“I must study politics and war, that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.”
~ John Adams.
(Letter to Abigail Adams, May 12, 1780)
I read this quote on a plaque inside the State House in Boston, Mass. last week when my wife and I were doing some research during our staycation.
As we see, John loved the artist. He wrote and was well read, as was Abigail. Out of the clear blue sky last week, I decided to start a fiction book based on John Adams. I visited the Boston Public Library where the John Adams Library is kept in-tact, Faneuil Hall, Kings Chapel, The Granary Burying Ground, The Boston Athenaeum and finally The State House. I suspect that I’ll be making many trips to these locations over the next year.
There is trouble brewing in the old families. That’s your teaser for now.
Celestial photograph by Stephen DiRado.
Treetops and Stars
As a young boy growing up in New Hampshire
I used to go to bed at night
listening to the peeping of the aquatic life in the pond.
The moonlight painted the treetops
and the stars were always visible and bright.
The warm summer air would whistle through my window screen
and an occasional mosquito would find its way in.
The air was damp and dew dripped
from the needles of the nearby white pine and spruce.
It was in this coastal community
where I began to find my way.
As I grew older
I left my boyhood home and moved south to Massachusetts.
Things were a little different than I was used to.
The peeping at night was replaced
by fire truck sirens, cars horns and choppers overhead.
My treetops and stars were replaced
by the twinkling lights illuminating the skyscrapers
built with brick and beams, and the constant stream of jets
following a similar flight path into Logan.
I think back to the winter months
when the days were shorter and the air was cold and raw.
The leaves were off the trees,
and the wind just whipped through
and the marshes had a coating of ice
that rose and fell with the tides.
The noise was minimal except for the distant wind chimes
that echoed my favorite tune.