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Park the Christmas Puppy

By Barbara Anne Kirshner

Author Barbara Anne Kirshner with her dog Park

Every December 21st, I pause in the midst of all the hectic Christmas preparations to hold my dachshund, Park, just a little closer and give thanks for the treasures he has brought since he joined our family on that fateful day 14 years ago.

How could I have known when we met, he would bring such companionship, love and countless gifts into my life?

Maybe if I had known, I would have scooped him up the minute I laid eyes on him instead of being so hesitant to add him to our little family.

It was September 2006 when my husband, Gregg, and our two dachshunds, Madison and Lexington, went for a walk in Port Jefferson and wound up in the local pet store. 

The girl behind the counter looked at our brood and said, “You’re dachshund people. There’s a little boy here who needs some attention.” And with that she reached into one of the cages behind the sales counter and brought out a little long-hair black and tan dachshund. As she rested him on the counter, he became the clown that this breed is known for and stood way up on hind legs. He kept that pose amidst oooohs and aaaahs from passersby. He certainly left a big impression, but having three dogs was something I never imagined. 

Once his little act ended, he was sent back to the cage behind the counter and we went home. 

That was but our first encounter with the boy.

Every time Gregg and I went into Port Jefferson, we’d stop at the pet store sure that the pup would be gone, but he remained in that cage — waiting.

As time went on, he was moved from the preferred placement at the front of the store to be that puppy in the window with a pal, a long hair red dachshund.

The next time I visited, the red doxie was gone, but the black and tan boy was now in a cage at the front of a long line of cages. That’s when things started to get pathetic for him.

A few weeks later, he had been moved to one of the middle cages in the long line. Finally, he was relegated to the very last cage at the back of the store.

Park the Christmas Puppy

On December 20, 2006, Gregg and I went to Port Jefferson curious to see if the boy was still there. We fantasized that a loving young couple came to the store, saw this was indeed a very special pup and he was gone.

When we got to the pet store, I couldn’t go inside. I told Gregg to go and come back with happy news that the pup had found his forever home.

I went into a nearby boutique trying to busy myself half looking at items, anxious for the update. 

Gregg rushed to me; alarm etched on his face. “Not only is he still there, but he looks despondent!” That was the word Gregg used:  “despondent.”

I rushed out of that boutique and into the pet store. I ran to the back of the store and sure enough, there he was with his face turned toward the wall.

I called, “Park! Park!” I had the name, an unusual name but perfect if he were to join the doxie pack of Madison and Lexington.

Upon hearing my voice, he looked over his shoulder and stared me down. His unspoken words screamed at me. “If you don’t get me out of this hell hole, don’t bother to come back!”

Gregg leaned over my shoulder and asked, “What should we do?”

I looked from Gregg back to that sad little pup who had been stuck behind those bars for the past four months and then I fled from that pet store.

Conflicting thoughts flooded in. It was December 20th, four days before Christmas Eve when we would host the family dinner followed by Christmas Day when we would be at my sister’s house. On top of the hectic Christmas schedule, I was opening in the New Year’s show at Arena Repertory. I still had to memorize the last remaining scenes.

And on top of that was the gnawing hesitation that I never had a male dog, only female dogs. This was a completely different world I knew nothing about. I was overwhelmed with worry thoughts.

We left Port Jefferson and the sad little pup behind. 

The next day was Monday, December 21st. I had to teach, but Gregg started his Christmas break. When I got home, I headed for my study complaining that I had to get those lines memorized.

But Gregg said, “You can’t do that right now.” I halted and looked at him.

He went on, “Well, I went back to Port Jefferson to the pet store and he was still there and well, now he’s ours. Merry Christmas — he’s your Christmas present!”

I looked around expecting the pup to come bounding out from another room. 

“He’s at the pet store being groomed right now. I wanted us to pick him up together like we did with Madison and Lexington. So, come on, let’s get your Christmas present. When we get home, you can go into your study to work and I’ll take care of the little guy,” Gregg reassured me. 

Conflicting feelings rushed in — excitement, anticipation, hesitation, worry and concern. How could I get everything done with a new pup under foot?

From left, Lexington, Melissa Tulip and Park Kirshner

We went to pick up the little man. He was ushered out from the grooming room, long black fur gleaming and a big, red Christmas bow bobbing around his neck.

Park was placed in my arms and from that day to this, he has never been far from my hugs and kisses. He is my Velcro boy, always there for me. When I’m sad, he licks my tears away. When I’m up in the middle of the night, I hear those now familiar footsteps approach from down the hall. He stays by my side watching over me until sleep returns. 

He is my travel companion. Wherever we go, people flock to him. Cars stop short to admire the precious boy. People have even called out, “That’s the most beautiful dog I’ve ever seen!”

I thank them, then shake my head and wonder how such a magnetic little man spent his early life behind bars, completely passed over by all who came in and out of that well-trafficked store.

When Christmas rolls around each year, I thank Gregg for the best Christmas present I ever got. His response is always the same, “I’ll never be able to top that gift, right?” 

Right!

Oh, and that Christmas Eve dinner 2006, it went smoothly with Park the hit of the party. AND I didn’t miss one line opening night of that New Year’s show.

Miller Place resident Barbara Anne Kirshner is a freelance journalist, playwright and author of “Madison Weatherbee —The Different Dachshund.”

 

All photos courtesy of Barbara Anne Kirshner

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Rabbi Motti Grossbaum. Photo courtesy of The Stony Brookside Bed & Bike Inn

By Rabbi Motti Grossbaum

As we kindle the Menorah’s lights, we pay tribute to the heroes of long ago. The courage of the Maccabees (the small band of Jewish fighters who led the revolt against the Syrian Greek religious oppressors) and their refusal to surrender in the face of terrible and overwhelming odds blazed a trail for the survival of the Jewish people and the freedom to practice our faith.

As the Chanukah story goes, the Maccabees came into the desecrated Holy Temple but they could not find any pure oil with which to light the menorah. All the oil had been defiled by the Greeks. Miraculously, they found one small jug of pure, holy, undefiled oil, enough to illuminate the temple for one night. But as we all know; a miracle took place. The tiny jug of oil lasted for 8 nights.

Friends — every single one of us is a candle. We all have a jug of oil deep inside, which is our divine soul — a spark of G-d. We may at times feel that our oil is defiled — we are uninspired. But deep down, every one of us has a small jug of untouched pure oil that, when lit, can outshine any darkness inside and out.

So the question is asked, why is it that lighting candles is such a big part of Judaism?

Candles are lit by Jewish women every Friday at sunset for Shabbat, we light candles on every festival, and Chanukah is all about candles. What is the connection between candles and spirituality?

Jewish tradition teaches that there is something about a flame that makes it more spiritual than physical. A physical substance, when spread, becomes thin. Spirituality, when spread, expands and grows. When you use something physical, it is diminished. The more money you spend, the less you have; the more gasoline you use, the emptier your tank becomes; the more food you eat, the more you need to restock your pantry (and unfortunately, the heavier you become).

But spiritual things increase with use. If I use my wisdom to teach, the student learns, and I come out wiser for it; if I share my love with another, I become more loving, not less. When you give a spiritual gift, the recipient gains, and you lose nothing. This is the spiritual property that candles share. When you use one candle to light another, the original candle remains bright. Its light is not diminished by being shared; on the contrary, the two candles together enhance each other’s brightness and increase light.

We sometimes worry that we may stretch ourselves too thin. In matters of spirit, this is never the case. The more goodness we spread,  the more goodness we have. By making a new friend you become a better friend to your old friends. By having another child you open a new corridor of love in your heart that your other children benefit from too. By teaching more students, you become wiser.

My spiritual mentor and teacher, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory, taught us that when we kindle the Chanukah flames, we should “listen closely and carefully” to what the candles are telling us. And this is what they are saying: Keep lighting your candles. There is an endless supply of light in your soul. You will never run out of goodness.

The Chanukah story happened so long ago – yet carries a timely message for us, even today.

Science has given us the greatest technologies and conveniences, yet it alone cannot free us from the moral and social challenges of our day. From gun violence and simmering racial tension, to corruption in politics, material pursuits alone do not lead to a happy and meaningful life.

Our children need a better diet than the value-system fed to them by Hollywood, the internet and mass media. They need, no, they want, inspiration, a noble cause to live for, a moral purpose that frames their pursuits and interests with meaning and direction.

Like the flames of the menorah, with a desire to make an impact and illuminate, and an ever-persistent desire to reach higher, we too can do the same, and be a beacon of light to all.

Rabbi Motti Grossbaum is director of programming and development at Village Chabad Center for Jewish Life & Learning in East Setauket.

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'Fair Exchange, No Robbery', 1865, by William Sidney Mount

By Tara Ebrahimian

William Sidney Mount was an artist whose Long Island heritage was integral to his identity and his art. Most famous for his portrayals of local and natural life, Mount’s initial interest in historical paintings and his commissions for death portraiture led him to create the work that would become his legacy. What Mount witnessed and experienced determined how he rendered the realm he could control: his art.

He was born in Setauket on November 26, 1807. His parents, Julia Ann Hawkins and Thomas Shephard Mount, had a farm and also ran a store and tavern on the edge of the village green. Interested in artistic endeavors from a young age, with his family’s support, he set out to pursue that goal.

Following his father’s death in 1814, his mother returned to his grandfather’s farm in Stony Brook and Mount lived for a time with his maternal aunt and uncle, Letty and Micah Hawkins, in New York City. Micah was a playwright, composer, and musician, who encouraged Mount’s interest in music. In 1815, Mount returned to Long Island, living in his grandfather’s home until returning to Manhattan where he apprenticed to his brother Henry as a sign maker. It was during this period that Mount really began to develop his interest in painting.

‘Returning from the Orchard’, 1862, by William Sidney Mount

With Henry’s encouragement, Mount attended the American Academy of the Fine Arts exhibition at City Hall Park in 1825. This event introduced Mount to a genre of art he had not yet enjoyed: history painting. Rather than pursue a formal art education or seek tutelage from a master, Mount continued to work for his brother while teaching himself. Henry was now business partners with a painter named William Inslee, who owned a collection of prints by British artist William Hogarth, who specialized in history painting. Moved by his art as well as that of another British artist, Benjamin West, Mount copied Hogarth’s prints in order to practice his craft.

History painting is characterized by its content instead of its artistic method. This form generally depicts an instance in a narrative story rather than a specific, fixed subject such as a portrait. Until the 19th century, history painting was considered the most prestigious type of Western painting. Then, as artists pushed back against the rigid parameters of academic art standards, it became a medium mainly regarded in that milieu. This genre encompassed works that portrayed religious scenes, and Mount’s most popular history painting is of this nature.

Upon the recommendation of family friend Martin E. Thompson, Mount enrolled in the National Academy of Design, which Thompson had cofounded. At the institution Mount was able to explore his appreciation for the Grand Manner, an idealized aestheticism that drew from classicism and the art of the high Renaissance. Initially it specifically referred to history painting, but came to include portraiture. The term Grand Manner was also used by British artists and critics to describe art that incorporated visual metaphors to represent noble characteristics.

In this manner, Mount created historical paintings that were very well received. He selected scenes from classical texts that focused on topics like near-death experiences, death, and resurrection. Mount’s first notable oil painting, Christ Raising the Daughter of Jairus (1828) caused a stir when it was exhibited at the National Academy of Design; the council was stunned that a young artist with little formal instruction could produce such a work. Mount, who was one of the school’s first students, was elected an associate member in 1831.

‘Bargaining for a Horse’, 1835 by William Sidney Mount

He returned to Setauket the next year, but continued to send work to be exhibited in New York City. Mount’s history paintings were admired and respected, but they were not, apparently, particularly profitable. Perhaps impacted by the shifting opinions about historical paintings, Mount suffered a setback all too familiar to artists: his work did not sell well enough for him to make a living. So, he shifted his focus to portraiture. His first portrait subjects were easily persuaded: he painted himself and close relatives.

Portraits provided a somewhat steadier income. Among his early patrons were the Weeks, Mils, Wells, and Strong families. Mount continued to improve his technique and was happy to be back on Long Island. “I found that portraits improved my colouring, and for pleasurable practice in that department I retired into the country to paint the mugs of Long Island Yeomanry.” Mount was less enamored with the other aspect of his business: death portraiture.

Mourning portraits were paintings of the recently deceased. Frequently the subjects were shown as though they were alive, and symbolic details, like bodies of water and flowers, were used to indicate that they were not. Arguably a bit morbid, their existence was emotional: they were usually commissioned by the departed’s loved ones. It could be among the only renderings/images that existed of the recently dead.

Mount worked on commission and he did not enjoy the work, which was fraught and could be gruesome. He could be summoned to someone’s wake or deathbed to make sketches or take notes for the upcoming portrait. Once he was called to the scene of an accident to paint the likeness of a man who had been run over by a wagon. The final product did not reflect the cause and nature of the subject’s death.

The art Mount created enveloped aspects of genres he had explored earlier in his career. These experiences helped him establish the style for which he would become best known. He combined the narrative elements of the history paintings with the human interest element of the death portraiture. Without this background, he may not have been inspired to create the art that became his job and his joy.

Genre paintings, art that illustrates scenes of everyday life, became the most renowned selections of his oeuvre. Unlike his previous work, this type of art is distinguished from history paintings and portraits in that the subjects have no distinctive identities. His first foray into this type of painting, The Rustic Dance, was immediately successful and encouraged him to further explore the medium. As Mount noted in his journal, “Ideas can be found in everything if the poet, sculptor and painter can pick them out.” He captured snippets of everyday life and frequently imbued them with subtle or more overt themes of social commentary.

‘Bar-Room Scene’, 1835, by William Sidney Mount

Motivated by the natural environment and his neighbors, Mount addressed moral issues, including economic standing and disparities as well as the implied status of Black people in the area. For example, in Bar-Room Scene (1835), Mount portrays patrons in a tavern. In the foreground a presumably inebriated man in tattered clothing is encouraged to dance by three  seated men who are clearly of a higher economic class. A boy, who is standing, gazes upon him in apparent wonderment.

In the back corner, there is a young Black man standing. He is also entertained by the dancer’s antics, but he is alone, separate from the group of other men. As a free Black man, he is allowed to visit the tavern, but he remains apart from the other visitors. Through this isolation, Mount indicates that the man is not fully able to participate in the community. The topics represented in this painting were recurring in his art.

Mount’s return to the Three Villages marked a shift in the nature of his work. His exploration of slavery, racial dynamics, and rustic vignettes offer indelible insight into 19th century life on Long Island. His creative expression was a culmination of previous artistic enterprises, driven by both his own passion and financial necessity. Mount continued to paint, integrating other interests, such as music, into his art. He never married or had children and died of pneumonia on November 18,1868, at his brother Robert’s house in Setauket.

Author Tara Ebrahimian is the Education Coordinator at the Three Village Historical Society in Setauket. This article originally appeared on the historical society’s website and is reprinted with permission.

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The challenge this Halloween will be adhering to guidelines while trick or treating. Stock photo

By Rob Calarco

In 1918, as the United States dealt with the Spanish Flu pandemic, cities across the country called on their residents to have a different kind of Halloween. At that time, the holiday was more of an opportunity for adults to have costume parties and for boys and young men to pull pranks and commit vandalism. During the pandemic, cities banned or discouraged these traditions and called on residents to be respectful of those who might be sick or have lost a loved one. Overall people observed these restrictions knowing that what they were doing was for the benefit of the community. The Buffalo Express reported on that year’s Halloween, saying “Hallowe’en revels lack the spirit of previous affairs.”

Rob Calarco

This year we are again asking Americans to be safe as they celebrate Halloween. COVID-19 is still with us, and while our infection rates do remain low, there is still a risk to us all. That does not mean we cannot celebrate all things spooky this year. We can still find creative ways to enjoy the day and take precautions to minimize potential spread of the virus.

The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has characterized traditional trick-or-treating, where treats are handed to children who go door to door, as a high-risk activity. To avoid this risk consider participating in one-way trick-or-treating. This is when individually wrapped goodie bags are lined up for families to grab and go while continuing to social distance. Try to avoid placing large bowls of treats where children have to grab out of the same container. These treats can be placed at the end of a driveway or at the edge of a yard. You can communicate whether you are participating in the festivities by placing a sign on your yard. Also if you are wearing a costume mask, remember that it is not a replacement for a cloth mask. Instead consider incorporating a cloth mask into your costume this year.

If you are looking for a safe outdoor adventure, consider heading over to Southaven County Park in Yaphank, which has been taken over by Gateway’s Haunted Playhouse in partnership with Suffolk County. The Gateway has created a drive-through haunted trail experience called “The Forgotten Road,” which includes sounds and sights outside the car as well as a narrative that can be listened to over your car’s sound system. Additionally the Patchogue-Medford Library is offering a Halloween Story Walk. This is a self-guided quest for the entire family. You can pick up your map at the Children’s Department Information Desk during library hours or print your map and story questions from home at any time to navigate your way through Patchogue Village by following a story. Those who complete the quest will receive a Halloween surprise at the end.

With a different kind of Halloween celebration this year, it is going to take us all working together to keep each other safe. There are plenty of precautions to make sure that we all have fun while not contributing to the spread of COVID-19. By following these easy guidelines and doing more socially distanced activities, we can all do our part and stay safe.

Rob Calarco (D) is the presiding officer of the Suffolk County Legislature.

 

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Park enjoying Park’s Bench on the Village Green in Stony Brook. Photo by B. Kirshner
Photo by B. Kirshner
Photo by B. Kirshner
Photo by B. Kirshner
Photo by B. Kirshner

By Barbara Anne Kirshner

“My only hesitation about visiting the exhibit hall on July 3rd to write the article on your motorcycle exhibit is that my dachshund Park’s birthday is that day. I know it must sound silly, but I don’t want to leave him at home on his birthday. He’s a perfect little gentleman when he travels, so could I possibly bring him with me?”

The cheerful voice of the curator replied, “I love dogs. I don’t mind at all. In fact, I think it’s sweet you don’t want to leave him home on his birthday. Anyway, we’re very dog friendly.”

I assured her, “We have a stroller that he loves, so he won’t be just walking around the exhibit hall.” “No problem. I’m looking forward to meeting him,” she responded cheerily.

We arrived at the Ward Melville Heritage Organization’s Educational and Cultural Center, an impressive white colonial style building with black shutters anchoring Stony Brook Village, at the appointed time. We must have been a sight indeed with a long-haired dachshund in a stroller heading into the lobby.

A smiling woman with a bubbly voice met us. “Nice to meet you,” she extended her hand in greeting then looked in the stroller. “And this must be Park, the birthday boy.” Park’s head cocked to one side at the sound of his name. In addition to Park and his stroller, I was laden by my shoulder bag filled with writing pads and pens, my cell phone to record if necessary and my camera; all of which had to be juggled to accept the hand extended in greeting.

She led us into her office where I got a run-down of the fifty different bikes on display. Then she escorted us into the exhibition hall where a guided tour was provided.

As we strolled our way around each cycle with me snapping pictures and scribbling notes, the curator, a font of knowledge, filled in the historic facts connected to some of the cycles. My boy sat with his head leaning on the front bar of his stroller just taking in the sights and listening attentively to her explanations as if he understood and appreciated the information. I wrote feverishly trying to latch on to every word she spoke with back up of my cell phone recorder for anything missed.

Our tour lasted over two hours and at the end the curator marveled at how well-behaved Park was the entire time.

“Well, you must do something special for this very good boy,” she said.

“I intend to,” I agreed.

She suggested, “If you go back toward the main road, you will come to a fork, make the right, that will bring you up a hill toward the stores on the right and a big lawn, a park, on the left. He might enjoy the park.”

“Perfect,” I exclaimed. “Park does enjoy going to parks!”

We giggled at that, then Park and I took off in the direction of the lawn and quaint shops. We came upon a restaurant named Latitude 121 then but has since changed management and is now called Sweet Mama’s. This restaurant has an ice cream parlor in the front where Park and I stopped for a few scoops of vanilla. He licked the cup clean, then followed it up with a water chaser. Once satiated, we explored the great lawn fronting the Stony Brook Village shopping area.

An inviting bench seemed to call to us so we took up brief residence there. A slight breeze played with Park’s luxurious long ears as we sat immersed in this picturesque setting. In the distance, boats and kayaks glided leisurely over the tranquil waters of Long Island Sound. People on blankets or beach chairs dotted the lawn. Some passed by, smiled at my little man who seemed perfectly content to take in the summer day sitting by my side on that bench. A peacefulness embraced us. We were two friends who took a break from life’s hectic activity to cherish this moment in time on my boy’s birthday. We were happy, content, carefree, and undisturbed by the bustle of life.

A few weeks later, Park and I were back at Park’s bench, this time to celebrate my birthday. And every July 3rd and again on July 16th Park and I return to our Stony Brook bench that I nicknamed Park’s bench to celebrate our birthdays. We enjoy stepping out of our busy lives to luxuriate in the serenity of these pastoral surroundings.

Park is 14 years old now, but still healthy and strong. I don’t know how many future birthdays we will be blessed to share together, but even after he is no longer in this world, I will visit Park’s bench and give thanks for the times we spent here together. And I’m sure my boy will look down at me from his place in heaven and find some way to let me know he is still sitting next to me on Park’s bench.

Miller Place resident Barbara Anne Kirshner  is a freelance journalist, playwright and author of ‘Madison Weatherbee —The Different Dachshund.’

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Stock photo

By Sapphire Perera

People of low-income, and especially minorities, constantly struggle with the financial and social hardships that arise from racism. While the financial disparities and social injustices are well known, many are still unaware of the environmental racism that many people and communities endure, and how deadly it actually is. Currently, the COVID-19 pandemic is making this issue more apparent and is increasing the need for awareness about environmental justice. 

Sapphire Perera

Environmental racism is a form of systemic racism where people of color are disproportionately impacted by environmental hazards through policies and practices. It has existed in America ever since the Europeans made contact with the Native Americans, and it has progressively worsened with the Industrial Revolution and the increasing amount of toxic waste and new technology that is being created.

The working populations that lives in low-income communities aren’t given the power to have their voices heard regarding environmental laws. Moreover, the land in these areas is cheaper for industrial actors to acquire. This is why about 70% of contaminated waste sites are located in low income communities. With such a great imbalance of political power between the upper class, less diverse neighborhoods and the low-income African American neighborhoods, the latter’s communities are being subjected to the greater amounts of air pollution, toxic waste sites, landfills, lead poisoning and flooding. 

The health effects from environmental racism are extremely harmful and lethal. Most often, people of low income communities who are subjected to environmental racism will see increases in obesity, asthma, diabetes and many different cancers because they are living amongst industrial toxic chemicals and toxic waste. 

One example that demonstrates the harmful effects of environmental racism is the so-called Cancer Alley in Louisiana along the Mississippi River. In 1987, African Americans of low-income neighborhoods started noticing an abundance of cancer cases within their community. People began making the connection between cancer cases and the 85-mile-long stretch of oil refineries and petrochemical plants. The petrochemical plants are extremely harmful to human health because petrochemicals can be absorbed through the skin or ingested and will accumulate in tissues and organs. They can then cause brain, nerve and liver damage, birth defects, cancer and asthma. This is why living in Cancer Alley increases one’s chance of getting cancer by 50%. Currently, Cancer Alley is also experiencing a highest rate of coronavirus deaths. 

Another community that is a target of environmental racism is the African American community of Uniontown, Alabama. On Dec. 22, 2008, an impoundment burst and spilled more than a billion gallons of highly toxic coal ash into the Emory River. The coal ash contained various pollutants such as arsenic, mercury, and lead, which can penetrate deeply into the lungs. Two years after the spill, the Tennessee Valley Authority moved four million cubic yards of coal ash from the Kingston spill to Arrowhead Landfill in Uniontown Alabama. The workers who were sent to clean up the coal ash suffered from brain cancer, lung cancer and leukemia due to exposure. The people of Uniontown Alabama, a low-income African American community, saw similar health effects to that of the workers. Unfortunately, the people of Uniontown did not have any recourse because the Resource Conservation Recovery Act classified the ash as non-hazardous in Uniontown. 

‘Environmental racism is a form of systemic racism where people of color are disproportionately impacted by environmental hazards through policies and practices.’

There are hundreds of examples of environmental racism, but we are currently witnessing one of the largest impacts of environmental racism. With the COVID-19 pandemic, we are seeing that African American and other minority communities are being hit hardest by the pandemic all across the country. With a lack of available resources and preexisting conditions that already arise from environmental racism, people of these communities are more susceptible to catching COVID-19. African Americans not only have environmental racism to worry about during this pandemic, but also mass incarcerations for minor misdemeanors, overcrowded housing, and under-funded public transport, which all have been increasing the COVID-19 infection rates. Unfortunately, this connection between pandemics and low-income neighborhoods isn’t new because in the 1990s there were higher mortality rates among communities of color for the HIV pandemic as well. 

Different policies and laws set forth by our government have placed African Americans and minorities in these neighborhoods which are subjected to environmental racism. We need to stop hearing news stories of the unbreathable South Bronx air, the North Carolina hog farm raw sewage lakes enveloping African American farmland and lead in the Flint river in Michigan. The environmental justice movement is one way to achieve equity for the African American and disadvantaged neighborhoods because it focuses on fair distribution of environmental benefits and burdens.  

Sapphire Perera is a rising senior at Port Jefferson high school. The “Turtle Island,” as the name for this ongoing column refers to the Native American mythology about North America existing on the back of a great turtle that bears every living being on its spine.

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Max Jamdar

By Reyva Jamdar

Next to me on the couch, my dog lies. His foot twitches and whiskers tremble as he silently sleeps. A small “humph” escapes his mouth and he wakes up, suspiciously glancing around for the source of the noise. “You woke yourself up, dummy,” I mutter. I spend most of my days observing my dog. His fur, his small tongue, and of course, his previously mentioned puppy noises.

During this time, this is all I’ve been able to accomplish. Observing each and every toe and paw have helped me get through such a transition. As I sit here, writing this piece, I chuckle at the thought of how I even got this dog. I think I owe it all to my sister.

My dear sister of eighteen years, a proud member of the graduating class of 2020, is now heading off to college. Soon she’ll become a unique member of society, writing her own story filled with her own journeys. But before she even decided to spread her wings, she wanted a dog. A dog to play with, to cry with, and most importantly, to love.

Even as a toddler, I understood the importance of such a relationship. I grew up thinking that having a dog was a given, so it was a stab in the gut when I realized that this wasn’t true … at all. My mother. My mother was the face of this terrible feeling. She was, in her own words, “brutally attacked by a large dog” at the age of 12. This untimely event affected my family for years. This alone caused many “doggy disputes” in our household. It got to the point where my sister and I lost hope. It was already 2020. It was already the start of a fresh, lucky year, right? Or so we thought.

The coronavirus slowly took over New York. And my life. Getting a dog wasn’t even up for discussion once school closed. Days turned into months. Months felt like years. Endless, pointless days were all I could recall as I finally considered myself a sophomore. It was a sticky June day when I was startled by a shriek and a faint thump. My sister’s familiar clunks down the stairs halted as she approached me. It was an immediate surprise when she revealed that we were, in fact, getting a puppy during a global pandemic.

There was absolutely no way that my mother would accept yet another baby into her house during such a time. But I was wrong. She actually agreed. Maybe it was the fact that my sister was leaving for college (the new dog was an even better replacement) or because of how unexpectedly horrible 2020 was. To be quite honest, I still don’t know why she suddenly changed her mind. But I’m glad she did.

The first night with my mini golden-doodle puppy, Max, was dream-like. If a fluffy ball of fur was cuddled up next to you, wouldn’t you be ecstatic too? But the next morning was anything but this. Pee was everywhere. Chewed up pieces of furniture (and the couch) were destroyed. Our sleep schedules were completely skewed.

But it was worth it.

All those nights spent worrying about what other curveball 2020 would throw at us next wasn’t a problem anymore. All those nights spent worrying about what tomorrow would bring wasn’t a problem anymore. All those long, suspenseful nights spent worrying about something that I couldn’t control wasn’t a problem anymore. Having a dog, whether he peed on the couch or not, was completely worth it. Getting a dog in my house was always frowned upon, so that really just proves that everything and anything is possible even during a global pandemic.

Remember, when life gives you lemons, always make lemonade. 2020 was horrible. But we decided to make something out of it and as a result received puppy love!

A resident of E. Setauket, author Reyva Jamdar recently graduated from P.J. Gelinas Middle School and will be attending Ward Melville High School as a sophomore in the fall.

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Above, attendees at Juneteenth celebration, Eastwoods Park, Austin, Texas, June 19, 1900. Photo courtesy of The Austin History Center

This article originally appeared on the Three Village Historical Society website and is reprinted with permission. 

By Tara Ebrahimian

Juneteenth, first established by the Black community of Texas in 1866, is now getting in New York State the recognition it has long deserved. On June 17, 2020 Governor Andrew M. Cuomo announced that he would, by Executive Order, recognize Juneteenth as a state holiday, and put it before the New York legislature to make this mandate, law. Although Juneteenth began in the South, it is widely observed throughout the country. It is annually observed in New York, including on Long Island, through independent and collaborative celebrations. Juneteenth’s historic and cultural relevance impacts the entire nation and remains hugely significant for Black heritage and United States history. 

It commemorates June 19, 1865, when enslaved Blacks learned that they were legally free. Union Army General Gordon Granger arrived with his troops in Galveston, Texas, and made a profound announcement: the war and slavery were over. Technically the war ended when General Robert E. Lee surrendered on April 9, 1865, and the Emancipation Proclamation, effective January 1, 1863, freed enslaved persons in Confederate states, but the news had not been shared in Texas. It was the last stronghold of slavery. Since 1862, when New Orleans was captured, slave owners from Mississippi, Louisiana, and other southern states had moved with their slaves to Texas. There were approximately 250,000 enslaved people residing in Texas when the declaration was made. 

Granger’s delivery of the news did not result in an immediate end of slavery.  Blacks in Galveston initially celebrated the revelation, but the mayor contradicted the law and forced them to go back to work. It was largely left to the slave owners’ discretion whether they informed individuals that they were no longer enslaved. Many did not initially share the information and instead waited for the arrival of a government agent to tell them. Blacks were frequently not informed until after the harvest. A number of newly emancipated individuals ignored the censure to stay put and left for Arkansas, Louisiana, and Oklahoma. They did so at their own risk; there were numerous reports of Blacks being lynched as they tried to leave. 

In 1866 freed people in Texas, in conjunction with the Freedmen’s Bureau, organized formal celebrations for “Jubilee Day.” During the years immediately after the war, Jubilee Day was sometimes celebrated on January 1st, a reference to the enactment of the Emancipation Proclamation. It also functioned as a rally for political and social advancement; Jubilee Day frequently offered instruction for voter registration and participation. The day became a mainstream event in Black communities and featured festivities, activities, and food. 

Segregation in cities prohibited Blacks from going to public parks. Church grounds were often used as sites for the events. And, freed individuals pooled money to purchase land on which to hold celebrations. For example, Black community leaders, led by Reverend Jack Yates, raised $1000 in 1872 to purchase land that is now Houston’s Emancipation Park. These annual celebrations began drawing thousands of participants throughout Texas and expanding beyond the state. By the end of the century, Jubilee Day was known primarily as Juneteenth.  

During this period, many southern states enacted punitive and punishing Jim Crow legislation that undermined or undid the economic and political progress Blacks had made during and after Reconstruction. These local and state laws were designed to subjugate and stymie Black social, economic, and political development. They disenfranchised Black people through segregation and policies such as the Grandfather Clause that limited or eliminated voting rights.

Many freed people left Texas and the South in search of greater opportunities in the North. Juneteenth was a still Southern celebration and attendance outside of Texas began to wane. Younger generations, more removed from the war and seeking to distance themselves from the legacy of slavery, also started to distance themselves from participating in the unofficial holiday. As the twentieth century progressed, and people moved from agricultural to industrial employment, it was increasingly unlikely that people would be granted time off work for Juneteenth. The Great Depression, in particular, caused a migration from the country to the cities. 

The Civil Rights movement caused a resurgence in awareness about Juneteenth. Black youth joined their elders in the fight for Civil Rights. There was increased interest in and engagement with history and how the past informs the present. The Poor People’s March to Washington, D.C. served as a catalyst for renewed interest in Juneteenth. Participants returned to their home states and initiated Juneteenth celebrations in locations that had never before experienced them. 

In 1980, Texas was the first state to formally recognize Juneteenth; it declared the date a “holiday of significance…” At the end of the decade, California, Illinois, Wisconsin, Georgia, and Washington, D.C., were among the places that presented major events for Juneteenth. Although Congress has remembered Juneteenth in different ways over the years, it is not yet a national holiday. In New York, “Juneteenth Freedom Day” was first identified as a commemorative holiday in 2004, per a state law signed by Governor George Pataki.

Long Island hosts a growing number of events and programs dedicated to this occasion. Frequently celebrated on the third Sunday in June, modern events share certain traits with their predecessors, including picnics, cookouts, historical reenactments, street fairs, parades, etc. This year’s festivities are scaled back due to COVID-19, but certain celebrations, such as the Long Island Unity March on June 19, were still scheduled.  

Author Tara Ebrahimian is the Education Coordinator at the Three Village Historical Society in Setauket — www.tvhs.org.

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By John L. Turner

Insight as to the value placed on a wild plant by past generations can be gained by how many common names it’s been given. Typically, a plant with the minimum of just one name has it as a means by which to recognize it and to distinguish the plant from other species. A plant with a number of names, though, suggests a species of greater significance, value, and utility, and such is the case with Shadbush, a common understory shrub or small tree which grows in Long Island’s deciduous forests.

The Shadbush blooms in late April to early May (top photo) and produces edible fruit in late spring to early summer (above). Stock photos

This attractive tree goes by a few names: Shadbush, Shadblow, Serviceberry, and Juneberry. The reference to shad stems from more ancient knowledge of recognizing patterns of nature. Many years ago shad, a species of river herring, was significantly more abundant than today and the spring shad runs up major rivers to reach their spawning grounds was an important event for many people, providing an ample supply of cheap protein. 

Perhaps it was the shad fisherman, or maybe others, but they noticed this tree blossomed at the time the shad were on the move. The five-petaled white blossoms meant migrating shad, hence the connection made permanent by the common name of Shadbush.

The white blossoms of the Shadbush in late April through early May also provided another signal — that winter was done, the ground has thawed, and the dead could receive burial service with caskets sometimes adorned with sprigs of the Serviceberry blossoms.

If the flowers are pollinated, berries form in late spring to early summer, giving rise to the last of its common names — Juneberry. The berrylike fruit is delicious and relished by numerous wildlife, including many birds. Us humans like them too and often turn the fruit into pies, jellies and jams. Technically, the fruit is known as a pome, as are apples, and this isn’t surprising since both apples and Shadbush are members of the Rose family.

The genus name Amelanchier is a french word first used to describe the species.

Four species of Shadbush occur on Long Island, with three of the species found in rich but well drained soils  and one on the eastern end located on sandier, more droughty soils. They range from being a modest multi-stemmed shrub just a few feet tall to a tree 20 to 30 feet high. In forest settings, given its smaller stature, Shadbush grows under taller oaks, black birch, and hickories and, where common, produces scattered “blossom clouds” of white beneath these taller trees. It has attractive smooth grey bark and its leaves are small and oval with toothed margins. Come autumn the foliage turn orange/red, adding a nice splash of color to the forest.

Whatever you wish to call it Shadbush has so much going for it — from its rich folklore, to pretty flowers, attractive bark, and tasty fruit — that I hope you make its acquaintance and perhaps try a berry or two.

A resident of Setauket, John Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.

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Photo by John Turner

By John L. Turner

This is the second of a two-part series.

In part one of “Curious Books Upon My Bookshelf” (March 26 issue of Arts & Lifestyles) I focused on items I’ve collected through the years on walks along Long Island’s shoreline. In this part we go “inland” to discuss a few of Mother Nature’s gifts I’ve found while exploring Long Island’s fields and forests.

I like to stray off paths to “bushwhack” through a forest (a habit that has led me to meet more ticks than I’ve ever desired!), walking quietly, slowly and carefully in search of wildflowers, bird nests, snakes, box turtles and other objects of interest. It’s a bit like the method people use when walking around an old store filled with interesting antiques and nicknacks. If you do this (in the forest and not the store) it’s just a matter of time before you find one or more of these objects.

On numerous occasions I’ve come across the remains of a white-tailed deer — ribs, a pelvic girdle, vertebrae, sometimes skulls, but most often their shed antlers, laying amidst the leaves, slowly melting back into the earth. Their final resting spots are a solemn place and I invariably wonder what caused their death. Predator? (not yet at least, not until coyotes become more fully established on Long Island) Starvation? An accident? Succumbing to wounds from a hunting slug?I almost always don’t know.

Deer antlers are a thing of beauty; while they are generally variations on a central theme of a main shaft with arms or “points” emanating from it, each antler is unique. Grown and shed each year (unlike horns on a bison or bighorn sheep which are not shed but grow continuously throughout an animal’s lifetime), antlers generally get larger as the animal matures so an eight year buck will have a larger set of antlers than a three-year-old.

On occasion I’ll find an antler that has been extensively gnawed upon — this is not surprising. Antlers are composed of bone and contain calcium and minerals and a number of animals will take advantage of this prized “dietary supplement.” A four-state study to learn which animals eat antlers determined that grey squirrels most often gnawed on them; eleven species were tallied in all including, not surprisingly, other gnawing animals — chipmunks, rabbits, mice and woodchucks. A little more surprising were raccoons, coyotes, opossum, river otter and one beaver.

I occasionally encounter other mammal skulls besides deer. I have a few raccoon skulls, a woodchuck skull, a red fox skull, and my prized skull — that of a grey fox. This secretive and beautiful mammal is less well known than the more common red fox (the first grey fox I ever saw had climbed a persimmon tree in Maryland and was chowing down on tree ripe persimmons).

On Long Island I’ve been fortunate to have seen live grey fox, the most recent experience in the autumn two years ago. Spying him before he saw me as I fortuitously was hidden behind a bushy, young Pitch Pine tree, this beautiful grizzled looking animal was patrolling along a sandy trail in the Dwarf Pine Plains of the Long Island Pine Barrens.

Speaking of pines, pine cones are one of my favorite objects to collect; they adorn my shelves. Their varied but unifying symmetry is always a visual delight. I have many Pitch Pine cones, a few from White Pine, a Lodgepole Pine, a Norway Spruce, and even a Stone Pine from the west coast of Italy.

The smallest, most inconspicuous cone I have is my favorite though. It is a cone from a Pitch Pine but it doesn’t look like the other Pitch Pine cones I have; this one is a “closed” or “serotinous” pine cone from a dwarf pitch pine growing in the Dwarf Pine Plains on Long Island.

On tree-sized pitch pines the cones look like normal cones — as they mature the scales open up and the winged seeds flutter to the ground. But the pine cones that grow on the dwarf pine trees don’t typically open upon maturing. Rather, they remain resolutely closed, sometimes for decades — unless and until burned in a wildfire.

That this closed cone trait evolved with the dwarf pines makes sense because in a wildfire all of the dwarf stature trees are likely to burn, unlike in a forest of fifty-foot tall pines. If the pygmy pines had “normal” cones it is very likely all of the seeds would perish in a wildfire. The closed cones, however, protect the sensitive pine seeds inside the cone. It is a finely tuned system — the resins that hold the scales together in a serotinous cone melt in fire, allowing the scales to spread open over the course of hours, thereby releasing the seeds onto a forest floor with lots of available ash, nutrients, and sunlight — great conditions to start a new generation of dwarf pines in this fire-dependent forest.

The Dwarf Pine Plains, a globally rare part of the Long Island Pine Barrens, are situated in Westhampton. A circular interpretive hiking trail leads into the forest from the southern end of the parking lot of the Suffolk County Water Authority building located on the east side of County Route 31 about 200 yards south of the Sunrise Highway x County Route 31 intersection. That is where I saw the grey fox. If you go maybe you too will be lucky enough to see a fox sniffing in the sand in search of food!

A resident of Setauket, John Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.

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