Sunday, March 24, 2024

What would Olmsted and Mrs. Bok do?

 Imagine you are the sons of Frederick Law Olmsted, America’s first and most celebrated landscape architect, and you get a call from an old family friend. It’s Mary Louise Curtis Bok and she’s one of your firm’s most important and long-standing clients.

In fact, your fathers knew each other and worked together. Both are so famous now that part of your identity will always be caught up with theirs. But that’s ok. There’s a lot to be proud of.

Her father was Cyrus Curtis. He had recently died and Mary Louise, his only daughter, had an idea to honor him. She wants to demolish most of the family home that her father had built along with the gardens designed by their father some 30-40 years earlier. In its place, she proposes to create a space for trees and public recreation and she'll donate it all to the town in honor of her father.

And that's exactly what happened.

Can you imagine the type of environmentalism and philanthropic vision it takes to come up with a plan like this? This is the type of courage, generosity, and leadership that Mary Louise Curtis Bok and the Olmsteds partnered in over and over again.

And make no mistake, Mary Louise was far from being a simple funding source for these projects. She wrote letters, observed, opined, compromised and negotiated with groups and individuals that were sometimes frustrating and small-minded.

But Mary Louise Curtis Bok was a woman of unusual creativity and intelligence who used her family’s political and economic position to do extraordinary public good. She was also surrounded by a family who set similar standards for themselves, and she took every opportunity to employ the most cutting-edge naturalists in landscape design.

Cyrus Curtis was the publishing giant who printed some of the most popular and widely read material in the country and Frederick Law Olmsted invented landscape architecture. Yes, invented it. Everything before that was really just called gardening. But Olmsted rejected the term and saw his role as curating the unique genius of the place, working with nature to design public spaces where all people could enjoy the benefits of the natural environment.

“Service must precede art, since all turf, trees, flowers, fences, roads, walks, water, paint, plaster, posts, and pillars in or under which there is not a purpose of direct utility or service are inartistic if not barbarous... So long as considerations of utility are neglected or overridden by considerations of ornament, there will be no true art.” -Frederick Law Olmsted.

Curtis hired Olmsted to plan the gardens at his family estate in Wyncote, Pennsylvania called Lyndon. The existing home was soon demolished and replaced by a stone renaissance revival style structure designed by the architect William Lloyd Baily (with considerable input from Mr. Curtis who was himself quite knowledgeable in the field). This was approximately 1895 and Frederick Law Olmsted was hired by Curtis to landscape the grounds and gardens.

After Olmsted’s death in 1903, his sons took over the firm and went on to design hundreds of parks and landscapes all over the country, including several in Camden. The Curtis — and later Bok — families kept a steady stream of work in the pipeline for the Olmsted Brothers.

Olmsted, Curtis, and Bok all shared a progressive —and sometimes radical—vision for the importance of nature in the urban environment. You can read more about Olmsted's design principles at the Olmsted Network website. They have some special material dedicated to Olmsted parks and using the principles of nature-based solutions to address climate change. olmsted.org/olmsted-parks-and-places-adapt-in-the-face-of-climate-change

The name Mary Louise Curtis Bok gets thrown around in political circles in the town of Camden most frequently when someone is trying to make a point about preserving something in the same way that they have known it. That’s how I first became aware of her incredible gifts to the town, at least.

The same is true of the Olmsted landscape design dynasty. Knowing nothing about the values and philosophy of Mary Louise nor the Olmsteds, I knew only that they were the most commonly cited reason for the rules about amplified music on the Village Green or the reasons we might not be allowed to have picnic tables or kayaks in Harbor Park.

For many years, this was enough to satisfy any curiosity I may have had about Frederick Law Olmsted, his sons, or the Curtis/Bok family.

Today, though, thanks to a few other Camden residents and visitors, I dream about what they might say now if they could be here helping us grapple with challenges and opportunities we face today. Rather than a river and harbor that were too dirty to touch, they’d find a vastly transformed use of the beach, as just one example.

The portion of the shorefront that had been reserved as “grounding out space” for big boats to be painted and repaired is now a favorite place for children and the young at heart to examine crabs and periwinkles and dip their feet into the sea. The ramp that we now use to access the beach was there simply to give the Town a place to haul out the floats so they could be stored for winter.

They’d be delighted at some of these evolving benefits, I’m quite certain, but they’d probably describe the public landing in the same way as Mrs. Bok had done before. Disappointing. Dreary. Too much parking. Not enough trees.

As was always the case for Mary Louise, she would see many buildings in need of moving still today. In their place, we’d have trees or grass or views out over the harbor and river. If you look through the designs and photos of the Olmsted archives that relate to the projects she hired them to do, nearly every building pictured had been documented with thought of removing it if possible.

You might almost look at those photos as a type of hit list for buildings and I’ve come to find a certain amount of humor in it. Many of them are actually scattered around town in what she would consider to be more appropriate places.

She faced plenty of opposition in town as well. I’ve tried to be gentle in my sharing of some of these stories about the obstacles she faced in Camden because I know there are still so many opportunities to fulfill aspects of Mrs. Bok’s vision that were not quite ripe for the moment. But the opposition was not limited to Camden.

A 1937 article described public opposition from neighbors of Cheltenham Township at the idea of accepting a donation of 40 acres from the family which included the grounds of her father’s former home. Sixty residents showed up at a meeting of the elected officials to protest the gift, fearing that the playground and park “would attract undesirable people.”

As we talk about change here in Camden, I like to think about what it would have been like to be Mary Louise Curtis Bok in the 1920s and 30s as she mediated between the Town and the Olmsted brothers? She was so much more than a philanthropist.

While it’s true that most of her money came from her parents’ publishing business, her contributions to that business were anything but typical, especially for a woman born in 1876. At the age of 13 she was one of sixteen people on staff at the Ladies Homes Journal. Like her mother, she had a talent for writing and was published under her mother’s maiden name as Mary L. Knapp (her mother was Louisa Knapp).

I mean let’s just dwell on that for a minute. In 1890, 30 years before women got the right to vote, 13-year-old Mary Louise Curtis was writing for the Ladies Home Journal. That was also the year that Edward Bok took over as editor of the publication. Six years later, when Mary was 19, they were married.

The life of her husband was documented in a short autobiography titled The Americanization of Edward Bok and tells the story of how his family came to the United States after losing everything.

Edward Bok died of a heart attack in 1930 and shortly after his death, Mary Louise received a letter from Helen Keller, noted advocate for people with deaf blindness. An excerpt from the letter reads as follows but it is worth reading in its entirety. https://boktowergardens.contentdm.oclc.org/digital/collection/p16755coll1/id/65

Surely we would all clamor to be associated with Helen Keller’s work today, but can we be sure how we would have behaved before we knew who she would become?

“Dear Mrs Bok.... There will be many a tribute to the great editor, the philanthropist, the peace advocate, the lover of birds and all things beautiful... this eagerness to share, to help, to call forth the best in men and women that endeared Mr. Bok to all who knew him... how warmly he encouraged me in my youthful efforts to write — how he held up my hands in the early days of my work for the blind...”

Today, it’s hard to imagine what Camden would be like without public spaces such as Harbor Park or the Village Green, but we also tend to forget how radical and even controversial the ideas were at the time.

Each time that major events such as fires forced a reorganizing of the landscape, Mrs. Bok swept in and purchased the properties, waiting until the pieces of the puzzle could be brought together with the help of the Olmsteds.

At the time, much like the design at Central Park had to work around the oddly unnatural and rectangular reservoir that pre-existed the park (and his since been removed), Mrs. Bok and the Olmsteds had to work around property boundaries that were outside their control.

Much like in Central Park where they had to accommodate the reservoir, they worked to naturalize and buffer buildings and the dam with trees and shrubbery as best they could in Camden. But we must realize that neither Mrs. Bok nor the Olmsteds ever saw their work as finished, and the designs that we have today include many compromises.

Today, the challenge of climate change and habitat destruction threatens both our parks and our ecosystem, but we have an opportunity to apply the same design principles that the Olmsteds and Mrs. Bok held dear as we plan for the future. The Olmsteds were the original proponents of using Nature Based Solutions, and it was long before the term became fashionable.

Even though the type of flooding we are seeing in Harbor Park and elsewhere in town is overwhelming, any careful reading of the Olmsted/Curtis/Bok philosophies would lead most people to see these challenges as opportunities to take everything that has been learned in the past 100 years and build back better and in greater alignment with nature.

The Town of Camden and the Camden Public Library are well positioned with funding from the National Coastal Resilience Fund to plan for the future by answering the question, what would Mary Louise Curtis Bok and the Olmsted Brothers do today?

Take a look at information on the National Coastal Resilience Fund and you'll swear that Olmsted himself had a hand in designing the program. http://nfwf.org/programs/national-coastal-resilience-fund







Sunday, March 3, 2024

Fabled pass of death

From last week. 

*****

Last week I wrote about Turnpike Drive and I’m returning to it again because this is one of those topics that has sent me both down the metaphorical rabbit hole and up the side of the mountain.


But I am forcing myself now to stop searching The Camden Herald archives for the words “turnpike” or “blasting” or “rock slide” or anything else for the rest of the weekend.


I have one of those personalities that doesn’t know when to stop researching and I often find myself distracted along the way by something that fits into a different research puzzle I’ve been working on. 


I tend to exhaust the people around me with my unbridled interest in obscure historical details and feel a type of euphoria when I’m able to connect the dots and put something into a larger historical context.


Last week I attended one of the Historic Resources Committee meetings and was reminded of how much fun it is to connect with other people who see things the way I do. I don’t mean that we agree on all the issues facing us today. We don’t.


But we all share the habit of wanting to know what came before us and how it came to be and who played a part. We all appreciate a fuller picture and we delight in the details of the people and personalities and bedrock outcroppings of the past. The Turnpike and Megunticook Mountain is one of those places where most of its best stories I suspect have not been told.


Sometimes I think we all find ourselves relating more to the people of Camden’s past than its present. These people felt more interesting. More authentic. More in touch with the natural world. Their problems were existential and the range of solutions they considered was vast.


But with so much change, we also seek a certain amount of stability — granite markers and landmarks that can be referred to in survey after survey. There are very few things in Camden that can be used as enduring control points over the past 250 years.


We’ve changed where the rivers and streams enter the harbor. We’ve changed the shape of the bedrock on Main Street. We’ve buried most of the shoreline of the inner harbor beneath buildings and boardwalks and sea walls.


And it turns out, we’ve even remodeled the mountain.


On certain topics, there is a wealth of unexplored but well documented history, but on others, it seems that we’ve just repeated the same few things over and over again, with each historian just restating what they read before. This is more or less the case with the Turnpike. Very little information repeated again and again.


If you want to know what has been said over and over about the Turnpike, you can read what John Locke wrote in 1859, four years after he arrived in Camden and discovered that none of the inhabitants had bothered to write much of anything down since they began arriving nearly 100 years earlier. From that point on, everyone from The Camden Herald to the local attorneys quoted Locke as the gospel.


We are surely indebted to him for getting the ball rolling, but his accounts are based off town meeting notes that he described with some frustration as being very basic.


He cautions us that the complete history of the town will have to be written by future historians. He says of his writing that “we shall content ourself with merely writing a few memorials which we have obtained at sundry times from the lips of elderly witnesses, or gleaned from old records, books and papers.”


This is how we learn of “Sambo,” the manumitted (freed) slave who was featured in Locke’s book for being the only worker willing to risk his life during a particularly dangerous moment rolling boulders down the cliff of Megunticook to form the road that we all enjoy today.


The accent that Locke chose for “Sambo” was the same as the one for James Richards’ supposed African cook. The stereotypical drawl we now know is historically inaccurate, and we are not going to recreate it here. Locke quotes him as talking to his “master” and bravely stating that all he asks is that if he dies in the venture that he is given a decent burial.


The name “Sambo” itself is a derogatory term with questionable origins. “Sambo” is the name given to many African slaves by people other than their parents.


I don’t blame Locke, but you can’t help but feel a little uneasy realizing how little we know about the people who built the road and how some of its success depended on undervaluing some people’s lives.


Daniel Barrett hired freed slaves at a time when half the country still held people as property.


From the archives, we know the Turnpike was widened and repaired a few times over the years with multiple articles over many decades saying that the Turnpike was “almost finished.” Most notably, major improvements happened around 1918 and again in the 1970s, always involving blasting.


I mentioned the other day to someone that I was surprised that we didn’t end up with rocks rolling into the road from time to time and was informed that it’s actually relatively common. Oh my… maybe what you don’t know can’t hurt you?


The Camden Herald archives confirmed there have indeed been several notable rockslides. The most serious that I have found was in 1975 when the whole area had to be roped off because of an unstable section of roughly 75-100 feet. A young hiker was seriously injured and Bob Oxton directed the rescue operation.


But if you ask the Camden Public Works Department, you’ll also hear the stories of the more minor events that didn’t make the news. Just a month or two ago, they were clearing debris off the road and notifying the State.


Blasting and breaking of rock is such a part of Camden history that I wish I knew more about the techniques over time. If there were one person I wish I could have met from Camden’s past, it might be William Barrett, the son of the same Daniel Barrett who was famous for the wild lifestyle he lived on the side of the mountain. He could tell me all about the blasting and moving of rocks around Camden.


Bill inherited the Barrett land by the lake and Turnpike when his father died. His brothers got the original Barrett homestead where the 12 children had been raised — now Aldermere Farm, Lilly Pond and the surrounding area


The house where Bill Barrett lived stood for many years in what is today the parking lot for the Maiden’s Cliff hiking trail. It wasn’t until 1968 that the old house came down as part of general improvements to the Turnpike area — much to the dismay of the Camden-Rockport Historical Society and others who wanted to save it. A photo can be seen in the Dec. 5, 1968, edition of The Camden Herald.


Bill suffered a serious blasting injury, which left him with part of a rock permanently lodged in his forehead. He reported to The Boston Globe around 1890 that he had been working off his tax debt to the town of Rockport and was ordered to blast a rock that nearly killed him. The recovery, aside from the physical side effects, left him with the nickname of Crazy Bill Barrett.


“I had to take to the woods and live on wild animals and herbs to help my head. I have been in the woods a whole year at a time… it was tough at times living in the wilds of Maine going sometimes for days without even crackers in the way of bread, and sometimes having to eat raw meat, but during the time I discovered a root and made snuff of it that cured my head trouble.”


Well, wouldn’t we all like to know the magical root that Bill Barrett found on the side of the mountain to cure his head troubles. I suppose that’s why a lot of us go out to hike in the mountains — to cure our head troubles with a big or little dose of Mother Nature.


Sometimes people who research can fall into the habit of looking too much at history books to try and solve this metaphorical puzzle rather than looking for clues in nature. Since the documented history before the 1870s is very scant, there’s probably a lot more value in observing the natural scenery.


I’ve driven the Turnpike a thousand times or more over my life but I had never really looked carefully at the rocks perched alongside.


I pulled off to the side of the road in one of the parking areas carved out on the Lincolnville side of the road and flew my son’s little drone up for a different look at the historical puzzle above and below me.


This time, there was nothing metaphorical about the puzzle. Rompecabezas, rather than puzzle was the word that instantly came to mind. As a Spanish teacher, I sometimes default to my second language when a phrase or word seems more appropriate than the English word. Rompecabezas translates literally to “head breaker” and that was immediately the sensation I got as I looked at the images coming up on the viewfinder of the drone.


The patchwork of broken rocks piled all around me, many of them showing obvious feathering marks from the splitting techniques used more than two centuries ago, was most definitely a historical rompecabezas in both the metaphorical and literal sense.


My goal had been to see if I could see signs of rocks shifting along the mountain, and you certainly can, but more unnerving than that was the unmistakable sound of tumbling rocks.


I’m sure most of it is stable most of the time and that statistically your chances of being hit by a falling boulder from Megunticook Mountain are quite low, but there’s a reason why so many of the early writings about the Turnpike refer to it as terrifying and not just beautiful like we say today.


There is a poem written by “Mary of Rockport” from September 1874 that speaks of recurring vision she had as a child passing by the mountain where she sees the mountain’s cliff forming and then an Indian in his canoe. It is worth quoting in its entirety, but since I’ve again written something much longer than I intended, I will choose just a passage to end with.


“But time rolled on, he passed away,

But left behind him a name;

For this path hewn out from the mountain side

Is his monument of fame.

And again I stand in this lonely pass,

With its grandeur deep and wild

This Vision of fancy comes back to me

As when I was a child.

And I dream again the same wild dream.

I pause and hold my breath,

And I think of many a wild legend

And the fabled pass of death.”


Alison McKellar is a Camden resident and member of the Select Board. Her views are her own and do not reflect those of the Select Board.