Despite indications to the contrary, we easily entered the fantastic new (to us) National Museum of African American History and Culture on a Monday in June at 11:30 am. So glad. I had found getting passes via the museum ‘s website frustrating. At 6:30 am on the dot I tried to get same day online passes, with no luck. I tried again at 9:30 am and they were still unavailable so we walked over to the museum at 11:30 and a nice young greeter showed us how to get passes and we were in (even though walk-ins technically can’t get in until 1 pm.)
As warned, the museum is hard to do in a day. There is so much to see. We were there for 3.5 hours and saw maybe half. Our visit included lunch of fried chicken at the museum cafeteria-style restaurant. We did the history part first, which starts underground and rises up 2 more floors. It was packed with people, especially the early bits and apparently cramped and claustrophobic by design. I would have liked to spend more time in the 1950 ‘s exhibits and onward because that’s the history I like best, I think because I lived it and, as a result, it’s fascinating to see how it is chronicled and depicted.
There were several moving moments but what made me cry quietly was the procession we took past Emmet Till’s casket with the devastating photos of his grief-stricken, furious and brave mother. One of the most memorable sites from a drive around the Mississippi countryside with Dirck was the old storefront, now abandoned and covered with vines, on a country road where young Emmet got into trouble, allegedly, that led to his murder.
It was also very moving to see the history exhibit end with Obama’s inauguration, all the more so given the poisonous climate cultivated by his shockingly race-baiting successor in the White House. It will be interesting to see what the museum makes of the Trump Administration. Shame.
The fountain in the National Gallery Sculpture Park, after getting ice tea at the pavilion cafe
After lunch at the museum, we went to the culture exhibit on the top floor, which was my favorite area because I love “black” music, tv, movies, art and pop culture. I could have spent another hour there but my back was starting to ache.
I have been to civil rights museums/memorials/landmarks (in Memphis, Birmingham, Money, Mississippi) music museums highlighting black musicians (stax records and sun records in Memphis; Motown in Detroit; Jazz in Davenport Iowa and the Rock n roll hall of fame in Cleveland; the blues museum in clarksdale, Ms.) I’ve even been on the new plantation in NOLA that focuses entirely on slavery. So I have seen some of the artifacts and displays found at the new DC museum. But the difference is seeing it all together in one place, and what a place. The building is very striking inside and out, with fantastic art, artifacts, displays and city views. I also felt like a minority, which is an unusual experience and probably good to have. The place felt like it belonged to African-Americans and I am guessing (or hoping) they feel a real sense of belonging and pride there. I didn’t feel unwelcome but it’s not my place or my story.
Sisters in The Palisades
Last night, Noah and I had good innovative Indian food at Rasika West. I later discovered a Rasika nearer to our hotel, the conveniently located holiday inn Capital near the national air and space museum on the National Mall. The hotel also has a rooftop outdoor pool with a view of the US Capitol. Not Cayuga Lake but good place to cool off.
Plunged right into the thick of things here, soon after arriving in DC, by joining a gathering next to the impenetrable-looking White House to protest the current occupant’s harsh treatment of asylum seekers and migrants at the southern border, including the separation of children from their families and their placement in detention camps. The lights for Liberty rally wasn’t the Women’s March but a decent turnout and some good signs and impassioned speeches. Will it have any impact?
The skies gradually cleared and we had a glorious drive through the Pennsylvania countryside, past PA Dutch stone houses and barns, small towns with row houses lining the street, Amish buggies pulled by trotting shiny horses, rolling fields of corn,and soybeans.
First stop was Grim’s Apple Orchard just south of Allentown in Breinigsville, PA where I just missed the Mutsu/crispin harvest (oct. 14) but got some excellent honeycrisps. On to Manheim , a small Lancaster County town where we visited my aunt’s college friend Mary, who lives in an old farm house where she grew up, now surrounded, oddly, by a used car dealership.
We drove through grey skies and drizzle north thru the Poconos to Scranton so my aunt could visit an old friend from college. The drive was pretty, weather notwithstanding, and the leaves are starting to change. (I am told they are late this year.)
I did a little exploring on my own, driving through downtown Scranton which I know little about except that it was the fictional location of the classic TV comedy, The Office. There are some great old hulking stone and brick buildings but didn’t see much reason to stop so I went to nearby Nay Aug (that’s not a typo) park, which has a waterfall and gorge. I met a nice young woman who was hiking around and she led me along the muddy trail to the falls, which were impressive, especially since there has been so much rain in the area. It wasn’t quite Ithaca quality but not bad. Ithaca was only 2 hours north (so near and yet so far….)
Easton is looking pretty good. Always a little ragged around the edges even though I love it dearly, (this is, after all, my mother’s hometown and where I spent summers with my grandma at her red brick row house), Easton seems to be remaking itself as a funky arts and culinary destination. So much so that we won’t be going to the farmers market around the circle downtown tomorrow because the annual garlic fest is on tap and draws some 20,000 people. Too many for us.
We finally found my grandparents’ gravestones, along with many great aunts and uncles (Sylvia, Nathan, Jeanette, Libby…) in a remote corner of the Easton cemetery. We could see cars whizzing by on RT. 22). We spotted the new Easton Public Market on Northampton Street, which looks pretty cool, and some vintage clothing shops and boutiques. The Caramel Corn Shop is still on the circle.
We drove along the river road, RT 611, that curves along the Delaware, past the occasional lovely stone house and barn. Also drove along an interior country road trying to find remnants of the summer camp I went to as a kids — Camptown. I love the countryside here. Very rolling, winding and green, with the leaves starting to change.
I walked along Main Street in Bethlehem, which has some interesting shops including The Steel Beam, with industrial chic artwork. The city is wisely marketing its faded industrial era, with lots of odes to Bethlehem Steel. Then there are the charming 18th. Century stone buildings, many part of Moravian College.
Amazing to be back in this corner of the world where my mom, my Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Tom grew up and where I spent many summers as a child visiting my beloved Grama Betty in Easton. Aunt Mary Ann and I haven’t been to Easton yet. We landed at ABE ((Allentown, Bethlehem Easton) airport in eastern Pennsylvania after a quick trip from Chicago (an hour 20 min.) and drove pretty winding backroads lined with tall trees and the occasional beautiful old Carmel-colored stone house to My cousin Ed’s House in Emmaus. We had a lovely dinner with his great family (wife Elizabeth, daughter Sarah, brothers Joseph and James) and then drove a very roundabout way to Bethlehem and this historic hotel Bethlehem which oozes character. I rarely stay at hotels anymore (no more business trips) so this a treat, with valet parking and bellhops and a friendly woman at the desk and chocolates on the pillow of the enormous bed, next to the waffle cotton robe. I think I am going to like it here. Can’t wait to explore Bethlehem and to visit Easton again, especially with my aunt who is full of old family stories that I am trying to jot down soon after she tells them.
We took the long, scenic road from Damariscotta, which went along the coast although you’d never know it. We were surrounded by trees. It was a tight squeeze climbing up the few steps inside the lighthouse with my broken arm but worth it for the view. We could see all the say to Monhegan Island, ten miles away, which we were told is unusual.
We arrived in Portland in time to take the 2:45 Casco Bay Mail Ferry which goes to several islands and offers a great view back at the city of Portland. It was bit overcast and drizzled a little but a good ride, although we’re a bit spoiled after our Norway fjord ferry rides. 
On the way to stay with our friend Lisa from Wichita, we stopped near the ferry terminal at Standard Bakery to pick up some goodies for dinner. Lisa lives in Cousin’s Island, technically in Yarmouth, and we had a lovely reunion (after 30 plus years). She walked us over to her beach at sunset and then cooked us lobsters (plopped wriggling into hot water) with corn on the cob.
Dinner tonight was totally different, at Claws, a popular (for good reason) lobster shack where we ordered at the window and got a goofy plastic lobster with our order number on it. We ate a tray full of seafood – lobster bisque, lobster roll, drunken mussels in a garlicky broth – all excellent and fresh tasting, eaten on a deck with picnic tables and portable heaters. And a lovely view of the harbor.
This morning, we followed our Airbnb hosts recommendation and drove to Latte Beach in Camden and then walked the back way to Rockport and back. Turned out to be six miles. Lovely scenery, walking on Bay View Road past gorgeous old and new mansions set on the water, then past an old farm with white-belted cattle and then to a pretty “children’s” open air chapel. 
