Still haven’t finished the writing I’ve been working on, so you’re stuck with another photograph. This is an Atlantic Horseshoe Crab (Limulus polyphemus) partially buried in the sand of the Long Pasture Audubon sanctuary on Cape Cod. There are Atlantic Slipper Shells (Crepidula fornicata) attached to the top of the shell. This may have been a molted exoskeleton, but it appeared to be a living horseshoe crab that had partially buried itself in the tidal flats at low tide; I decided not to poke at it to see if it was alive.
We went to the New England Folk Festival, affectionately known as NEFFA, helf in a hotel in Marlborough, Mass. At NEFFA, there are a host of performances, demonstrations, and workshops, mostly relating to folk music or folk dance. Carol did some contra dancing and learned some Cuban dance. I heard a performance by some old folkies (sometimes pronounced “fogies”), attempted to keep up in a Renaissance music jam, and participated in a “pub sing” which was held in an outdoors tent.
On our way out, we happened across an actual pub sing, in the bar of the hotel. Now unlike English bars, American bars are often less than welcoming to singers. Besides, Americans tend to be consumers of music, not participants in music, and we in our bars we prefer to listen to either loud recorded music, or heavily amplified musicians. But this was NEFFA, so it was one of the rare occasions when you could go to an American bar where there was loud, live, unamplified, participatory music.
Today is April 19, 2025. Probably that doesn’t mean anything to you, unless you’re a U.S. history geek, or unless you grew up in Concord or Lexington, Massachusetts. But today is the 250th anniversary of the Battle of Lexington and Concord.
While both the town of Concord and the town of Lexington have annual celebrations, with parades and reenactments, this year they both arranged special celebrations for the 250th anniversary. Fifty years ago, on April 19, 1975, I was in the parade in Concord, marching with my Boy Scout troop. Since I’m pretty sure I won’t be around for the 300th anniversary, I decided that I really had to attend this year’s celebration.
I wanted to watch the reenactment of the battle at the North Bridge, and I knew just where I wanted to stand — in the formal garden at the visitor center of Minuteman National Historical Park. From there you have a panoramic view of the North Bridge and the road down which the Minutemen and militia companies marched to confront His Majesty’s troops.
I should have read the information about the day more carefully. There was no reenactment this year. I was a bit disappointed. Still, I had a marvelous view of the crowds that gathered to watch the ceremonies, and the main events of the ceremonies themselves — the Concord Minutemen firing a salute from the bridge, and the 21 gun salute from a field on the other side of the river.
The view from the formal garden, with the North Bridge in the distance.
The crowd looked a little thin to me; there were not nearly as many people as I had expected. While we were waiting for the ceremonies to begin, I wound up talking with the people on either side of me. To my left was a man from Albany, N.Y., who had attended the reenactment of Paul Revere’s arrival in lexington the night before, spent the night in his car, watched the reenactment of the Battle of Lexington at sunrise, then taken the shuttle to Concord. On the other side of me were a couple who live in Concord, who were kind of interested in the 18th century historical garb that several of the parade units wore; I was able to tell them wheretheycouldobtain18th C. garb, but warned them that it could be expensive.
Congresswoman Lori Trahan and Massachusetts Governor Maura Healey were the only two state or national politicians to show up. Both of them gave good brief speeches, both of which emphasized how important resisting tyranny was in 1775, and still is today. I thought it was a little disrespectful that neither of our U.S. Senators managed to put in an appearance. I’m not surprised that President Donald Trump didn’t show up — though President Gerald Ford showed up in 1975 — but then Trump is not especially patriotic, and has a fairly weak understanding of U.S. history. It’s probably just as well that Trump didn’t show up, because he wouldn’t have been happy with the remarks made by Healey or Trahan, nor with the signs carried by some of the spectators.
A spectator watching the ceremonies at the North Bridge.
Most of the signs that I saw opposed the tyranny of kings. We didn’t want King George in 1775, and we don’t want a king now.
After the ceremonies at the North Bridge concluded, I made my way to the center of town, so I could watch the parade. On my way there, I saw more homemade signs opposing the tyranny of kings. Most of the slogans I’ve seen opposing the Trump administration have been variations on “Hands Off.” I much prefer variations on the “No Kings” slogan, because it gets to the root of what bugs me about the Trump administration — that he’s acting like a king, and all his supporters are OK with that. But we fought the Revolution to get rid of kings — we don’t want any more kings, not now, not ever.
Sign along the road into Concord center.
This year, the reviewing stand for the parade was set up in Monument Square, right in front of Town Hall. The units that put on performances — the fife and drum corps, the bands — always put on a show in front of the reviewing stand. It was crowded there. I moved down the street and stood in front of First Parish of Concord, the Unitarian Universalist church in town (the church the Minutemen belonged to). It was still pretty crowded there, but at least I could see the parade.
The beginning of the parade.
Ever since COVID, I’m not a big fan of crowds. So I walked further along the parade route to where there weren’t that many people.
The Carlisle, Mass., Minutemen.
One of the flag-bearers from one of the Minuteman units was carrying a sign stating his opposition to kings. While this was not historically accurate, it seemed very much in keeping with the sentiments the 18th century Minutemen would have held.
The Stow, Mass., Minutemen.
Again, it’s a good thing Trump the wanna-be-king didn’t come. Popular sentiment was definitely against him. It would have been as if King George showed up in Massachusetts in 1775. Massachusetts then and now is one of the leaders against tyranny. While there were Massachusetts Tories in 1775, and while there are Massachusetts Trump-ites in 2025, in both eras the majority of Massachusetts residents were and are Patriots who don’t want kings lording it over them.
Speaking of Patriots, I was also pleased to see the Town of Concord Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion Commission marching in the parade. They carried a banner that read, “Building a Welcoming Community.” I’m old enough to remember the mini-race riot that took place at Concord Carlisle High School on the last day of school in 1978 (I was a senior that year, so I had already graduated and didn’t see the riot myself, but I heard about it). I’d like to pretend that we solved all those race problems and that now everything is hunky-dory, but I guess I have a grimmer view of human nature than that. Human beings find it way too easy to hate one another, so we actually do need organizations that keep us from hating on other people.
One last photo — this was one of my favorite units in the parade, the Assabet Village Minutemen. This unit is from Maynard, Mass., which wasn’t a separate town in 1775, it was a village known as Assabet Village. I like that they’re not wearing a uniform, which seems more historically accurate. I like that a couple of the men are wearing knit caps, not the stereotypical tricorn hat — again, this diversity of headgear seems more historically accurate. The Minutemen and militia of 1775 were ordinary citizens; they were not yet a trained army — and I like that the Assabet Village Minutemen capture this important aspect of the Battle of Concord.
The Assabet Village (Maynard, Mass.) Minutemen.
It makes me want to go out and buy myself a suit of 18th century clothing. Not that I can afford it, but it’s fun to think about.
I was buying books online from Seminary Coop Bookstore when I stumbled across a 2021 biography of Kurt Godel. My one exposure to higher mathematics was an undergraduate course in mathematical logic where the professor took us through the proof of the first of Godel’s two incompleteness theorems. Although I got a mediocre grade in that class, it was one of the highlights of my undistinguished undergraduate career. Maybe it would be fun to read a biography of Godel.
The biography was Journey to the Edge of Reason: The Life of Kurt Godel by Stephen Budiansky. I looked it up on Kirkus Reviews, which gave it a good review, calling it an “outstanding biography of a man of incomprehensible brilliance.” I ordered the book.
The biography opens with a kind of cheesy prologue telling of Godel’s conversations with a psychiatrist he was seeing towards the end of his life. The prologue ends on page 7 with Godel’s death. I didn’t think much of the proluge, but I wanted to know about Godel, so I decided to plow on with the rest of the book.
From page 7 to page 42, I learned nothing about Kurt Godel. Instead of telling us about Godel’s childhood, Budiansky gives a precis of the political and intellectual history of Austria and central Europe in the early part of the twentieth century. Then there are a few pages devoted to the ostensible subject subject of the biography — before the author turns away from Godel once again to write about early twentieth century central Europe. Thus, we learn almost nothing about Godel’s childhood.
Well, I thought, maybe there just aren’t that many sources about Godel’s childhood. That’s a common problem for biographers. Once Godel enters college, surely Budiansky will spend more time writing about Godel. But we actually get very little about what Godel was like in college, and a great deal about the people Godel met in college. I began to feel as though Budiansky either didn’t know anything about Godel, or maybe preferred not to write about Godel for some personal reason.
By page 97 — after a somewhat pointless digression about Ludwig Wittgenstein that went on for several pages, while again telling me nothing about Godel — I was growing bored. I skipped ahead to see what Budiansky had to say about Godel at the time he came up with his incompleteness theorem. Once again, it felt to me as though Budiansky wasn’t telling me about Godel himself, nor about Godel’s thought, but instead only about the milieu around Godel. It was also clear that Budiansky knew about as much as I did about Godel’s most famous theorem (i.e., not much), so I wasn’t even going to get an insight into the man’s intellectual achievements.
I’m giving up on the book, at least for now. Perhaps what I’m really looking for is more of an intellectual biography. Two of my favorite biographies are Ruth Crawford Seeger: A Composer’s Search for American Music by Judith Tick, and Hans-Georg Gadamer: A Biography by Jean Grondin; both these biographies were written by people who had expertise in their subject’s field, and could write intelligently about their subjects’ accomplishments. But additionally, both these biographies also center their focus on their subject. Budiansky doesn’t seem to know much about mathematical logic, nor does he seem to be able to keep his biography centered on Kurt Godel.
All this goes to show that you can’t always trust Kirkus Reviews.
I first met Maggi in 2003. It was at the opening celebration for the 2009 General assembly of the Unitarian Universalist Association, held that year in Boston. I went up into the balcony of the venue, where it was less crowded and I could be closer to the stage. I sat down next to a friendly-looking gray-haired woman, who soon struck up a conversation. We quickly discovered that we had both been born Unitarians — she into the Belfast, Ireland, Unitarian church, and I into the Concord, Massachusetts, Unitarian church (I was born just before merger with the Universalists, so it was still a Unitarian church). Next we discovered that we had a common acquaintance: I knew Maggi’s son, Hank, from theological school. By this time, we were chatting like old friends.
A month later I started a new job on the West coast. But two years later, I was lucky enough to be called as the minister of the New Bedford, Mass., Unitarian church, where Maggi was a key lay leader. In my four years in New Bedford, I grew to respect Maggi more and more. She was a skilled musician with an excellent ear. She valued education, and returning to college in her forties to complete her bachelor’s degree. She helped found Tryworks Coffeehouse in 1967 as a way to reach out to youth, and I heard over and over again how she had changed young people’s lives in her two decades running Tryworks. She was also the kind of lay leader a minister dreams of: she only gave compliments when they were deserved, so they really meant something; and when she had to let the minister (me) know that I had fallen short, she did so in a way that helped me do better the next time. Perhaps that was what I appreciated most about Maggi — she knew that people could do better, she wanted to help them do better, and she had some good strategies to encourage people to achieve more than they thought they could.
Maggi’s list of accomplishments is kind of stunning. There’s that college degree in midlife, and those twenty years directing Tryworks Coffeehouse. She was perhaps best known as a storyteller, receiving a Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Storytellers Alliance, but she was also a folksinger. She performed at the Smithsonian, the Newport Folk Festival, the Philadelphia Folk Festival, regularly at the Indian Neck Folk Festival, and on the old Prairie Home Companion radio show. I believe she also performed with Christmas Revels. She published her poetry in the local newspaper, and I especially remember a poem she wrote about the September 11 attacks. She published three books of stories, plus a memoir of her Belfast childhood in 2013, titled A Belfast Girl. She served as president of the board of First Unitarian in New Bedford, and president of that congregaiton’s Women’s Alliance. I honestly don’t understand how one person could be that accomplished, and have that much time and energy.
After I left the New Bedford church, I did what ministers are supposed to do, and I kept my contacts with congregants to an absolute minimum. But I was fortunate enough to see Maggi one more time. When Karen LeBlanc was installed as the minister of New Bedford a year or so ago, she asked me to come and give the prayer. Maggi was there (of course), and I got to talk with her briefly at the reception afterwards. Then in her nineties, she was just as charismatic, just as sunny, just as pleasant to talk with as always. That brief interaction left me standing a little straighter, and making me feel that I could keep doing better in my life. That’s the kind of person Maggi was.
I went searching for the new website of the International Unitarian/Universalist Collaboration. My favorite search engine didn’t bring it up, but fortunately there was a link from a recent online article in UU World magazine. Here’s their current site.
Now I just wish someone would update the Wikipedia page for the International Council of Unitarians and Universalists. And while they’re at it, maybe create a page for the IU/UC.
(This was supposed to be posted a week ago, but I hit “Draft” instead of “Publish.” Sorry about that.)
I’m attending a week-long seminar on bryophytes at a natural history institute in coastal Maine — which I like to refer to as “moss camp.” We go out collecting for an hour or so, then spend the rest of the day in the lab trying to figure out what we’ve collected. I spend about equal amounts of time staring through a microscope, and poring through dichotomous keys.
Identifying bryophyts has proved to be challenging. To begin with, the dichotomous keys can be frustrating. They use terms like “complicate-bilobed” and phrases like “Leaves keeled and conduplicate.” Different dichotomous keys sometimes use different terms for exactly the same characteristic. Then there are taxa which are frustrating — to identify Sphagnum moss to species, our instructor told us to make slide preparations of a stem leaf, a branch leaf, the stem stripped of leaves, and a section of the stem; and then after an hour or so of staring through microscopes, three different keys gave three different answers because the taxonomy isn’t settled. Usually by mid-afternoon, the three of us in the class have to get up and walk out of the lab to clear our heads.
The beauty of the bryophytes makes up for the frustrations of taxonomy and morphology. It’s another whole world….
Hylocomium splendensA folded leaf of Ptilidium pulcherrimum, showing cilia
We’ve been hearing Barred Owls at night near where we’re camping. Late this afternoon, I heard a juvenile owl out in the conservation land behind the campsite. I followed it as best I could, hoping to see a baby owl. Then I heard one of the adults calling not too far away, and suddenly I became aware of two eyes staring at me.
An owl! I managed to get this photo before the own flew away.
