King William’s War (1688-1697) was one of several conflicts in the 17th and 18th century between England, France, and their colonies and allies. A precursor to the more well known French and Indian War (an adjunct to the European Seven Years War). Claude-Sebastien de Villieu led about 250 Abenaki Indians against the Oyster River Settlement. 104 inhabitants were killed nd 27 were taken captive. Most of the garrison and homes were destroyed.
In addition to the historical marker there is a pleasant small park.
Built in 1772 the Meeting House in New Durham was used for religious and secular services. The marker is located on NH Route 11 and the meeting house can be seen just down Davis Crossing Road at the intersection.
The Emery Farm in Durham, New Hampshire is the oldest family farm in the country, having been in the same family since 1660!! A multi function farm stand with a farmer’s market, a cafe, a petting zoo and a garden center.
The produce is not inexpensive, we spent $17.00 on a dozen eggs 6 ears of corn and three tomatoes. It was worth every penny. When we arrived home after a long day on the road we had sliced tomatoes with salt and pepper, corn on the cob and fried eggs for supper. The meal was as good as you will find in any restaurant. It is all about the ingredients. The corn was the best of the season (proudly labeled as picked today), the tomatoes were delicious and the eggs were truly fresh. If you have never tasted farm fresh eggs before you will never look at the supermarket variety the same way again.
Be sure to try one of the fresh apple cider donuts if you catch them before they sell out.
This is a taste test of the three biggest drive through fast food chains; McDonald’s, Burger King and Wendy’s. Better burgers can be had at the higher standard fast food franchises like Five Guys but for the quick “I’m in a hurry” burger these are the standard choices. For this test Alex and I sampled the iconic burgers for each franchise:The Big Mac, The Whopper and Dave’s Single. One note Alex thought all three burgers were “awesome” and I felt the same three were mediocre at best.
3) Both of us chose the Big Mac in last place. I felt that there was too much bread with the extra slice in the middle and did not find it very appetizing. Alex loved the burger although he too said that he could do without the extra bread.
2) My second place was Dave’s single from Wendy’s and Alex listed the Whopper as his number 2. I felt that the Dave’s single was exceptionally dry and tasteless. The burger was also the smallest by far.
3) Alex loved the Dave’s Single and I felt that the Whopper was the only palatable option among the three. The Whopper did have the most slippage out the back end of the bun.
In summary if you are going to stop at one of the chains for a quick burger spend a little extra money and get one of the higher end options like Wendy’s Baconator or McDonald’s signature crafted burgers.
I have fond memories of this park from my childhood. We would spend at least a week or two in my mother’s home town of Eastport, Maine during the summer. My father was one who never wasted a minute of his vacation time so we would set off Friday night after school as soon as my father got home from work for our vacation week. Pulling a trailer it took us about 7-8 hours to get to Eastport so we would stop about half way at the Camden Hills State Park. Camden itself (see post) has many aspects of the quintessential Maine coastal town with its bustling main street and harbor. But because of our late afternoon / early evening arrivals my experience was with the state park we would make camp in. As my father and mother settled into the site we kids would head across the road to the beach section of the park for some tide pooling.
The other major attraction of the park is the auto road up to the summit of Mount Battie. You are rewarded with spectacular views of Camden and its harbor. Edna St. Vincent Millay, the Pulitzer Prize winning poet, says it best with her verse inspired by Mount Battie.
Renascence:
All I could see from where I stood
was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked the other way,
and saw three islands in a bay.
All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked another way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I’d started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.
Over these things I could not see;
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
Miles and miles above my head;
So here upon my back I’ll lie
And look my fill into the sky.
And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
And—sure enough!—I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not so grand;
I ‘most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity
Came down and settled over me;
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind,
Held up before my eyes a glass
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold;
Whispered to me a word whose sound
Deafened the air for worlds around,
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky,
The ticking of Eternity.
I saw and heard, and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past,
And present, and forevermore.
The Universe, cleft to the core,
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence
But could not,—nay! But needs must suck
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire,—
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each,—then mourned for all!
A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me;
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote;
And every scream tore through my throat.
No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I.
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
Mine, pity like the pity of God.
Ah, awful weight! Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird,
Beating against my lips I heard;
Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die.
Long had I lain thus, craving death,
When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earth I sank till I
Full six feet under ground did lie,
And sank no more,—there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll,
And as it went my tortured soul
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.
Deep in the earth I rested now;
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fall;
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatched roof,
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who’s six feet underground;
And scarce the friendly voice or face:
A grave is such a quiet place.
The rain, I said, is kind to come
And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain,
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done,
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
How can I bear it; buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform,
Beloved beauty over me,
That I shall never, never see
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad magics through,
Close-sepulchred away from you!
O God, I cried, give me new birth,
And put me back upon the earth!
Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd
And let the heavy rain, down-poured
In one big torrent, set me free,
Washing my grave away from me!
I ceased; and through the breathless hush
That answered me, the far-off rush
Of herald wings came whispering
Like music down the vibrant string
Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!
Before the wild wind’s whistling lash
The startled storm-clouds reared on high
And plunged in terror down the sky,
And the big rain in one black wave
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.
I know not how such things can be;
I only know there came to me
A fragrance such as never clings
To aught save happy living things;
A sound as of some joyous elf
Singing sweet songs to please himself,
And, through and over everything,
A sense of glad awakening.
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,
Whispering to me I could hear;
I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips
Brushed tenderly across my lips,
Laid gently on my sealed sight,
And all at once the heavy night
Fell from my eyes and I could see,—
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
A last long line of silver rain,
A sky grown clear and blue again.
And as I looked a quickening gust
Of wind blew up to me and thrust
Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—
I know not how such things can be!—
I breathed my soul back into me.
Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound;
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky,
Till at my throat a strangling sob
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb
Sent instant tears into my eyes;
O God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e’er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!
Thou canst not move across the grass
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
Nor speak, however silently,
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
I know the path that tells Thy way
Through the cool eve of every day;
God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!
The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,—
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat—the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.
