Author: Marty Luster

Noun

texture (plural textures)

1. The feel or shape of a surface or substance; the smoothness, roughness, softness, etc. of something.

   The beans had a grainy, gritty texture in her mouth.

The Old State House in Boston. This building housed the Colonial government from 1713 – 1776 and the State government from then until 1798. The lion on the left and the unicorn on the right are symbols of the British Monarchy. The originals were destroyed upon the reading of the Declaration of Independence from this balcony on July 18, 1776  They were replaced by replicas in 1882. The building now houses the State St. Orange and Blue Line MBTA station and a museum.

Adventure

When we are children, we dream of adventure,

like climbing Mount Everest or sailing alone

around the globe or living in the wilderness,

foraging and hunting for our very survival,

or, perhaps, someday learning to fly.

Often, along the way, our dreams are modified;

In my case, Mt. Everest became the High Peaks

of New York, the oceans of the world were

reduced to the Finger Lakes and living off the land

turned into an irregularly kept vegetable garden.

And I have never learned to fly.

But here’s what I have done: survived seven

years in the sterile suburbs of New York City amid

endless shopping centers and the numbing drudgery

of a long daily commute, but then picked up

my family and moved 250 miles away to a small

town where we started over from scratch;

where we raised our children, built a life,

and did everything from keeping chickens and

goats to serving in the state capitol to

meeting our grandchildren and loosing

some loved ones, and then, like a broken field runner,

changing directions and heading east to Gloucester.

Gloucester, where I awake to such scenes, scents and

sounds and I feel as though I am in a painting

by Van Gogh when his eyes and mind were

seared by the light at Arles; where the people who were

born here are still thankful for this place and

where each day is an adventure that beats my early dreams.

Marty Luster

THEN

NOW

Aboard the Schooner Adventure during restoration.

 Antietam Battlefield, Sharpsburg, Md.

Become part of an extraordinary photographic experience. On May 15 shutterbugs of all levels of experience and skill will participate in what will probably be the most extensive documentary photographic effort ever. This world wide event is called “A Day in the World” and is intended to create a huge photo database of all aspects of life throughout the world as we live it on that single day.

Of the millions of expected photos, some will be selected for inclusion in a book to be published this fall, while others may appear in electronic exhibitions around the globe. All photos will be archived and saved for use by social scientists and historians.

You may submit up to ten photos shot on May 15 in any of three main themes: home, work and connections, with lots of subcategories to choose from. Learn more and sign up at www.aday.org. I hope GMG will be well represented in this historic undertaking.

 Railroad trestle at Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

THEN  NOW  Old Salem Road, Ravenswood Park. Click here and scroll for the remarkable story of the “Hermit of Gloucester.”

Babson’s Farm Quarry

It’s been many years since the last man was blinded

by steel from a hammer or sliver of stone.

It’s been a long time since a hand or an arm

was blasted away  at the  Babson’s Farm quarry.

It’s been many years since our bedrock  was cut

for  bridges and buildings and roadways and streets.

It’s been a long time since steam engines have fired;

when  monuments shaped from our granite rose tall.

It’s been many years and the hammers are silent;

the cutting and hauling and lifting are done.

It’s been a long time and the workers are resting;

this gift they’ve bequeathed us –  this jewel in the sun.

Marty Luster

THEN

 NOW

 Potomac River and Sideling Hill, Morgan County, W.Va.

THEN

NOW

Sand Mandala

One day I watched a Buddhist monk patiently

conceive and construct  a sand mandala,

carefully selecting grain after grain and,

with great concentration, create a work of wonder.

It was a process I’ll never forget;

each grain of sand selected with a stylus,

and its worth determined by its size and

texture and color and fitness for the design.

After several days of incredible focus

and labor, the work was completed and

the monk announced that the following day

he would take his creation to a sacred spot

and empty this circle of sand, meditate

and move on to his next project, accepting

without question, the impermanence of the

product of his skill, concentration and patience.

One day I watched each wave at Folly Cove Landing

slowly and with great concentration grind

pieces of granite on the shore into grains

of sand that will, in time, become a lovely beach .

This, too, I thought, will take a long time,

in that, like the mandala, each grain must

be a perfect fit, one matched with hue and tone

to create a pattern of harmony and peace.

Then one day the wind will scatter the sand

and the sea will engulf the shore and

no more will this circle of sand exist –

disbursed and annulled by its maker’s hand.

Marty Luster

Click here for photo of the monk working on the mandala.

A few weeks ago I received a wonderful gift from Terry Hutchinson of Freeport, Maine. It was a collection of post cards from 1909 to the mid-twenties of Gloucester and vicinity – mostly Annisquam. Terry grew up in the Riverdale section of town and is an avid reader of GMG.

I think Terry’s gift should be shared, so I will post the cards (funny how that has a different meaning now) along with current views of the same scene.

The first is identified as “Town Landing, Gloucester” and I’m pretty sure it’s Harbor Cove. Let me know if you disagree.

THEN

NOW