While I was in DC, I couldn’t resist a chance to take an early morning stroll and check out Michelle Obama’s garden, part of her healthy eating campaign.  I was curious to see it because I have planted a vegetable garden every spring since I was a teenager.

Here’s a view of the White House kitchen garden through the fence:

I regret that I couldn’t give it a closer inspection!

And two views of the White House, on a gorgeous April day.

Many of my photos from our trip to Ireland in August 2009 are on display this month at

Frame It Yourself of Westwood.

HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY

Photo by Ken Ernst, Frame It Yourself of Westwood

Their Eyes Are Watching:  People and Animals of Kenya and Tanzania

As of October 9, my Africa photos will be on display at Frame It Yourself in Westwood, New Jersey.

Last Friday evening, I went to Provincetown to attend the artists’ reception for the “Icons & Art: Michelle & Barack” at the J. Lucas Gallery.  Gallery owner and artist Jon Lucas has posted a YouTube video of the show, and here are a couple of my photos from opening night also:

“Hungry, Hurried, Broke for Obama” (my work) can be seen below.  It’s hanging on the wall, framed in black, near the center of the photo.

It was terrific to attend the reception and meet Jon, but it was also wonderful to visit Provincetown, which was bustling with visitors, but not overcrowded, on the first fall weekend of the year. Saturday was a perfect Indian summer day on Cape Cod.

Here are the vistas and sights I’ve been longing to see:

Race Point Beach, Cape Cod National Seashore:

The Old Harbor Lifesaving Station viewed from the beach below:

A gray seal, below, cruising along, not far off the beach, appearing as curious about me as I was about it.

Seals are now a common sight off Provincetown’s beaches, although scientists are not sure why:  Is the Canadian seal population growing and moving south or are there other environmental causes that have made them a common sight?

Back in town, goofy tourists in front of the Provincetown library, currently under renovation:

The attention-grabbing van belonging to a Bay State supporter of the Kennedy clan and the late Senator Ted Kennedy:

The spire of the Unitarian/Universalist Meeting House, built in 1847 by seaman and fisherman:

A view of Race Point Beach from the top of Pilgrim Monument, 350 feet above sea level,:

And to wrap up this post, Pilgrim Monument itself (next to the wonderful appropriately quirky and idiosyncratic Provincetown Museum that has one of the best museum gift shops anywhere):

Just returned from a week in Ireland — my first visit to Eire.  To my surprise, I spotted a Bellevue Ave., Newport, R.I. sign on a restaurant, where we ended up eating lunch.

Turns out that Kinsale and Newport are sister cities!  They have an annual chef exchange.

The half-marathon route leaves Harrison and turns onto Ridge Road, passing Newport’s stately brick Coast Guard Station, near the Castle Point Light, which isn’t visible from the course. It’s an active lighthouse, built in 1890.

At the end of Ridge Road, the course turns right onto Castle Hill Ave., then right again almost immediately onto Ocean Ave., which I have never heard called anything but Ocean Drive or, more simply, The Drive.

This part of the half-marathon course, the miles along the Drive, is one of the most beautiful stretches on this Earth for me, filled with memories.

On the right hand side of the road the vast Atlantic Ocean billows, sprays, crashes, swells, crests, sweeps or lies placid — whatever its mood.  During wild storms, the waves smash into the concrete ocean wall and splash across the Drive, making driving treacherous or impossible.  The air always smells sharp and salty here, even more seaweed-y and pungent when the weather is warm.

Most of this section of the Drive is part of Brenton Point State Park – preserved from future development, thank goodness.

When I was a little girl, the black and crumbling remains of the original manor house at Brenton Point were still standing.  During WWII, the federal government seized the estate from the Budlong family due to its strategic coastal defense position.  After the war, the family turned the property over to the state of RI.  The original manor house was destroyed by a fire in 1960.

I can remember asking Con, who worked for Newport’s public works department, “When will you tear down that old house?”

The manor was finally torn down in 1963, and the state created a magnificent park of grassy fields, edged with wild roses, overlooking the Atlantic.

On the ocean side of the Drive, long man-made rock jetties jut out into the water for fisherman and ocean lovers.  Small tidal pools of water trapped in the natural hummocks of gray-black granite hold hermit crabs and snails, sometimes a small starfish.  Seagulls perch on the rocks or wheel above, crying.

Going for a drive around the Drive was one of my family’s favorite pastimes when I was young.  Every Sunday, Nana and Con went to church at St. Augustin’s in the Fifth Ward, picked up coffee and Danish at Siggy’s , then meandered out to the Drive in their immaculate forest green Hillman.  They parked somewhere near Brenton Point, talked and watched the water.  Their life together was incredibly simple, happy and peaceful.

If my sister and I were with Nana and Con, maybe for a visit or a sleepover, they took us for a picnic on the Drive.  We slid around (no seat belts back then, of course) on the slippery tan back seat of the Hillman as it puttered along Newport’s streets and avenues. A big treat at the time was a McDonald’s hamburger!  After we ate, my sister and I clambered around on the rocks, jumping from ledge to ledge, searching for crabs and snails, listening to the seagulls caw overhead.

I have taken my own children many times to the granite outcroppings on the Drive.  Over the years, Dwight and I have taken a picnic there, too, whenever we have had a chance.

Dwight and the four older kids exploring, 1997

Clare, Cara, Troy on the rocks, after we attended a festival at Fort Adams State Park, 1998

An apprehensive Lynne getting her first introduction to the rocks on a blustery, misty day, 2002

Soon after the half-marathon route rounds  Brenton Point and passes the borders of the state park, the Drive starts to wind along between little coves and inlets, as well as mansions and homes.   One little home tucked into a fold was always pointed out to me, “That’s where Dr. Carey lives.  He delivered you.”  My parents, especially my mother, revered him.  She had two or three miscarriages before I was born, at long last in 1958.  The seven-year wait between their marriage and my birth was hard on my young parents, both teachers, in the post WWII baby boom period.

On the left hand side of the road, there are two ponds, first Lily Pond, then Almy.

Dad and I at one of them, feeding ducks, 1959?

Nana said that Con saved someone’s life on one of these ponds when he was young.   The details are sketchy: Kids were ice skating … one fell through the ice … Con risked his safety to save another… (in my imagination, this is very much like the scene in Little Women when Laurie saves Amy after she’s fallen through the ice.)

It’s hard for me to believe that these poor Irish kids had ice skates, but maybe they did or were able to borrow some.  I know my dad and his buddies tried to ski on barrel staves they tied to their shoes.  Didn’t work well.

On the right hand side of the Drive are Newport’s three private beaches:  Gooseberry, Hazard’s and Bailey’s (always considered the most exclusive of the three).

Immediately past Bailey’s Beach , the half-marathon course goes up a little incline before turning left onto Bellevue Ave.  Off to the right is the former home of RI’s former senator, Claiborne Pell, most famous for his Pell Grant legislation, financial aid for college students, passed in 1973.

Bellevue Ave. is broad and tree-lined, lit at night with replicas of gas streetlights.  Mansions flank both sides of the historic avenue that evokes images of coaches, ball gowns and black tie, fancy tea and dinner parties …  an elegant bygone time.

Of course, my immigrant Irish family members were servants in these mansions owned by Vanderbilts and Astors that were only used for about six weeks every year during the summer!

Many of the Gilded Age mansions on Bellevue Ave. are owned by The Preservation Society of Newport County and have been open to the public for tours and events for many years.  In 1984, Dwight and I attended his graduation party for Harvard Business School at Rosecliff, where the Great Gatsby was filmed.

For the record: Dwight and I were so poor then that my mother bought me the rose-colored silk material that I used to sew the dress (below) I wore to this party!

This is the only photo we have from the pre-digital photo age party — don’t even know who took it!

Continuing along Bellevue, the route reaches part of Newport’s shopping district, as well as the Newport Casino, home of the International Tennis Hall of Fame.  The famous architectural firm of McKim, Mead and White designed the gorgeous shingle-style complex, which opened in 1880.  It was called casino to evoke the Italian word cascina,  little summer house, not gambling.

Troy, Cara, Clare inside the casino, 1998

Clare (on right) hitting on the Casino’s grass courts, 1999

Almost to the 13.1 mile mark!

Right turn onto Memorial Boulevard, past the entrance to the Cliff Walk (check out the amusing history in the link) on the right hand side of the boulevard.  The walk skirts along above the water, behind the mansions on the cliff, overlooking Easton’s or First Beach — it’s a stunning spot to walk or run.

THE FINISH! EASTON’S OR FIRST BEACH!

My father, 2, and Nana on First Beach in 1928

My father, 4, on First Beach in 1930

The big roller coaster (above) and other amusements were destroyed by the devastating Hurricane of 1938, the monster storm that caused significant damage in Newport and other parts of RI, as well as in NY and CT.

My handsome father (standing, right) on First Beach with his buddies after WWII, 1948

An Irish folk band performing at First Beach, 1999.  Carousel in background.

A representative of the new generation on First Beach:  Clare, 1999

And Troy, 1999

An early morning winter view of First Beach, January 2007

Wish me luck!

I am going to run the Newport Half Marathon on October 18!

Tyler inspired me because he recently registered for the full 26.2-mile marathon.

Every street along the half marathon route in the city where I was born has meaning and associations for me:

The course starts just off Goat Island in Newport Harbor.  My father’s father, a skilled machinist, worked at the Naval Torpedo Station (today’s Goat Island) during WWII when it was genuinely an island (now it’s connected to the mainland by a causeway).

Newport Harbor, with the Newport Bridge in the background. Goat Island, barely visible, off to right

My paternal grandfather, Raymond M. Leary, Sr., (1891-1954)

Left turn onto Long Wharf –  a beautiful view of boats in the harbor and home of the Newport Yacht Club

Newport Bridge and Newport Harbor at night

Right turn onto America’s Cup Boulevard — In a small park next to the boulevard, a stone marker commemorates one of my Barrington High School classmates, Jeff Sharver, a first lieutenant in the Marines at the time of the 2003 invasion of Grenada.  Tragically, he was killed trying to rescue a fellow Marine.

America’s Cup Boulevard becomes Thames Street (rhymes with games, for native Newporters).

Lobstermen still bring their daily catch in to the wharves along Thames Street.

Aquidneck Lobster Co. on Bowen’s Wharf (Lynne and Troy in 2005)

Many of Newport’s most famous restaurants, bars and shops are also located on the Thames Street wharves.  When I was a child, the city’s waterfront was sleazy, but after the federal government closed Newport’s active naval base in the 1970s, the city focused its economy on tourism and Thames Street went upscale.

Tyler, let it be noted here, likes to eat at The Black Pearl or the Clark Cooke House on Bannister’s Wharf.  Bryan Waugh, another former high school classmate of mine, is the chef at the Clark Cooke House.

“The Wave,” one of my children’s all-time favorite statues, is located just off Thames Street.

Troy and Lynne climbing on the wave and the bodysurfer’s feet, 2005

Right turn onto Wellington Avenue and into Newport’s Fifth Ward, a locale where I spent some of the happiest times of my childhood.

[Heading straight on Thames, instead of turning off on Wellington, would lead to my current favorite Newport restaurant, Asterisk, 599 Thames St.]

My grandmother, my beloved Nana, lived at 73 Roseneath Avenue, off Wellington. The Fifth Ward is not a  political ward (Newport only has three), but a neighborhood, originally settled by Irish immigrants.

My beautiful Nana, Mary Catherine Sullivan Leary Finn (1905-1988)

Am I Irish?  Take a look at these names:  My grandmother, Mary Catherine Sullivan, was born in 1905.  In 1924, she married my grandfather Raymond Moore Leary.  Three years after his death in 1954, she married Cornelius Anthony Aloysius Finn, always called Con.

Dashing Con (second from left)

Con was also a lifelong resident of Newport’s Fifth Ward.  He served as a Seabee during WWII and returned home to work in the Newport’s public works department.

Cornelius Anthony Aloysius Finn (1913 -1974)

Never previously married, Con began his courtship of my widowed grandmother in the late 1950s at Siggy’s, the Fifth Ward’s favored deli.

“Hello to the prettiest girl in Newport!” he said to Nana, when he spotted her shopping in the deli.

In his job, Con helped maintain Newport’s public spaces, including King Park (we always called it King’s Park) on Wellington Ave at the start of Roseneath next to the harbor.  The waterfront park has a playground, a small bandstand and a ballpark.  When I was young, the sign over the dugouts read, “A diamond is a boy’s best friend.”  At some point over the years, the sign was repainted, corrected and now reads:  “A diamond is a kid’s best friend.”

King Park also boasts a statue of Comte de Rochambeau, who arrived in Newport in 1780 and helped General George Washington defeat the British at Yorktown in 1781.

Nana often walked my sister and I down Roseneath to the park when we were children.  I have taken my own kids to the park many times, too,  when they were young to play on the swings and slides, climb on Rochambeau, hunt for mussels, pop seaweed and gaze out over the harbor.

Continuing along Wellington, the half marathon route passes the Ida Lewis Yacht Club.  Lewis, born in Newport in 1842, helped her mother tend the lighthouse and her siblings after her father became an invalid.  She was known as the best swimmer in Newport (quite an accomplishment, especially for a woman) and credited with saving at least 18 people.   She eventually became a beneficiary of the Carnegie Hero Fund.

Left turn onto Halidon Avenue. No longer fronting on Halidon Ave. is Halidon Hall, former home of the Cowsills, a 1960s family singing group.  Halidon Hall is almost directly behind 73 Roseneath.  When my family visited Nana and Con during the Cowsills’ brief heyday, my sister and I were thrilled to hear them practicing, despite my father’s scornful teasing about their bubblegum pop.

Right turn onto Harrison Avenue. My sister and I were always reminded that the sculptor of the famous Iwo Jima war memorial, Felix de Weldon lived at Beacon Rock, 147 Harrison Ave.

Also, along Harrison are the fields and pastures of the SVF Foundation, formerly the Beacon Hill estate, known locally as the Swiss Village Farm.  The foundation’s mission is to preserve rare and endangered breeds of livestock. Usually some of the foundation’s heritage sheep, cattle or goats are grazing near the road, but the property is only open to the public one day a year, and I haven’t yet had the chance to tour the grounds and buildings, which have been beautifully restored.

The half-marathon route takes a right turn into Fort Adams State Park.  Construction of the fort began in 1824, and was completed 30 years later, with the help of Irish stone masons.

Fort Adams, viewed from Newport Harbor, with a rainbow above

My father signed up to serve in WWII at Fort Adams (it didn’t become a state park until 1965).

My father, Raymond Moore Leary, Jr. (1926-1987), with his parents, at 73 Roseneath Ave.

Another right turn out of the park and back onto Harrison Ave., past Hammersmith Farm, originally built by John W. Auchincloss in 1887.  He was the great-grandfather of Jacqueline Bouvier’s stepfather, Hugh D. Auchincloss.  Hammersmith Farm was her childhood home, as well as the site of the wedding reception of Bouvier and John F. Kennedy, following their wedding at St. Mary’s Church.  JFK used the farm as his “Summer White House.”  I remember driving by the house when I was a little girl with my family and having the Secret Service and guards at the gates pointed out to me: “The President is in town.”

Hammersmith Farm and its boathouse from the water, 2005

A note about St. Mary’s Church:  The oldest Catholic parish in RI, it was founded in 1828.  The  congregation grew when the Irish began to help build Fort Adams.  Nana’s parents were married in the church, and she attended its parochial school.  Raymond M. Leary, Sr., my grandfather, was baptized at St. Mary’s.  The funeral masses for both my father and grandmother were held at St. Mary’s.

To be continued in my next post …

For any of my readers who are interested — I’ be giving a talk and slide show next Tuesday, May 12:

THEIR EYES ARE WATCHING:  PEOPLE AND ANIMALS OF KENYA AND TANZANIA

2 p.m., Tuesday, May 12

Englewood Public Library, 31 Engle Street, Englewood, New Jersey

201-568-2215

When Cara and I returned to our resort, we joined the rest of the family at the pool.  Later, we all took a stroll along the beach.

At the beach, Dwight made a new friend, who tried to talk him into buying some African trinkets or paintings.   The rest of the family generally gives imploring hawkers short shrift, but not Dwight, who is willing to engage in a buy-sell discussion with anyone, anywhere, at any time about almost anything.

Tyler and Troy kicked around a soccer ball

and attracted the attention of a very jazzed-up Maasai.

The girls made an unwise decision to have their hands hennaed.  Sarah, the local henna artist, used a clumsy brush to apply some kind of thick ink that looked like gloppy chocolate pudding.  The girls did not end up with the delicate, intricate patterns they expected, but gooey figures that took days to get rid of and made us all laugh every time we looked at them!

When we returned to our rooms to get ready for dinner, we ran into a miserable Moses traipsing along in front of several of the hotel staff carrying baskets.  The new and inexperienced resort crew had jumbled up the guests’ clothes in the laundry.  Moses and his entourage were trying to straighten out the confusion and return various articles of clothing to their proper owners.

We opened our laundry packages and found a couple of shirts that didn’t belong to us.

I know where that goes,” Moses said, when we held up a little girl’s tee shirt, as if he had already handled a complaint about its disappearance.  Morosely, he pointed to a pair of women’s striped panties in one of the baskets to find out if they belonged to any of the females in our family.

In the few days we’d been at the resort, the luster of Moses’s job had been stripped away for him, it was plain to see.  His smiles were gone and his long kaftan didn’t seem as white or crisp as when we first arrived.  We couldn’t help but feel that he wouldn’t be sorry to see us go on the morrow.

The next morning, we were up and out — we flew from Zanzibar to Dar Es Salaam (the capital of Tanzania) back to Dubai and then on to JFK and home. Here’s the tired and rumpled gang waiting at JFK baggage claim.  The entire trip home took us almost exactly 30 hours door-to-door.

Wrapping up our family trip to Africa, which included our safari adventures in Kenya and Tanzania and the last few days at the beach resort in Zanzibar — the entire trip was SENSATIONAL,FANTASTIC, UNFORGETTABLE.

I had such wanderlust at the end of our spectacular journey that I was ready to throw over my domestic responsibilities back in the United Sates. I suggested several times (to no avail, obviously!) that the big kids should head home to finish the school year, while Dwight, Lynne and I continued on around the world . . .

I was ready to keep going and keep shooting!

Photo by Clare Sipprelle

Yesterday, it took Eric the Eagle only four and one-half seconds to hope out of his cage and soar away to freedom after 17 days of rehabilitation.

On February 27, Eric Glidden, who works Useppa Island, spotted an injured bald eagle huddled in a bush.  Chuck and Paula Berry, the island’s emergency fire and medical team immediately contacted CROW, Clinic for the Rehabilitation of Wildlife, to arrange for his rescue and rehabilitation. The Berrys used a large fishnet to trap the eagle that was coated with dried blood and unable to fly.  They wrapped towels around his head and neck to quiet him, and then loaded him into a large crate, where he huddled in a corner, unmoving.

John and Gretchen Coyle, island residents, transported the eagle by boat to Sanibel, where CROW is located.  The clinic’s two full-time veteranarians, Drs. PJ Deitschel and Amber McNamara, treated the bird of prey with fluids and pain medications.  Dr. McNamara said that Eric the Eagle, named for Eric Glidden, had probably been injured in a fight with another eagle or an osprey.  The bald eagle’s wounds were limited, but he was battered, bruised and in shock.

At the clinic, the veteranarians treated the eagle with pain medication, fluid and rest.  By the second day, he had recovered enough to eat herring, and he began to move around at the start of the second week.  They moved him into the clinic’s flight cage where he could stretch his wings, and as he recuperation progressed, he began to eat rats, as well as fish.

On March 16, Eric the Eagle traveled back to Useppa in the dog cage on the Lady Chadwick, a luncheon excursion boat out of Sanibel.

Dr. PJ  and Dr. Amber carried the eagle in his cage off the boat and down the dock.

Chuck wheeled him onto the island

and held onto the golf cart that Paula drove down to the field where the eagle had originally been rescued.

The release team arrived at the field.

Chuck and Dr. PJ carried the cage to the middle of the field.

Dr. PJ opened the door to the cage,

Eric the Eagle took several quick hops, then soared away over the treetops.

Here’s the rescue team:  Eric Glidden, Chuck Berry, Dr. PJ Deitschel, Dr. Amber McNamara, Paula Berry.

And Eric the Eagle, at rest in a tree near the field after his first post-rehabilitation flight, before he disappeared into the wild blue yonder.