Tuesday, October 20, 2009

What's in a Name?

So where did our trail names come from? I can only say, straight from the aether. But here are two things that may give an insight into Graveyard and The PHLO.

First off, The PHLO. When given the name, I was simply told to think about it. Here's a poem found at www.phlo.net. The only other mention was a beverage corporation.

Who can free himself from achievement, and from fame descend, and be lost, amid the masses of men? He will flow like Tao, unseen, he will go about like Life itself with no name and no home. Simple he is, without distinction. To all apperances he is a fool. His steps leave no trace. He achieves nothing, has no reputation. Since he judges no one, no one judges him. Such is the perfect man: His boat is empty.

-Chuang Tzu

As for Graveyard, here is a lengthy description of Oakwood Cemetery that I wrote in 2006. It may provide some insight as well as a history lesson from Syracuse. If you want the full version with color pictures, I have provided the URL.

http://www.esf.edu/writingprogram/hosmer-briggs/Zines/PocketParks.pdf

By: Jess Rumburg
Prof. Hosmer-Briggs
CLL 290
April 13, 2006
Inspired by and dedicated to Jeff Nugent.
The Duality of Oakwood Cemetery
www.shadesofoakwood.com

Jess Rumburg is a student at the State University of New York’s school of Environmental Science and Forestry. He is an undergraduate in environmental science and plans to pursue a carrier as a High School teacher. He is an avid outdoorsman, as well as an active member of the Boy Scouts of America and a Leave No Trace trainer.

The Duality of Oakwood Cemetery

When one thinks of a graveyard, a vast flurry of images and emotions are called to light. Our media and culture have ingrained a portrait of cemeteries in our collective mind that stirs fear and sacred avoidance. It is the setting of so many horror films and the stomping ground for forces not of this world. Only the manliest man would take a drunken dare and walk its hallowed trails at night. And yet there is another side to this piece of Syracuse that many are unaware of. During the day, it is not mourners who occupy its fields, but those out to enjoy a leisurely
stroll. At night its grounds are not stalked by spirits and serial killers, but people without ill intent. The cemetery is indeed a place to mourn those who have left this world, but it is so much more. For many, it is a gorgeous park for dog walking and early morning jogs. To others it is a place rife with history; the final resting place of thirty thousand fascinating lives. To the Universities that border it, the cemetery holds special significance. SUNY ESF uses the wide variety of flora and fauna for many classes and research projects. To those who live in the dormitories, it is their backyard. Whatever else it may be, Oakwood cemetery is Syracuse’s misunderstood jewel.
From the time they arrive in Syracuse, freshmen are warned to keep their distance from the Cemetery. They are told of the danger involved with setting foot on its soil; the armed robberies, the drug deals, the bizarre and terrifying people that one might meet day or night. From the stories told by the campus administration, one expects to look out their dorm window and see mafia stereotypes dumping lumpy garbage bags into holes in the ground.(Muench) There is reason
for the warnings given, though. On the far side of Oakwood from campus there is a rather seedy neighborhood, and strange things have been known to happen within the graveyard, but from literally hundreds of hours of observation over the last two years, I feel I can lay many rumors to rest. During the day, it is very unlikely that any misfortune should befall anyone. Oakwood employs a full-time staff of groundskeepers, and the scariest thing one would encounter is a group of large dogs with an elderly woman in tow. Night is a slightly different story. There is
an inherent risk involved with walking the graveyard after hours. Robberies have occurred, and far worse crimes. For this reason, the person most likely to be encountered is ‘Johnny Law’. Police cruisers often peruse the evening, warding off wrongdoers, most commonly college students. It would be foolish to think that many people in the graveyard at night are up to anything good, but seldom are they causing harm to the living or dead. They simply seek solitude or a macabre social atmosphere, which may be found if one knows the right people. If anything, these late night adventurers are more of a safety measure than a cause for alarm. These strange taphophiles (Webster) cast too many eyes on unsavory doings. Besides, they often travel in groups and don’t take kindly to those who would cause misfortune to others.(Muench) People have said to me that they will not venture into the graveyard, lest they encounter one of the multitude of odd strangers they imagine within. I cannot help recalling at these times the Cheshire Cat’s response to Alice when she told him that she did not wish to speak to mad people. “But it can’t be helped. We’re all mad here. I’m mad, you’re mad.” (Carroll)
People rarely delve into the rich history of Oakwood cemetery, but since it’s opening in 1859, it has accumulated many stories and seen many changes since NYC landscape architect Howard Daniels designed its elegant curves. (Nugent) It’s naming alone was a highly debated topic, but it was finally decided on Oakwood. The newspaper article announcing the decision on August 15 of that year, admitted, "We can't say that we like the title, but it might be worse."(Shades) From it’s beginning, Oakwood has held a rigid policy of environmental consciousness.
After only 9 months in operation, Oakwood cemetery announced that those caught
trespassing would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. It also announced a $10 reward for anyone with information leading to the prosecution of anyone who willfully injures the trees or causes other forms of malicious mischief.(Shades) This provision was certainly more for the scenic beauty of the grounds and the wallets of its patrons than enacted out of any concern for the plant life and its intrinsic value, but one shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were.
Vandalism has been a constant problem for Oakwood cemetery, but one can’t but feel their reaction was a bit extreme when in 1863 Julia Gallagher, age 15, was locked in one of the buildings for the crime of maliciously plucking the top of a shrub. In addition to this detention, she also was accountable for a fine not exceeding $150.00, or six months in prison, or both.(Shades)
Unfortunately, far worse acts of destruction have been perpetrated without apprehension of those involved. Reports are vague, but allude to prostitution among other things and in 1869, a full time sheriff was appointed to watch the grounds. As one walks the older portions of the cemetery, the damage of vandalism and the wearing of the ages is displayed in the marred and toppled markers. They lend a surreal and eerie quality to atmosphere within the depths of the cemetery, where nothing is visible but expanses of stones paying homage to the dead. The most disturbing example of this vandalism occurred in 1988. A Syracuse University art student was found boiling the skull of John Crouse, father of former mayor John J.
Crouse and founder of Oakwood, in his dorm room to use in a sculpting project for class. He was discovered when a student noticed a foul smell coming from the kitchen of Flint Hall and found the skull in a pot of water. He alerted the authorities, who arrested the student, and made a search of the graveyard. They discovered that several mausoleums had been disturbed over the past several years and also found a second skull wrapped in a paper bag that someone had removed from one of these.(Moriarty) The history of Oakwood holds other interesting tales, although few as grim. Another tale of vandalism has a happier ending. Near the center of Oakwood are buried 231 veterans of the Civil War. For many years, they were watched over by a beautiful bronze cast of a Union army sentinel, and their 231 headstones stood in ordered line, as the men themselves had once stood while in service to their country. In 1951, the sentinel was stolen, presumably to be melted for scrap metal. Also in the fifty’s, all of the white marble stones were knocked over. The markers of these venerable Americans adorned the hillside like a mouthful of broken teeth; their sentry gone and their eternal barracks pillaged by marauders. But there were those who still remembered the soldiers past sacrifices, and in the fall of 1998
the 122nd New York State Volunteer Infantry, a Civil War reenactment group petitioned the National Veterans Administration to replace the headstones that had fallen so far into disrepair. They sent the stones, and members of the 122nd began placing the stones by hand in June of 1999. On Veterans Day 2000, the site was finally renewed and members of the 122nd gathered along with a large crowd of spectators for the rededication ceremony complete with cannon salute in tribute.
So far, the bronze statue has not been replaced, but the 122nd Infantry is
working to raise the $35,000 needed. With the help of some concerned citizens, the hill shall once again be ordained with its sentinel. (Tyler) Not only do people come to Oakwood to mourn their dearly departed, or study the rich history behind the place. Many come for reflection, seeking the solitude and pensive atmosphere.
There lies a place within its bounds that provides this in abundance. It is one of the least known places to casual visitors, but the best loved to those who know of its existence. In front of the entrance to the abandoned church, across the street and up a trail there stands a lion. Its emaciated form stands watch with sightless eyes across all seasons, watching over a boy named Michael Haggarty. The sculpture embodies the dedication to a life lost tragically. In 1974, Michael Haggarty was killed in an automobile accident at the age of 14. In 1981, his younger brother Thomas was an art student at Syracuse University. At his mother’s request, he began to create a memorial for his brother, who was buried at St. Mary’s cemetery in Dewitt. A year later, his 620 pound bronze guardian was completed, but the cemetery refused to allow the memorial, and so Michael’s body was moved to a secluded part of Oakwood. There amongst the trees stands the lion; its haunting face unmovable, forged from a brother’s love. There are many legends as to the nature of the place, but this is the truth, no less macabre or meaningful. Over the years, many have found there own meaning in that place, of the lion and themselves as well.
For me, the Haggarty lion stands stoic vigil for all those not with us, remembering always those who are lost from us. (Shades)

Quiet reflection and study comprise a more traditional side of cemeteries as urban parks.With Oakwood cemetery sharing a boundary with two universities, it also has another side. The free-spirited exuberance of college life stands in stark contrast to the tombs and sanctuaries. The two stand on opposite ends of life’s road, yet they blend with sometimes bizarre, but generally positive ease. The proximity of the cemetery tempers the students with a slight somberness, and they breathe life into its rolling fields. Thanks to them Oakwood is able to serve more as a park
than one would believe. I can only imagine the thoughts of the families come to visit their Grandparents and find hippies playing Frisbee and banging drums in a graveyard, of all places. Let us not point out that they only visit once or twice a year, while the regular graveyard denizens are to be found in any weather at any time of day. Oakwood now finds more use as historical site and a park than as a depository for bodies. Not only do college students enjoy its open spaces, but a wide variety of people can also be found using the cemetery recreationally. The
majority of people in Oakwood who are not students are out walking their dogs, with a handful joggers as well. In autumn, people come for its diverse tree life, which displays spectacular colors at this time of year. The trees in Oakwood represent a broad cross-section of local species, as well as many exotic species, all planted for their ornamental value. This is why ESF dendrology students are able to see most of what they are learning without ever having to travel. Oakwood serves as ESF’s own private tree museum.(Borker) It also has an equally diverse animal population. It is a haven for bird watchers, although the ratio of crows to other birds is badly
askew in the crows favor.(Borker) In addition to these residents, the cemetery provides a habitat for many ground creatures as well. Skunks and deer often come out at night to feed, and a pair of gray foxes have made it there home for the past two years. Toads, mice, bats, squirrels, snakes and chipmunks are to be found as well. One only needs to take a closer look at Oakwood to see that it is teeming with life more than it is haunted by death. Oakwood cemetery is either Syracuse’s most active graveyard, or its strangest park. It is a beautiful resting place for the dead, where families can come to give their respects. It is a backyard and leisure ground for college students. With 172 acres of property, Oakwood is able to accommodate both of these groups. Oakwood cemetery is a valuable part of Syracuse for many
reasons, and few ever appreciate its full scope. Graveyard? Park? Both, and an amazing one at that.

Works Cited
Borker, Abraham. Personal interview. 11 Apr. 2006.
Carroll, Lewis. The Annotated Alice: the Definitive Edition. Ed. Martin Gardener. 2nd ed. W.
W. Norton & Company, 1999
Moriarty, Rick. "SU STUDENT ACCUSED OF BODY THEFT -." Post-Standard, the
(Syracuse, NY) 19 Oct. 1988, Metro ed., sec. News: a1.
Muench, Julia K. Personal interview. 14 Apr. 2006.
Nugent, Jeff. Discovering the Central New York Outdoors. 1995. Part One
Shades of Oakwood. 10 Apr. 2006 .
"Taphophile." Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 11th Edition. 11th ed. Merriam-
Webster, 2003.
Tyler, David. "Civil War Veterans Honored with Gravesite Rededication." Oakwood Cemetery
Sentenal Project. 10 Apr. 2006 oakwood.html>.

Points of Interest

It is interesting to observe the progression of this blog in retrospect. They show not only our experiences but moreover that which we deemed notable, the detours and people that we have met as opposed to our journey itself. As our trek continued over long months and through varied climates, many of the interesting places and things that we saw stood out less poignantly and simply wove themselves into the beautiful background tapestry of our journey of forgotten places. Moreover, these multitudinous moments of joy and wonder at our world defy all description. To truly appreciate our journey and the motivation behind it, I can only recommend a trip to a mountaintop or secluded monument, preferably one that requires walking at least 100 feet. You don't need to stray far to find hidden wild places, nor is lengthy exposure to the elements required to find peace of mind and a reverence for existence, but it certainly drives the point home. After the Aquablaze, I thanked Lenwood, a lifetime farmer who worked on the property of our friend's friend's cousin's family. He said that it was his pleasure, that we were, "Doing things that needed to be done and seeing things that need to be seen." And he is right, for if people stop appreciating the natural and historic beauty all around them, we surely risk their irreparable loss.

This post is a backtrack of the last two posts to fill in some blanks in the 3rd quarter of the trail. Maryland, my home state was sweet. First, the forest composition was different than when we had last been 'on trail' in Waynesboro. This was great for 2 reasons: it was different than the hundreds of miles we had done in Virginia, and it was the type of mid-Atlantic hardwood that I had roamed like a tyrant in my youth. After a few days we emerged into a clearing with an old mausoleum labeled GATH. We found ourselves in a park called Gathland, after the pen name of an eccentric but successful journalist and war correspondent. On site was a huge stone arch serving as a monument to all war correspondents. There was also a flush toilet and vending machine. Several days later we stumbled across a sign declaring the approach of the Washington Monument. We looked around and were indeed still on the AT. Either this was the most devious reroute ever, or I was about to learn something new. Fortunately it was the latter. Apparently the people of whatever town we were near decided back in the day (early 1800's) to build a sweet stone monument to ol' George. It looked like a three story stone thimble with a rough-hewn spiral staircase through its center to an observation platform that had been used during the Civil War. Understandable, as the view was incredible. The next point of interest was an isolated trailside campsite for backpackers, fully equipped with showers. Maryland, home of the clean hikers. We also got to cross the footbridge over I-70. I had frequently driven beneath it and had always wondered what it was like on either side. It was neat, but this is a mystery I will perpetuate. Sorry. I will say there is road access nearby, as that is where Jen picked us up. At the MD-PA border we met with my cousin Angela who hooked us up with Sheetz Sandwich and water, which we desperately needed at the time. Our meeting point was a place called High Rock. The view was excellent, and it was doubly cool because it was a hang-gliding site. No one was gliding, but there were signs about it and the rules, precautions, and certifications required. Unfortunately there was a direction snafu and the park closed soon after Angela arrived, so we were denied a longer visit.
As for Pennsylvania, yes, the midpoint didn't have quite the same impact for us as others. It was, however, next to a cool 2-story stone wall described as a WW II camp in our book. What kind of camp? No idea. Barracks? Internment camp? Resort-style camp for Generals? More mysteries.

I did in fact eat a half gallon of ice cream in PA. It was delicious and far too easy. Plus, we hiked on an additional 8 miles afterward, and I do believe they were the easiest miles of the trail. I guess 2,300 calories of chocolate-marshmallow goodness is the appropriate amount of food to eat for lunch if you are a hiker. I'll spare you the gastro-intestinal details of that evening, but I will say that there are always consequences of our actions.

We were also blessed from PA to New York with an abundance of blueberries and the odd raspberry bush. Delicious but distracting. True, we didn't need snack breaks, but our pace was cut in half to one mile per hour. The blueberries harbored many cute little woodland creatures and they would often scurry at our approach. As we gorged on fistfuls of berries, Julia called up to me, "Hey PHLO! Come check this out." I walked back and as she got to "I think its a..." A roar/buzz filled the air. I had never heard a Rattlesnake that I can remember, but this was unmistakable and deafening. It was hidden in the brush but i could see a good 3 feet of it, all tapering to the tail, so less than half of it. It was as wide as my calf, which by now equalled a huge snake. We moved on, having seen part of a snake of proportions outside the normal range for that species.

After a ride from the excellent Lynn, we were in Jersey. It was hot, but it was not the cespool of medical waste and burning tires that usually come to mind when one thinks of New Jersey. Supposedly that's only the Newark/Jersey City area, but I had always assumed this was disinformation on the part of the State Tourism Board. There was in fact more wildlife in that area than anywhere else. We did not see the mythic Jersey Devil, but it was a short state and we spent little time there. We did however see 5 bears in three days. First two youngsters who fled at our approach then turned and stood looking at us as we looked back. A non-threatening interaction at the top of the food chain by four creatures observing each other with curiosity and respect. Later we saw a large bear prowling around a SOBO's bear bag, but he also ran off as we closed in. That night we experienced more mosquitoes than I had in my life previous to that point, including the Everglades, huge painful suckers that were relentless in their pursuit of our blood. The next day we were hiking when we heard a loud crash in the tree canopy 40 ft. above our heads. A gigantic bird, we assumed, but when we looked up we saw two black bears in a tree about ten paces off trail. One of the bears forced the other out of the tree and we got some great pictures as he left the tree. To see this and more pics, check out

http://picasaweb.google.com/jkmuench


I'll continue to put that link at the beginning and end of all the upcoming posts, because I can never find it.
Julia already described the meeting with her friends, bona fide hikers now with trail dirt on their shoes to prove it. After they left, we continued up and down MUDS (mindless ups and downs) interspersed with rocky outcroppings. This includes 'The Lemon Squeezer' and the rock obstacle where Julia's second camera died. Things tend to fall out of ones pocket when technical climbing is involved. Ah well, we still had my camera, which was shipped to Long Island by our crack resupply team (aka Mom). We hiked on, running into SOBO's but no northbounders. We also encountered many snack stations in the numerous parks and towns of New York. Bear Mountain was cool, but a high litter area. I picked up 6 empty water bottles, several wrappers and a broken hoola-hoop in the 1/4 mile from the top of the mountain to the bottom. And what was at the bottom? A snack bar and a zoo. Thanks to the zoo, no one hikes the AT without seeing a bear. And there was a Rattlesnake. Much smaller than the first one, but about the same size as the one I narrowly avoided stepping on in New Jersey, which I forgot to mention. I saw it at the last minute and jumped over it. It was quite docile, but we still tried to keep our distance; difficult,as it was in the middle of the trail.

After Bear Mountain, we hiked on, destined to reach West Mt. shelter, purported to have fantastic view of the city. Unfortunately it was .6 miles off the trail and we were once again hiking at night. After a particularly steep uphill, we decided to just keep going uphill and find a stealth camp site. And lo and behold, a blue-blazed trail! And so the trail rewards those who go up. Next followed Julia's favorite part of the trail, which I will let her tell in her own words.

Pictures: http://picasaweb.google.com/jkmuench