Harmonie Hills

 The small town of New Harmony, Indiana is a feast for the history buff.  Truly.  There is so much to see and learn for a town so small.  It was formed in 1814 by George Rapp (1757-1847) and members of the Harmony Society - the first such settlement in the United States outside of Harmony, Pennsylvania.  Its members had escaped religious persecution in Germany and wanted to live completely independently in the (then) western frontier.  This arrangement didn’t last long, however.  The town’s isolation had profound negative effects on commerce.  Malaria was also a major factor; much of the surrounding landscape was swampy.  And being such a short distance (fifteen miles) from Kentucky - a slave state - didn’t sit well with the Abolitionist residents. 

George Rapp, 1835

The town was subsequently sold to Robert Owen (1771-1858), a wealthy industrialist from Scotland.  Owen wanted to create a “utopian society” where education, science, technology, and communal living were major tenets.  In fact, New Harmony did become well known as a national center for natural history, hosting several notable figures during this time.  Among these was Thomas Say (1787-1834), who spent his final years (and died) in New Harmony.  Say has been credited with documenting the first known observation of a reptile or amphibian in Illinois when he described a nesting “Lake Erie tortoise” (Northern map turtle) near Shawneetown, Illinois, only about thirty miles from New Harmony:

“On the 27th, several of the party went out to hunt in the forests, and swamps, north-west of Shawneetown.  At about four miles distance from the Ohio, they arrived at the banks of a small pond, three miles long, and only three or four hundred yards wide.  Here they killed a turkey, and some small birds.  On the bank of the pond, was found a specimen of the Lake Erie tortoise, depositing its eggs in the sand, at about twenty yards distance from the water.  It had made, with its feet, a hole in the sand, two inches in diameter and four inches in depth, enlarging towards the bottom to three inches.  This species occurs frequently in the pools and stagnant waters along the Ohio.  We first met with it near the rapids at Louisville”.

Thomas Say, 1812. My guy was ahead of his time hipster.

Interestingly, this occurred in 1819, about seven years before he moved to New Harmony from Pennsylvania.  Is that not super fascinating?  In 1819, he was a member of Major Steven Long’s Yellowstone Expedition to the west to collect specimens.  He practically passed the town he would end up moving to later on.  At that point in American history, it’s a pretty unbelievable coincidence.  But I digress.

Robert Owen, 1834

Owen’s social experiment was met with many challenges and the culture he had been trying to foster largely ceased around 1828.  Afterward, the town developed much like any other small river town in southern Indiana.

One of Owen’s sons, Robert Dale Owen (1801-1877) was an Indiana congressman when he expedited the bill that established the Smithsonian Institution in 1846.  Back then, as widespread as the study of natural history was, it was still a very small world.

Fortunately, a lot of the early architecture remains in fine condition.  A portion of the town comprises the New Harmony Historic District, and it is very walkable and remarkable.

Mattias Scholle House, c. 1823

Orchard House, 1860

David Lenz House, c. 1819-1822

Barrett-Gate House, 1814 & mid 1800s

Owen Community House, 1830

Fr. Lauple House, c. 1822

Wolf House c. 1819-1822

Rapp-Owen granary, 1818

The old City Building today houses Firehouse Antiques & Oddities. This is a MUST-SEE for anyone who sees little to no value in "normal" stuff.

Hiking the nearby Harmonie Hills State Park/Nature Preserve was a lesson in frustration.  I arrived in the morning - not too early - and there was absolutely nobody there.  The gate attendant even made it seem like my visit was questionable.  Evidently, “hiking” isn’t a normal response to “What are you doing here today?”.  And maybe it was because this place isn’t very hiker-friendly.  I struggled to find a trailhead anywhere, and when I finally found one, it was poorly marked and dead-ended on a road after maybe half a mile.  Along this trail, in a tiny wooded opening, was an operating pumpjack at an oil well.  Again, it just seems odd to me to see these in dedicated nature preserves.  I hiked to the banks of the Wabash and rested a while.  The air was still, and silent.

Other architectural interests in the general area.

Rosenbaum & Brothers building, 1910. Mount Vernon.

Alles Brothers Furniture Co building, 1879. Mount Vernon.

Bud's Hardware, 1884. Mount Vernon.

Early & mostly intact building (date unknown). Evansville.

A trip to Indiana’s bottomlands introduced me to more of the Midwest’s cypress swamps.  And while hiking the trails near Hovey Lake (also poorly maintained), I couldn’t help but turn a log or two.  I also scanned the river in hopes of re-enacting Say's 1819 "Lake Erie tortoise" observation, but nary a tortoise was seen.

Buttonbush swamp

Southern leopard frog

Marbled salamander

Five-lined skink

One more item on my agenda was to visit what is believed to be Indiana’s southernmost cemetery, Stroud Cemetery.  Getting there requires lots of dusty backroads down a bend of the Ohio river.  The cemetery is easy to miss.  It is essentially an overgrown patch of weeds among a very flat expanse of cropland.  My only reference to this cemetery were a couple of photos on Find A Grave.  In them, the headstones had been removed and sort of leaning against a tree stump.  I found the headstones lying atop some dead shrubbery, indicating that they had been recently moved again.  Only two were legible - a W. E. Hawkins, and a W. A. Stroud (Died in 1847, just short of their tenth birthday).  Next to the cemetery was a small overgrown rise, likely the site of a homestead long ago. 

Humble Parquito

 

Humble Parquito before the plants fill in.  5/11/13

In the spring of 2012, I began my internship with Friends of the Parks, a non-profit parks advocacy organization in Chicago.  My role was site steward for what was then called the Dunning-Read Conservation Area (DRCA), now the Dunning Read Natural Area.  The Dunning Read Natural Area is located on the grounds of the Chicago-Read Mental Health Center, about one block from my mom’s house where I had lived from the time I was fourteen until I bought my first house just a few miles away.  During my internship, I spent most weekends there, helping to lead programs and habitat restoration efforts while drafting a site management plan. 

From the files

Not long into my internship, I received an email from my manager, stating that a local beekeeper expressed interest in setting up hives on site.  After a few back and forth emails, the beekeeper and I agreed to meet on-site to determine the best location for the hives.  I met the beekeeper - Marcin - out back by the red shed on a pleasant sunny day.  I took a liking to Marcin pretty much right away.  He explained why setting up the hives at the base of a gentle south-facing slope would work best, but the site engineer vetoed that vote and recommended an area next to a large radio tower.  Marcin maintained that the tower area was too shaded for the bees.  A little more back and forth, and we determined that putting hives at the DRCA just wasn’t going to work out.  

Later that summer, Marcin reached out once again and asked if he and his beekeeping crew could use the site to host their National Honey Bee Day festivities.  I regretted that we were never able to accommodate his desire to install hives on site so I approved and helped set up the event.  Marcin and his scrappy beekeeper crew came through that hot August day, with a tent, honey tastings, and some educational materials.  For being in a crumbling, weedy parking lot of a mental health facility, the event went pretty well.  

Marcin struck me as a down to earth kind of guy.  He was a tall, bearish figure, sporting long hair tucked behind a bandanna and a chin goatee.  These attributes belied his gentle and deliberate demeanor.  If there was one thing I picked up from him early on, it was his fascination with honey bees and his willingness to educate others.  A clear parallel existed between us - we both were really - and I mean REALLY - into things most people misunderstand and often fear.  It’s an ethos rare as hen’s teeth.  These are the kind of people you want to hang on to.

At some point, Marcin invited me to a community garden he and his crew had built on three empty lots at 1630-1634 Richmond Street in Humboldt Park.  Upon entering the garden, my mind was blown.  The garden was lush and full of fruits and vegetables growing in well-manicured plots.  Everything was available to neighbors who needed fresh food but couldn’t find or afford it.  There was a big stack of rain barrels catching water off of an adjacent apartment building (1638) and an ingenious watering system tapped into each garden plot.  There was a mulched path for visitors to use and local artwork all over.  There was even a wooden outhouse where one could piss into a biodegradable mixture of sawdust.  

Photo courtesy of the Humble Parquito Facebook page

And of course, the bee hives.  There were lots of hives here, some Marcin’s and some belonging to local members of his crew.  It was an incredibly tranquil environment in the midst of a bustling neighborhood.  This was Humble Parquito, a true up-and-coming place for community involvement, networking, and reflection.

Marcin, 2013

Before I knew it, I became a regular here.  The 2013 National Honey Bee Day festivities were held here, which attracted people from the neighborhood and beyond.  Marcin organized bonfires during the summer/winter solstice and spring/fall equinox.  Everyone would bring a plate to share, and while I’m a big-time introvert, I found good company here.

Marcin offering a true beekeeping experience to visitors on National Honey Bee Day in 2013

Sometimes it was hard to remind ourselves that the land Humble Parquito occupied was borrowed, and that at any moment, this thing that so many people created could be wiped clean, and fast.  And that’s exactly what happened.  In March of 2014, I received a text from Marcin notifying me that the lots had been sold to a developer.  Humboldt Park had become the next Logan Square and thousands of suburban/out of state hipsters wanted to live there.  The following eulogy was posted on the Humble Parquito Facebook page on March 14th, 2014:

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2)…our time is coming to an end at 1630 North Richmond.”

 A late night emergency meeting was held on an adjacent lot, across the alley at 1621 Humboldt Boulevard.  Most of the Humble Parquito crew was there, in the darkness and battling the cold wind.  There was a feeling of defeat amongst the attendees, yet Marcin had little time for sorrow.  That night, a plan was proposed to relocate Humble Parquito to this new site.  Feelings varied.  Most were understandably attached to the “OG” Humble Parquito, and crushed to learn its fate.  There was also the lingering concern that 1621 Humboldt might not last long either.  Ultimately, all went home that night knowing that there might never be a Humble Parquito ever again.  

I wasn’t present when Marcin and members of his crew were forced to clear the garden in preparation for development. It happened so fast.  It could not have been an easy task, physically or mentally.  

In 2014, three modern single-family homes were erected where Humble Parquito once flourished. The Humble Parquito crew half-heartedly maintained the new Humble Parquito at 1621 Humboldt for a few years until the eviction notice came through. The very last bonfire occurred there on December 21st, 2016 - winter solstice. In 2018, a large condominium was constructed there.

The new Humble Parquito in July 2014. Photo courtesy of the Humble Parquito Facebook page

Former site of Humble Parquito

Losing Humble Parquito was a crushing loss.  But one thing Marcin understood is that friendship transcends a place.  Yes, Humble Parquito was an opportunity, a meeting place.  But its demise couldn’t stop what it had created.  Eventually, Marcin would leave the city and relocate to an exurban part of Elgin, in a small, old homestead awkwardly surrounded on three sides by large-scale new development.  There, against a backdrop of drab tan condos and uninspired single family homes, he continues tending to his bees and gardening, seemingly unfazed by the greedy land grabbing and rapid suburban sprawl.  And he still hosts bonfires, where his aging crew still regularly meets.

In a way, Humble Parquito lives on.

In loving memory of Christine DiMiceli

The OG crew

The tradition continues. 2025

Marcin and my daughter, 2025

The Berry Tavern: A Night in the Root Cellar

Fortunatus Berry couldn't have imagined the horror that would surround his stone root cellar when he built it in 1840.

At that time, the settler from New York was running his tavern in the mining settlement of Gratiot's Grove, just south of Shullsburg, in the Wisconsin Territory.  In fact, he had just constructed the new tavern and root cellar to replace the obsolete structure he built in 1829, shortly after he arrived in Gratiot's Grove.  His business was picking up as the busy route leading to the lead mines directed weary stagecoach travelers past the tavern and inn.  He built the stone root cellar outside the tavern to store food (and maybe alcohol) needed to satiate the numerous guests.

The wood cellar at dusk (the root cellar is underground and accessible through a small opening in the back)

Less than a decade later, the tavern would change hands, becoming the Lamar House.  It was during this time that one of the saddest and most macabre events in the region's history took place.  In the summer of 1854, a cholera epidemic was sweeping across the Midwest, leaving thousands dead in cities like St. Louis and Chicago.  Cholera reached Gratiot's Grove and the bustling Lamar House via rail camp to stage line and wreaked havoc upon the unsuspecting tenants.  Within days of exposure, eleven guests succumbed.  Among the dead were the local doctor and coffin builder.  With the dead bodies rapidly accumulating and nowhere (and no one) to bury them, the eleven bodies were wrapped in gunny sacks and stacked in the root cellar to await burial amidst the panic and uncertainty of the time.  Eventually, the dead were buried near the tavern in a small, makeshift cemetery (six more tenants would die after leaving the inn, leaving a total of seventeen dead).

In addition to the doctor and coffin maker, there were children who died.  Some of the headstones were later found during road construction, and the cemetery has since been restored near its unknown original location.  

Today, the property is privately owned and undergoing a long process of restoration.  Every year, a fundraiser is held onsite, with music, food, and games.  In 2024, I was offered the opportunity to spend the night in the root cellar.  The idea became a bit of a novelty, with respect to those who perished long ago.  This year, I took the owners up on their offer.

So, after the day's festivities had concluded, and the last of the site had been cleaned up, and the last set of taillights faded into the distance, I prepared for a night inside the dark, musty, and silent depths of the root cellar.  I noticed the moonless midnight sky was awash in stars, a sight I very rarely get to enjoy, living thirty miles from Chicago.  I laid down on a picnic table and looked at space for awhile.  Speechless.

Inside the root cellar, I laid out my bedding atop a single layer of plastic pallet mattresses.  When the light went out, the insects and spiders came alive, but it wasn't anything I couldn't deal with.  I slept well.  I am not superstitious, I do not believe in spirits or ghosts or "negative energies" or anything like that.  

I woke up around 6:00 AM, a little stiff, but well-rested.  I wish I had a lot more to say about my experience to make it seem more sensational, but it was exactly what it was, a complete and rather literal immersion into history, and the kind of unconventional experience I cherish.

Finally, I encourage anyone reading this to visit the Berry Tavern and to support Friends of Berry Tavern.  Good people just trying to keep history alive and well in an increasingly rootless society.

Portugal: The Edge of the World

 "Portugal sits on the edge of the world, where the land ends and the sea begins, where dreams merge with reality." - Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen, 1960

From Gibraltar, we returned to Seville to drop off our rental car, and took a taxi to Faro.  In Faro, we rented another car, and drove to Porches.  We stayed in the same area as we did two years ago (2024) because we just really love the area, and it's relatively affordable and the people are great.

Because it was so hot during the day, and because freshwater bodies are far and few between, I figured that oases might be good places to hike and search for herps.  Funny story I'll never live down - I found a river that flowed into the ocean, and took my family there.  Because I was focusing on the natural environment and not the people, it didn't occur to me until my wife told me later on that that particular beach was "clothing optional".  Only at that point did I notice.  Oops.  We had a good laugh and she still teases me that THAT may have been the reason I drove us there.  

Ruins (sans herps...way too hot)

Later that evening, a walk along the rugged and famous Algarve coastline.

I found the most incredible beach dune habitat I've ever seen, in Portugal.

Iberian pond turtle (Mauremys leprosa)

Another.  There were several in a marsh as we approached the dunes.  It was refreshing to see native (and vulnerable) turtles and not invasive species.

Spiny rush (Juncus acutus)

Curry plant (Helichrysum italicum) in foreground

Sea rose (Armeria pungens)

Sea daffodil (Pancratium maritinum)

An exceptional insect...

...the vulnerable Algarve sand grasshopper (Sphingonotus imitans)

An absolute beauty, the fairy-like two-winged spoonwing (Nemoptera bipennis) at rest

Sea holly (Eryngium maritinum)

It was like the coral reef of beach dunes

A few shots from where we stayed.

Large psammodromus (Psammodromus algirus)

Just as in 2024, these Iberian waterfrogs (Pelophylax perezi) were abundant, especially at night, and we caught dozens.

A clear, spring-fed stream at Paisagem Protegida Local da Fonte da Benémola

We had to fly out of Lisbon, so we drove there and spent a night before our flight home.  My cousin lives there, so once we settled into our hotel, we took an Uber to Praça do Comércio, a large public square, to meet her and to watch a World Cup qualifying game with thousands of Portuguese soccer fans (France vs Norway, France won). I am not particularly interested in soccer, but it was a surreal experience, and an appropriately ironic way to end our adventure.