of Tambora that led the the gloom of the following year, creating the setting for Charry's new novel and also likely creating the gloom seems to have put Mary Shelley in the requisite mood to write her Frankenstein (the The Modern Prometheus).

Winchester describies one of the pivotal natural disasters of human history in the sweeping sort of narrative that the event deserves and for which this journalist (and honorary geographer) is well suited. No disaster is "natural" of course; both the causes and the effects of events we describe with that phrase arise from some combination of human and physical geography. 

Winchester deftly moves the reader back and forward in time -- sometimes by minutes and seconds and sometimes by decades and eons -- to understand what occurred on August 27, 1883 and why it still matters. With deft geographic skill, he zooms in and out, from the scale of the tiny volcano itself to the archipelago of which it was the center, to the planet as a whole and indeed the solar system. He not only empploys the sciences of biology, geology, meteorology, cartography, and ecology; he also explains how developments in each improved our understanding of Krakatoa or were improved by it. The stories of finance, colonial governance, religion, and even journalism itself -- especially journalism -- are both causes and effects in this telling of the tale. 

Some authors who write very well make a mistake when they produce their own audiobooks. There are people who are exceptionally good at reading aloud, and it is often best to let them do it. Simon Winchester is not such an author. He is as gifted a speaker as he is a writer, and listening to his words in his voice -- with his cadence, lilt, and occasional humor -- is a delight. Moreover -- and as I knew from the other books of his that I have read so far -- he is a an incurable meander, an irrepressible follower of tangents. But he chooses his digressions carefully and pursues them artfully, so that what emerges is a short course on the world as a whole.

I share the tendency to tangents and rabbit holes in my own teaching, though with much less cogent effect. Late in the book -- and this is not a spoiler because I won't describe it in detail -- Winchester is a scholar who cannot resist the appeal of a ride in a boat with a local expert. Only when he is on such a maritime day trip does the author appear directly in this tale. 

Bonus: as eclectic and exhaustive as Simon's Winchester's research for this book was, he somehow failed to mention the 1979 song "Lava" by the legendary New Wave band The B-52s. This recording appears to be from relatively early days of the band's work -- not the show I saw with my bride in New Bedford in 2017. 

The Grapes of Wrath -- not that Steinbeck really needs my 2 cents

 Posting my latest review here, because links to Goodreads can be wonky.

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

People who know my teaching and research might rightly assume I had read Grapes of Wrath, dealing as it does with both ecological disaster and migration. (Browse this blog for plenty of posts about each.) Somehow I had not gotten around to it until very recently, and indeed I had already absorbed some of its lessons over years of second-hand references. I can now see why its reputation looms so large -- this is a powerful telling of an historic tragedy that sheds light on similar storied unfolding almost a century later. 

Steinbeck tells the story of thousands of Dustbowl migrants through the experience of one character and his extended family. The experience of Tom Joad and his relatives can be seen in three parts: the perils of living in Oklahoma, the perils of travel from Oklahoma, and the perils of arriving in California. What surprised me -- and should not have -- is just how little relief the family's migration provided. 

Sprinkled among the narrative chapters that focus on the Joad family are expository chapters that explain some of the systemic challenges they faced. One early example explains the economics of land tenure and how consolidated ownership pushed small holders from the land and toward the road. Another describes the economics of buying the cars known as "jalopies" that were barely adequate for the journey.

I read and a lot of contemporary stories of migration from Central America to the United States, and I am struck by the similarities in each of the three stages: from being pushed off the lands they love, through harrowing journeys across hostile terrain, to facing discrimination on arrival in their adopted homes.

View all my reviews

Afrika Mapping

The United Nations recently voted overwhelmingly -- over the predictably pathetic objection of the United States -- to endorse the wider use of equal-area maps for most purposes. This is a subject that was cogently addressed in a fictional (and better) West Wing back in November, 2000. 

Comparisons such as this one from The True Size help to illustrate the point that the UN was making: the 1569 Mercator projection was absolutely the correct choice for navigation but it is not good for representation. One could say that is was an essential tool of colonialism that has had the (mostly) unintended side effect of supporting post-colonial thinking. 

The disparity in the relative size of Argentina and Greenland is probably the example geographers cite the most. Until the obsession of the current president of the United States with the Danish colony, this has not been a very consequential example. More important and pervasive has been the tendency of the Mercator projection to minimize the size of Africa in the mental maps of many of us. 

I used the online tool The True Size to make the corrective example above, and I recommend the site to anybody seeking to compare the size of regions. I often use it when I want to help students (or myself) think about unfamiliar places in terms of more familiar places.

This is all by way of prelude to a number of maps of the African contient itself that I have found recently.. The map of national boundaries is both unfamiliar to many non-African viewers and also itself an inadequate representation of the continent. That is to say, the boundaries are merely a starting point, given that they obscure many important geographic patterns. In fact, many of the dire challenges facing the continent have to do with the imposition of these boundaries. 

Perhaps the best example of this is a map depicting 2010 (pre-South Sudan) boundaries superimposed on a map of language families. I discuss this -- and a North America comparison -- in my 2012 post Immigrants Should Learn the Language.

All of this is by way of prelude to sharing a few maps that have come across the (digital) transom in the past couple of weeks. Each of which is an opportunity to look at Africa in terms other than (or in addition to) the colonial.

The first is a more detailed approximation of the language geography hinted at above, in a map that identifies a few dozen languages in a half-dozen language families. No one map can capture all of the continent's linguistic diversity, but the Wikimedia Languages of Africa provides a bit more insight, as do the accompanying Wikipedia Languages of Africa article and its various citations. 

All maps are selective -- this one takes the unusual step of including a notation to that effect -- at least five times as many languages could be shown. The shortfall is much greater in some areas, particularly Nigeria with its 500 languages. I noticed one of the citations in this article with interest, but will spare readers a long journey down that particular rabbit hole and will just say that the Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) is both a highly respected academic organization and a close partner of the Wycliffe Bible Translators. I have been to one of their jointly operated base camps in the Braziian Amazon; they share headquarters in Texas.

Whenever I think of the linguistic diversity of the continent, I am reminded of one of my favorite musicians: Angélique Kidjo of Benin (not far from Nigeria). She is fluent in two colonial languages and three regional languages: Fon, French, Yorùbá, Gen (Mina) and English. And in the one listed last in her biography, she is more fluent than most English speakers I have known. 

Another linguistic map that caught my attention recently describes the extent to which Amazigh languages are spoken across the nothern part of the continent, and the variety of languages in that family, which are perhaps better known as Berber languages.

Apologies: the only citation I have for this map is a
general reference to the Facebook page GeoPolice.

Another map that caught my attention is a bit of cartographic humor that shows just how arbitrary colonial land-taking could be. Nobody in these three countries wanted the absurd eastward extension of Namibia, but residents of all three countries must contend with it more than a century after the fact. The Geo All Day page includes a brief explanation of the 1890 Caprivi Strip.

The Fabric Map of Africa points to another important facet of cultural identity -- of which language, food, and religion are more commonly-noticed examples. It puts me in mind of impressive exhibits of art from the continent that I was lucky enough to see in Annapois and Baltimore in 2019. As with the lingusitc maps above, these fabrics represent much greater textile variety present in real life.

The other really cool map that came to my attention recently is about biogeography, though human movement seems also to be part of this story. 

The range of the super-cute African crested porcupine (Hystrix cristata) is quite unusually disjointed, comprising three or four isolated regions at great distances from each other. The distance is what suggests the involvement of human trade or migration in getting the critters so far apart. 

Knowing something of the geography of the continent's climates and biomes makes the adaptability of this plucky mammal even more remarkable. It is found in areas suitable for grapes and olives in the north, lowland rain forests in the west, and coffee-growing cloud forests in the east. 

Lagniappe: A Speech

A very timely surprise came as I spent a few days writing this post. Cabo Verde Prime Minister Francisco Carvalho's turn to speak at the UN General Assembly came on Saturday morning, September 26. He took the opportunity to speak in Kriolu (Cape Verdean Creole) -- and the UN video player allows viewers to choose "original" as one of its eight audio tracks. This came a few weeks after the International Day of the Mother Tongue, and was apparently the first time that a Cape Verdean leader used the Cape Verdean language rather than Portuguese in this setting. Side note: the first two heads of state to speak were the president of Brazil and the president of the United States, which is the usual order. This is because at the first UN General Assembly, nobody wanted to go first, and the then-president of Brazil finally offered to do so. Brazil has been first ever since, followed by the United States as host. I have no idea how the rest of the order is set.

The content of PM Carvalho's address is, of course, as important as the language he used. He joined many (maybe all?) African leaders in using this opportunity to call for passage of a resolution that would give the continent -- and its 1.6 billion people -- a permanent seat on the UN Security Council. The fifteen seats on the Council rotate in such a way that Africa is always represented. But importantly, it is only the five "permanent" members who have veto authority,  That short list is decades overdue for a reshuffle.

Ranger Ryan

Ranger Ryan is not shown in this iconic photograph, but he was narrating when I took it. 

He is the latest in a long series of NPS rangers who have helped my students and me to learn from National Parks -- and I know from past experience that some of these students might follow a similar career path. 

I often ask rangers about exactly that -- how they came to be rangers. I was particularly interested in Ranger Ryan's story. Like me, he went to college in Ohio. His university had a partnership that allowed him to work at Cuyahoga Valley National Park, his only NPS posting before moving to Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller this year. His deep appreciation and careful reading of history helped him to shed new light on this already-familiar view.

For many years, I have been aware of the environmental saga of the Cuyahoga River -- the lower reaches of which famously caught fire in the 1960s, contributing to the passage of the Clean Water Act under that environmental radical Richard Nixon. I eventually learned that the Cuyahoga was not the only river to catch fire, nor was its most famous fire its first. 

It was not until a 2023 road trip with my son that I learned about the significance of the upper reaches of the river, where the National Park site is focused.  He introduced me to the park at the same time he introduced me to the indispensable podcast National Park After Dark. Its tagline is "A podcast for the MORBID outdoor enthusiast." Episode 62 was my introduction. Entitlted "Abandon. National Park Ghost Towns" it tells the fascinating and complicated story of industrial pollution and. land siezures in this most unusual park. 

There are a few ways to pronounce, Cuyahoga, by the way, with that of Akron native Chrissie Hynde being the most important.

More photos

My 2023 Chicago to Fairhaven folder includes several images of the Cuyahoga, including some taken near the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, where Hynde is a reluctant honoree. Our 2026 MABI folder includes a few photos taken by me, but most taken by students on my umpteenth field trip to Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller. They include some images that I discussed recently on this blog in the Yosemite by Way of Vermont and New Bedford post.

Lagniappe

I could not mention National Parks in general -- nor its rangers in particular -- without mentioning the March 2025 NPAD episode entitled A Love Worth Fighting For. Cassie and Danielle speak directly with some of the rangers and other land protectors who were fired by DOGE, Elon Musk's dastardly attack on our government and public servants.

Walls of Stone

Since moving to New England in 1997, I have learned to pay attention to stone walls. They feature prominently in my Land Protection course. Protecting open spaces -- whether field or forest or both -- requires understanding how those spaces change, and walls are a big part of that understanding. 

I am fortunate that rangers and ecologists at Harvard Forest and the Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller National Historical Park have been very generous in sharing the lessons of stone walls with my students and me. As a result, we notice the walls differently and I even follow a nerdy stone-wall page or two online.

This recent post on that site is as good a summary as I have seen of the importance of stone walls in New England.

There is a stone wall running through the woods somewhere near you right now, and it is standing in the middle of what used to be an open field.

New England holds something on the order of a hundred thousand miles of dry laid stone wall, and almost none of it was built to be looked at. Farmers clearing land in the 1700s and 1800s hit glacial till, which is what the ice sheet left behind: soil absolutely packed with rock. Every single spring the frost pushed a fresh crop of stones up to the surface. You had to put them somewhere. The wall was the somewhere.

Which means these walls are property lines and pasture boundaries from a landscape that no longer exists. At the peak in the mid 1800s, big stretches of Connecticut, Massachusetts and Vermont were something like seventy to eighty percent cleared. Photographs from that period look nearly treeless. Then the Erie Canal opened, better farmland opened up out west, the mills pulled families into the cities, and the hill farms were abandoned in enormous numbers. The forest came back entirely on its own.

So when you are walking in the Litchfield Hills, or almost anywhere else in New England, and a wall comes out of nowhere and runs dead straight through hundred year old oaks, you are not looking at a wall in the woods. You are looking at woods that grew up inside somebody's pasture after they gave up and left.

Is there a stone wall on land you know well, and do you know whose field it used to be?

I can recommend two books on the topic. I have required David Foster's Thoreau's Country since I started teaching the Land Protection class mentioned above. Fortunately, it was published around the time I inherited the course. I have sometimes also required Reading the Forested Landscape by Tom Wessels in that same course. I have not met either author, but colleagues of each were early guides in my exploration of the properties mentioned above, and I learned a lot from them! 

Lagniappe

As the N.C. Wyeth painting below reminds us, every stone in every stone wall was placed by a human, mostly with no mechanized equipment. 

Barefooted Brooks Clark Building a Wall
by Newell Convers Wyeth
Originally published in "Men of Concord" in 1936
Shared in 2026 by The Thoreau Society 

Yosemite By Way of Vermont and New Bedford

 

Sunset in Yosemite Valley by William Bradford
Image: Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller NHP on Flickr

Geography in general -- and environmental geography is both a natural science and a social science. I often add that it encompasses the humanities as well -- including literature, music, and visual arts.

The William Bradford painting Sunset in Yosemite Valley came to mind as I have been hearing about the most recent attack on Yosemite National Park, a 1,200 square-mile national treasure that became one of the first national parks in the world in 1916. For more background on the park, see Yosemite on Wikipedia.

I use the word "attack" for what some will prefer to describe as an application for a variance, but in the current regime, those of us who study public lands are skeptical about any such proposals. Specifically, the owner of the 83-acre Hazel Green Ranch is proposing to build a road through the national park to make his property more accessible to park visitors. The prior owner of the land had applied to do exactly the same thing. As reported by The Times of India, the new owner applied to do the same in 2024 and appears to hope for a different result.

What does all of this have to do with New England -- and with Vermont and New Bedford in particular? Art. 

That is to say that according to the film A Place in the Land, artists of the Hudson School helped to build the case for the protection of Yosemite Valley in particular and for the creation of Naitonal Parks in general. Frederick Billings was a gold-rush lawyer and developer of Western railroads who took an interest in Western lands and the art that helped to convince those in the East of their value. 

The original Sunset in Yosemite Valley by William Bradford is in the former home of Billings, along with the equally striking  Cathedral Rock by Albert Bierstadt. 

Both artists were from New Bedford, though Bierstadt spent most of his adult life in New York. They were both among the landscape painters featured in a 2022 exhibition at the New Bedford Whaling Museum entitled Re/Framing the View. As a member of the museum, I was grateful to be able to visit that exhibit several times. 

William Bradford (not to be confused by the Pilgrim-era preacher of the same name) went on to paint at least one more work from the Yosemite Valley, but he is better known for his maritime art, including some art depicting the New Bedford Harbor, where I spend a lot of my time. In fact, my favorite view of the harbor is from the intersection of Church & Main in Fairhaven, a few blocks from my house. I had been admiring the view there for years before I stopped to read this marker, which describes this corner as the site of Bradford's studio -- of which no trace remains. 

Billings' former home is more properly known as the Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller National Historical Park in Woodstock, Vermont. The park opened around the time I started teaching an advanced course in Land Protection and I have had the pleasure of taking more than 100 students there over the years.

The park is named for three of its most prominent residents. George Perkins Marsh was born on the property and went on to a career as a legislator, diplomat, and writer. His book Man and Nature established environmental geography by being the first work to examine the widespread impact of humans on natural systems. His brother sold the family property to Fredrick Billings, who acquired much of the art that remains in the mansion today. 

Billings' granddaughter Mary French married Lawrence Rockefeller in Woodstock, and they maintained it as a summer home until her passing, when it was given to the American people. I have had the good fortune of exploring the mansion, its neighboring farm, and its 600 acres of forest with some of its remarkable park rangers, including the one who had taken Lawrence Rockefeller on his first official tour of his own house! 

Lagniappe 

Unfortunately, the proposed land swap in Yosemite is not the current administration's first assault on Yosemite. In the aftermath of the DOGE debacle in which many NPS employees were fired simply for being new, many seasonal workers at Yosemite were put in a position of having to work without pay. 

Learn more about the widespread attacks on NPS workers by DOGE on A Love Worth Fighting For: Speaking Up For Our Public Lands. It is the March 3, 2025 episode of the absolutely essential podcast National Park After Dark. Cassie and Danielle speak with Yosemite Ranger Alex Wild (perfect aptronym) and other dedicated public servants about the Valentine's Day firing of 4,400 workers throughout the system. Many were hired back when the bros at DOGE were forced to recognize their error, but the damage was done. BTW, the link above describes the episode and provides additional resources, but BPOD episodes are not directly connected through the web site. They can be reached through various podcast services and also on the NPAD YouTube channel, which includes this episode. 

Wisconsin Ecotones

I remain a teacher because it helps me to keep learning. Students -- current and former -- are a big part of that, and a long-ago geography student brought this latest geographic lesson my way. She has long been very knowledgeable about plants, and with her son now living in Wisconsin, she has been learning about the biogeography a thousand miles west of our local lands. She recently shared this image from Wisconsin Field Guide by way of the group Native Plants of Wisconsin. She rightly guessed that I would be interested -- I love this kind of geographic thinking and I love Wisconsin! 

The sources that recently posted this map on Facebook credit not only the Schlitz Audubon Nature Center for the image itself but also University of Wisconsin-Madison professor John Curtis, who identified and named the Tension Zone in the 1950s.

He had identified a number of significant differences in biogeography and other landscape characteristics the areas north and south of this diagonal line. The Field Guide post describes a number of gradients in temperature, growing season, and soil that coincide along this zone, which comrpises the northernmost range of 180 plant species and the southernmost range of 120 others. 

The post goes on to describe many examples of changes that those driving might "feel" routinely without being conscious of it. My personal favorite is this one:

That is also roughly where people stop saying they are going to the cottage and start saying they are going up north.

I love this because it reminds me of something I hear a lot from our Wisconsin cousins -- summer vacations are not at a camp, cabin, or house They are at "the cottage" and everyone knows what this means. 

We visited those cousins this past summer and although we were to early for the cottage, we did enjoy our stay on the northeastern corner of the Tension Zone -- in Appleton, just west of the tippy-tip of Green Bay. We did enjoy a day-long side quest deep into the "South region" and more specifically the part known as the Driftless Area. Research on the soils and forests there was essential literature in my own studies just north of Cincinnati. 

This is where my own bit of geographic nerdiness comes into play. I went to graduate school in Ohio, another state whose landscape has been shaped by glaciation. I use the word "nerdiness" to reflect the fact that I kept a map of Ohio's glacial features handy the entire time, and was overjoyed to explore the geomorphology of the southernmost extent of Wisconsinian glaciation -- well to the south and east of Wisconsin itself. 

 The southernmost extent of some species coincides -- as Professor Curtis observed -- with the southernmost extent of Wisconsin glaciation. That term refers to the fourth and final (so far) advance of the continental ice sheets that advanced and retreated throughout the Pleistocene epoch -- that is, between 2,580,000 and 11.700 years ago. 

The Driftless Area is essentially a subset of the South Region identified by Curtis. This area was never covered by continental glaciers. Southeastern Wisconsin -- and areas to the south in several neighboring states -- were glaciated. But those were during earlier stages -- Nebraskan, Kansan, and/or Illinoian. That is do say, the Tension Zone itself varies a bit east-to-west. In the west, it defines a region that was never glaciated; in the east, a region that was not recently glaciated. Therefore the topographic differences are not as pronounced as the biological ones in the eastern part of the state. 

Fortunately, regional and Federal organizations have been working together to protect some of the fascinating remnants of Wisconsin's glacial past, most notably along the Ice Age National Scenic Trail. The development of that trail is a very complex and long-term project that is a case study in my Land Protection course.

All of this brings to mind another important line across North American landscapes: the 100th meridian. I would argue that this line is not only longer than the Wisconsin Tension Zone, but also that it defines even more fundamental transitions, while being just as obscure to most observers. 

Both of these lines exemplify some deeper and persistent discussions we have as geographers. To what extent do the patterns of physical geography influence or define human geography? In the early 20th century, geographers got rather carried away with patterns of influence, trying to show that human geography -- such as language patterns -- was determined by physical geography. Most of the field has shied away from what is called Environmental Determinism. But yet, cottages do seem to have something to do with glaciers!

Urban Perception

Rowing along the working waterfront with Captain Colleen. 
I am in the bow seat. Photo by Captain Dan.

When they say that a picture is worth a thousand words, they might have this long-winded geographer in mind. When I post photos like this online, I often write something like "in honor of the banker who told me New Bedford is not near the water." With this latest photo, I decided I should explain that bit of snarkiness. I am doing it here because there are -- I am convinced -- some important geographic lessons to be had from one offhand remark.

About a decade ago, we decided that we were interested in buying a weekend getaway. Literally -- we wanted to get away from our house in the middle of the college town where we were both working. NOT for the reasons some might expect -- unhinged weekend parties were an occasional problem, but of limited duration. What we needed to get away from was little-league football. Not the football itself, but the loudspeakers -- always set to 11 and running late into every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night because our town had bought bright lights and big speakers at the same time. Even some of the college students complained about the constant noise, but we were all castigated as anti-kid and (worse) anti-sports. 

So we started to explore options for weekends, especially in the autumn. A recent graduate from New Bedford pointed us to a sweet little house for sale in. the neighborhood where she grew up, and it seemed perfect. We would have considered a cottage in the mountains somewhere, but I had started this coastal rowing hobby and we were also interested in the various amenities that were becoming available in the city's renaissance.

So I went to the lender who had refinanced our Bridgewater home to ask how we could start applying for a loan. The answer surprised me. Before even looking at any numbers, the loan officer asked where this secound house was. "New Bedford," I replied. She immediately said that underwriters would not approve a loan for a second house within 25 miles of to the first house.

I said something between "What?" and "Huh?" She responded, "unless there was something special, like it is near the water or something."  I asked her to look up the house on Google Maps, where she could see that it was two blocks from THE ATLANTIC OCEAN. So she conceded that it might be possible and we did talk about some numbers and we did not have the kind of downpayment needed for any kind of second home. I was OK getting rejected on the merits, and we ended up renting a house on a very quiet island from a friend of a friend -- just for little-kid football season. 

Don't worry, Dear Reader. This is not the end of the story. I'm working my way toward a point! 

The following spring, I was rowing a whaleboat in the harbor (as one does) when the subject of a club house came up. A fellow rower mentioned that her family had a home in Fairhaven that they needed to sell. It was a cute little house much like the one we had been considering the year before, but on the opposite side of the water. Her grandfather had built it, and with the recent death of her grandmother, her mother and aunts were selling. 

At this point, our circumstances had changed because of an inheritance. So I went back to the same lender and inquired about a second home in Fairhaven. Without a nanosecond of hesitation -- and without any apparent recollection of our conversation the previous year -- she handed me a clipboard to start an application and we were off to the races. 

The Fairhaven house is one mile CLOSER to our principal residence than the New Bedford house had been. It is in a smaller, less diverse community and its crimes do not lead the nightly television news. My take on all of this is that the gateway cities that are the engines of our regional economy and culture are also the locus of many of our region's social pathologies and are disproportionately feared in our smaller suburban towns. But they are part of our region. -- not another planet.

One more picture, but not a thousand more words. I took this photo at Pope's Island Marina near dawn on the first day of summer in 2016. As I wrote when posting it online that day, "Nothing is nearer -- and dearer -- to the water than New Beige!"

I have not disclosed the identity of the banker in question for several reason, the main one being that although a single remark from her has stuck with me for years, it does not define her and I am willing to bet she does not remember it. 

Lagniappe:

We love living in Fairhaven, both because it is a lovely town in its own right -- with a 10-minute walk to the beach and lovely vernacular architecture. We also like that it has much in common with Cape Cod but without the traffic. Most of all, though, we love that from Fairhaven we can easily reach New Bedford for a rich variety of food, music, and events, We are active members of several organizations based in the City That Lit the World:

Whaling City Rowing
Azorean Maritime Heritage Society
New Bedford Whaling Museum
New Bedford Fishing Heritage Center
Cape Verdean Association in New Bedford 
The Zeiterion Theater

More besides: The connection between New Bedford and Yosemite.

Vermont Adventures

When describing my work as a geography educator, I sometimes say that I have taken students to Nicaragua, Brazil, Cabo Verde, Costa Rica, and even Vermont! I add that last one because field visits are equally important whether or not they require an airplane ticket, and although Vermont is not very far from where most of my students grew up, occasionally students thank me for the outing as soon as we cross the state line. New Hampshire is more commonly visited and in fact we usually pass through the Granite State on our way to the Green Mountain one, what with Pythagoras and his Theorem. 

Lake Champlain, Burlington
from Vermont Getaway 2026 on Flickr

All of which is to say that I very much enjoy being close enough to Vermont to visit it fairly often and I have very much appreciated the particular destination of those student outings. Around the time I started teaching a course we now call Land Protection, Lawrence Rockefeller completed the donation of his property in Woodstock to the National Park Service. I should say "one of his properties" because it is the pattern of the Rockefellers to retain some of their own revenue-generating properties near the lands they so generously donate to the American people. This is true in the US Virgin Islands and the Grand Tetons, for example, and it is true in the small town of Woodstock, where the Woodstock Inn is scarcely a stone's throw from the Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller National Historical Park. I have been to the park close to 20 times now, though I've not stayed at the inn (keep reading for an inn that is more my speed). 

But I digress -- occupational habit of being this geographer. This post is meant to point readers to a couple dozen photos I took while on a brief vacation with my spouse, to visit friends from Massachusetts who now live up north. One family moved more than a decade ago to turn the Golden Stage Inn into the best B&B we know. Seriously, if you are going to southern Vermont at any time of the year, this is where you need to stay. The other friends moved more recently to Burlington, where one of them continues to be a hero nurse and the other enjoys academic retirement. 

Hildene Cottage, Manchester
from Vermont Getaway 2026 on Flickr

The photos are not of these friends (except for one canine!), but rather of places we visited near each of their homes. There is a lot about art, history, and landscapes worth sharing, as I have done in the descriptions of each photo on Flickr. (Yes, I am the one dinosaur still keeping Flickr in business.) This post also serves to point to some online resources hinted at by those captions. 

Aside from those provided above, the relevant links include:

• Hildene, The Lincoln Family Home in Manchester
• Southern Vermont Arts Center in Manchester
• Vermont Country Store in Weston and Rockingham
• Vermont Land Trust is not mentioned directly, but where I write that the Orton family as been involved in land protection, much of that work has been through VLT. I mention it here partly because it is a large enough organization that it might some day be a place of employ for some of the students who take my course. 
• Deep City Brunch and Events in Burlington is one of those rare places that makes a nice breakfast AND excellent coffee. It was recommended to us by our friends -- who know what a coffee snob I am -- and they were correct. It is a bit hard to find, but conveniently nestled between the Church Street shopping area and the waterfront parks.
• Green Mountain Horse Association and its Bridge to the Future Campaign are the organization and land-protection efforts that our friends in Burlington support. This is an example of the complexity of integrating the sustainability of landscapes with that of organizations. 
• Three Tomatoes Trattoria in Lebanon, New Hampshire gets honorable mention. It is not in Vermont, but for Pythagorean reasons cited above, it is on the way for those coming from eastern Massachusetts. This place is a wonderful, full service restaurant near the center of town. Great food, service, and atmosphere, with a lot of attention to visual arts.  

Camino De Luz y Esperanza

As I discuss in more detail Tree Street Requiem, this week has included one of the rewards that come from teaching introductory environmental geography the way that I do: article recommendations from students. In this case, a student wrote about a profile of Adriana Gonzalez, a Sierra Club staff member from Puerto Rico. 

Illustration by Jon Stitch for Sierra

Based on an interview with Lindsey Botts, the profile is entitled "This Puerto Rican Organizer Sees a Path for Light and Hope." The story of following in the footsteps of her parents by continuing the advocacy that she began with them as a child is especially meaningful this week, as my spouse and I celebrate our own son's birthday and his completion of library school while working with geography education and specialty coffee. It is nice sometimes to see the proverbial apple land so close to the tree!

Her work includes efforts around climate resilience generally and renewable energy in particular. It complements the main text of my course, Bill McKibben's uncharacteristically optimistic Here Comes the Sun. 

I have not been able to find much about her very recent work, but I am pleased to see that the Puerto Rico Chapter of the Sierra Club remains active and that she has done a lot of writing about the ongoing aftermath of Hurricane Maria, about which I wrote extensively on this blog, particularly in Open-ended Crisis (2017).