New York City (winter)

Bryant Park, Summit, NJ

We sometimes forget that scenes of winter do not necessarily have to include snow and ice. Whereas the white stuff is in some ways symbolic of the season, recent years have shown that the traditional White Christmas need not necessarily be white. Even so, there is still plenty that brilliantly distinguishes the dormant season from the others – even beyond the spike in utility bills - whenever one is so moved as to venture outdoors.

The most obvious indication of the winter is trees and plants. Most of us ignore the dry, brittle, often thorny stuff as much as we open our hearts the tender greens of spring. We often fail to see the majesty of exquisitely branching trees that bring Benoit Mandelbrot’s theoretical ‘Fractal Geometry of Nature’ to stunning life; of the deft tangle of underbrush; the yellowing grass and the crunch of dry leaves underfoot. Even when viewing the accompanying pictures in the comfort of a properly heated home, one gets a whiff of the cold air that seems to expand so pleasantly in one’s lungs; that crisp feeling of Zen-like awareness; energy ignited and coursing through one’s limbs, urging one to stride swiftly; while every detail of nature outlines starkly on a canvas of muted colors.

Summit’s Bryant Park is similar to any popular gathering place in any town. It’s a draw for outdoor enthusiasts whatever the season. There’s a walking path that circles a duck pond. Along it, there are numbered stations, each with a line drawing that describes some particular exercise. Dogs are allowed as long as their owners consent to clean up after them.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

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Snow Job

I woke up this morning to the biggest snowfall in years. It had been snowing yesterday already. It was wet and heavy. We had gone out periodically and cleared the driveway. And it was alright when we went to bed. Overnight, though, the light, fluffy stuff really accumulated. I hadn’t seen it like this in decades. I remember, back in the early sixties we used to get snows like this. I remember one time my father and I were out there at the crack of dawn shoveling furiously. We had to get it done because we had tickets on a flight out of Newark to the Caribbean in the early afternoon.

There has been only one time since when we had this much snow. I remember there were a couple of days in a row they’d closed the shop because of snow and severe icing. This was unusual nevertheless. The company I worked for at the time had people working even on Christmas. I got up on the third morning and was met by quite a sight. The snow was back up to between my knees and my waist. My muscles were still aching from the previous day’s work. And now, all I had previously done had simply vanished; blown over; buried. I felt dejected and desperate. I could not imagine getting to work ever again. (Too many absences in a row tended to count against you.)

Not only was there three plus feet of snow on the ground, there were also several trees that had lost their branches, some of which were now blocking the driveway. I tried to drag them aside, but they were hard frozen to the ground. I went back inside and called my boss. He wasn’t too happy and offered to send someone over to pick me up. It turned out to be only a temporary fix, as you can well imagine.

Today it seems like the same kind of snow all over again – the kind that even outdoor cats generally want no part of. So, you have to physically heave them out into the white powder, otherwise, they’d happily just stay in the house ‘til spring. Poosa, the pink-nosed tabby we had at one time, would sink to the bottom and stay there. After a while, you begin to get worried and start digging for her. And there she was, ears held flat, looking terribly embarrassed. She’d been doing her business like a good girl. We never kept a litter box in the house.

Today, it was easier. We no longer have a cat and my son came to help me. Together, we got it done – even though our shovels had practically disintegrated during what can now be described (meteorologically) as having been quite an active winter season.
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Note: This article was written last winter. Yesterday it happened again (to kick off the season, I suppose. This time there were three of us to shovel. My brother was here as well. I must say, the three of us had fun.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Whippany (NJ) Railway Museum

As a child, I remember reading a fairy tale entitled, "Seven-League Boots" and being fascinated by it. The premise was that if one were to wear such boots, one could travel seven leagues in a single bound. Clearly, the story was told before our time, when the idea of rapid transit was but a fantasy. The memory of that idea, however, would remain and, blessed by the power of human commitment, would, over time, evolve to produce the realization of cars, trains, and flying machines.

There is no doubt that railways played an important role in the development of our nation. There is also a huge romantic component which is still evident today as the mere mention of the names of the great railway companies continues to inspire awe in those who still celebrate successful shuttle launches, historic feats on battlefields and the election victories of great men who would go on to lead our nation to its present position as one of the world’s super powers. This parabolic rise in America’s fortunes can in no small part be attributed to the role played by its railroads.

As a child, I had always had an electric train in my arsenal of toys. My grandfather was an engineer for the SBB (the Swiss National Railroad). On my insistence, he would take me quite regularly to the switching yard in Zuerich to watch the trains maneuver gracefully over a virtual blizzard of switches and rails. At one time, I knew more about locomotives than I knew about my school mates; my family; myself, even. Sometimes I could even claim to ride the trains knowing that my grandfather was at the controls.

There’s no need to go all the way to Strasburg, PA to delve into (U. S.) railroad history. The Whippany Railway Museum is right here in our own tri-state area. Officially they’re only open Sunday’s 12–4, April through October. I myself have never visited there during those particular hours. It’s mostly outdoors; and anyone can park near-by and walk over to the tracks where the locomotives and rolling stock wait silently for some spark to signal a return to motion.

The Mission Statement of the museum reads in part: “(We are) dedicated to preserving the heritage and history of the railroads of New Jersey through the restoration, preservation, interpretation and operation of historic railroad equipment and artifacts from New Jersey and the immediate vicinity.”

It’s a great place to take pictures of these ancient beasts that clearly have weathered so many seasons exposed to the elements. There are always cars in the process of being re-painted, their once proud logos infused with fresh color. It really does send a shiver up one’s spine to walk among the old sleepers, the dining cars, the great engines and cabooses; tangible symbols of an exciting, but now by-gone era. Or is it by-gone?

Just as cheap oil has made railroads into an afterthought, expensive oil may yet bring them back. Any nation must have an efficient way to move its people and its goods. Clearly, we now stand on the cusp of a decision about what to do when running our cars and trucks becomes prohibitively expensive. Perhaps a revived railway system will become a part of the solution. As such, the Whippany Railway Museum may not only afford us a glimpse into the past but also show us what’s ahead.

For directions, fees, schedules and events consult their website: www.whippanyrailwaymuseum.net

Peter Koelliker pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Reeves-Reed Arboretum, Summit, NJ

At first blush one wouldn’t think that formal gardens and modern sculpture would have much in common, much less be compatible within the confines of a similar context. Both can be considered as contrived, to be sure; both relying heavily on such divergent media to make their point as to make it difficult to imagine them melding into any semblance of a unified, coherent statement. Aristide Maillol and Henry Moore put the lie to this notion, however, as both have held very successful exhibitions of their work at the Bronx Botanic Garden in New York in recent years.

The city of Summit, gracefully perched along the crest of the first ridge of hills comprising the Watchung Mountains directly east of New York City, can rightfully claim one of the finest gardens, the Reeves-Reed Arboretum, among its many treasures. According to its website, an arboretum, distinct from a park, “is an educational conservancy promoting the awareness that the natural environment needs protection and deserves concern.”

Reeves-Reed didn’t just happen. It is the product of well-established landscaping principles pioneered by such giants in the field as Ellen Biddle Shipman and Carl F. Pilat. Most notably, it introduced the concept of the “garden room” which would go on to define the direction of country estate landscaping and is currently liberally reflected in the gardens surrounding many of Summit’s private homes.

Now owned by the city, Reeves-Reed exists as a glowing testament to the town’s long-standing tradition of philanthropic giving, the most recent transaction (with regard to this particular garden) occurring as recently as 2007 when George Morrison Hubbard, Jr. donated a field and adjacent land to the Arboretum, bringing the property back up to its historical dimensions.

Not to be outdone by its wealthier and, hence, more publicized neighbor in New York, Reeves-Reed also is experimenting with the introduction of modern art into it’s gardens. 2008 marks the second summer in which this has been done. One exhibit in particular captures the very essence of the Reeves-Reed Arboretum this season. It is David Bender’s “Excavating Eden” which shows a human hand in rough approximation of the shovel on a backhoe. We as visitors, who come to enjoy this garden for its roses, its daffodils, its flowering trees, and indeed its sculpture, must be aware of all the work that continues to go into maintaining it. My Indian-born wife often remarks that such things are only possible in prosperous countries. She casts no aspersions; she simply utters what is accepted as fact by many. And perhaps it is so. Where else would people find time to excavate Eden and plant it with trees and beautiful flowers; to create sparkling ponds and walkways through wooded areas? Where else would men and women devote their energies to purely artistic (as opposed to “practical”) projects that, more often than not, fail to reap monetary payback or even gratitude? And yet, it’s all on glorious display here for all those with an abundance of leisure time to enjoy the fruits of mankind’s more refined moments.

For directions, schedules and events consult their website: www.reeves-reedarboretum.org

Manaus, Brazil

Manaus, capital of the Brazilian state of Amazonas, is located on the banks of the Rio Negro (Black River) in the Amazon rainforest. There are no paved roads that connect the city to the rest of the country, and transportation to and from is dependent primarily on river traffic. In 1976, Eduardo Gomez Airport opened to receive both international and domestic flights.

From 1890 to 1920, the world’s insatiable appetite for rubber launched Manaus into a position of prominence. It was an industry that developed from the extraction of latex from trees that, at the time, could only be found in Brazil’s Amazon region. Since then, rubber plant seeds have been exported to various countries with similar climatic conditions – primarily in Asia - where output would catch up to and even surpass Brazil’s capacity. Initially, however, Manaus received huge investments toward its infrastructure. An opera house was completed in 1896; railways were built; phone lines, electricity, water and sewage pipes installed. All this was considered as somewhat incongruous for an out-of-the-way place in the middle of the South American jungle.

As rubber production picked up in Asia, Manaus gradually lost its importance. Today, a diverse industrial complex is in place that supplies most of the area’s (as well as a significant portion of the country's) needs.

As the movement for greater ecological awareness gained momentum all over the world, Manaus has become a center for eco-tourism. Several river tour operators conduct continuous daily excursions intended to showcase (for instance) how two rivers (Rio Negro and the Solimões) - each one exhibiting a different shade of brown - come together while still remaining separate. It is also possible to stay at remote jungle hotels, that are accessible only by boat.

We arrived at the hotel, Ariau Towers, in July when the water level is normally very high. Coincidentally, this particular year (2009) the water was at the highest level ever recorded. Many low-lying buildings experienced flooding on the ground floors. Our hotel was no exception. As we were staying on the fourth floor, we had no problem.

The jungle hotels allow one to experience life along the legendary Amazon. We took tours to see indigenous river people, as well as Indian tribes that celebrate their ‘fire’ rituals after dark. All these were within a comfortable radius of modern civilization. There are, however, settlements too far out where no one ever visits. The people there don’t even have a concept of ‘money’ as there is nothing to buy and pay for.

All hotels offer boat tours to see alligators, birds and other wildlife native to the area. One tour allows for swimming with sweet water dolphins (‘botos’). Another advertises piranha fishing. Still others offer hikes in the jungle. Every full tour package includes watching either the sun rise or set over what most agree is the greatest (if not, strictly speaking, the longest), most mysterious river on the planet.

Getting to know the Amazon is a truly unique, almost mystical experience. Tourists from all over the world are welcomed here to test their courage, swimming with the piranhas or feeding bananas to unpredictably schizophrenic, tooth-baring monkeys that hang out in the trees and rafters everywhere.

Filipe K. Werneck; Brasilia, Brazil

New York Botanic Garden: Cuba in Flower

Feb. 27 – April 11, 2010
The idea behind winter holidays like Christmas and New Years is to break up the dead of winter with an excuse to celebrate. We all get a bit antsy looking out and seeing the bleak landscapes in every direction. Personally, I was thrilled to discover the first Robin of the season even as it was flitting around, albeit uncomfortably, in a snow-covered holly tree just outside my bedroom window a couple of weeks ago. A few days later came a flock of those little gray birds with the tufts on their heads. And just the other day I got my first glimpse of the frisky Cardinal pair that returns every year around this time and stays till late fall.

Down the street there’s a neighbor whose lawn is already covered with crocuses. This weekend we spring our clocks an hour ahead. Spring is definitely on its way. Still, even as the time for the forsythia to start blooming is fast approaching, waiting for it seems to get harder and harder each year. Many people choose February - March to vacation in Florida or in the Caribbean. But it’s not really necessary to go that far.

Every year at this time, the New York Botanical Garden sponsors an orchid show in its Enid A. Haubt conservatory. This year it’s called appropriately, The Orchid Show: Cuba in Flower. It runs from February 27th through April 11th. Even if it’s freezing outside, in the greenhouses it’s warm and tropical. Orchids are in full bloom everywhere and one easily forgets one’s wintry malaise.

Interesting to note is that orchids are classified as epiphytes, meaning that these are plants that grow (non-parasitically) on trees (either dead or alive) or on some inanimate object such as a building, fence or stone. They get moisture and nutrients from the air and sometimes from debris that may have accumulated around them. Orchids, therefore, are a fitting tropical allegory for our notion of the dead of winter from which (in spring) new living shapes are spawned.

These special winter exhibits (which include a delightful Christmas exhibit) at the New York Botanical Garden are very popular and you can expect quite a crowd, especially on weekends. The last time we went, we were not allowed to take pictures because staff wanted to keep the crowds moving as to give others a chance. Besides the orchids, there are plenty of other flowers to see as well. Personally, I found the various cacti and succulents most fascinating. All are painstakingly identified with both their common and botanical names.

Go to www.nybg.org for ticket information and directions. It’s virtually guaranteed you’ll leave uplifted and more than likely with more than enough momentum to make it all the way through to cherry blossom time.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Vishnu

The Hindu trinity consists of three gods: Brahma (the creator), Vishnu (the preserver) and Shiva (the destroyer). Of the three, Vishnu and Shiva are the most popular. Temples are built specifically for the worship of either Vishnu or Shiva. One of my previous postings identifies the Kapaleeswarar Temple in Mylapore as a Shiva temple; another identifies the Ashtalakshmi Temple in Chennai as a Vishnu Temple. There are almost no temples dedicated to Brahma.

Vishnu is said to have appeared in nine incarnations. Most of them were killers who came back specifically to kill demons. The first (Matsya), ninth (the Buddha) and tenth (who is yet to appear) are the exception.

This post contains illustrations of six of these. Most pictures were taken at the Naya Tirupathi Temple in Madurantakam (interior Tamil Nadu). Depictions of nine of the Vishnu avatars were featured there. As there is some dispute among the various Vaishnavite sects as to whether or not the Buddha qualifies as one of Vishnu’s avatars, this particular depiction was missing at the Naya Tirupathi Temple.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

The ten avatars of Vishnu:
1. Matsya - fish
2. Kurma - Turtle
3. Varaha - Boar
4. Narasingha - man/lion
5. Vamana - dwarf
6. Parasurama - warrior
7. Rama - king
8. Krishna - god
9. Buddha
10. Kalki - horse

Doors of the World

Nowadays, the distinction between windows and doors has largely eroded; one-eyed peepholes have evolved into sliding plates of shatterproof glass. Our houses always tend to have many more windows than doors. TVs, computers, books, newspapers and magazines might be considered as windows of a sort.

Still, a door implies some kind of passage; a journey, perhaps - a becoming. Something changes when you walk through a door. Nothing changes when you’re merely looking through a window. God lives in a great room with many windows and no doors.

Back (in the early 70’s) when we still could afford magazines, I happened across a full page travel ad that featured pictures of thirty-six doors. At the bottom, “The Doors of Dublin” in Celtic font had been inserted. Within days, I noticed the same collage, enlarged to poster size, at various shops in and around New York City. (If I remember correctly, it was right around St. Patrick’s Day.) And that wasn’t the end of it.

Eventually, similar formats popped up all over, each customized to reflect a particular community or region. Even our town came out with its own version.

The concept died rather quickly. “The Doors of Summit” did not sell very well, here or anywhere. I heard some local residents grousing about their doors having been excluded.

The long and the short of it - as to the lasting impact it had on me personally – is that whenever I find myself taking pictures in any locale, either consciously or unconsciously, I am invariably drawn to focus on doors and doorways.

Please indulge me in this. My approach is somewhat different from Bob Fearon’s. Bob was the originator of the ‘Doors’ concept. Not all my pictures were taken on the same street; or in the same place even. (As I understand it, all of these now-famous Dublin poster portals can be found on the Georgian town houses just south of the Liffey.) I thought I’d mix it up a bit – compare and contrast – the portals on four different continents. Doors actually are something that we all have in common in this crazy world that seems forever trying to divide us.

Google “The Doors of Dublin” and you will see the original poster along with the story behind it.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Car Shows

Before we all were computer nerds, we were audiophiles; before we were audiophiles, we were motor heads. Such has defined the evolution of our generation. Cars have in the meantime become the pariahs of our time – an appealing, but nevertheless lethal addiction - as we have learned that they contribute to a whole host of social and environmental ills, including the dreaded global warming.

I can still remember growing up here in New Jersey, how Christmas would come twice a year. Once, of course, was when Detroit would roll out their latest models in the fall. These would first appear in pictures in the full-page ads of magazines. The date of unveiling would also be given – a red letter day – on which we would faithfully pledge to undertake our annual pilgrimage to our town’s numerous dealerships in order to drool solemnly over the latest automotive extravagance.

Eventually, we’d begin to see these cars out on the streets. We’d cast long, lingering looks at their taillights fading in the distance. The drivers of same were instantly afforded the status of gods. If we were extremely lucky, this was to be the year when our own fathers would be so moved as to spill their pockets at one of the dealerships.

All this, of course happened before there were such things as interminable commutes, traffic jams and pollution. At least, we weren’t directly aware of such things. All we knew was that this annual publication in sheet metal, certifying the very latest direction in which, we believed, the nation was heading, was as significant as any shuttle flight, moon landing or space walk and the like. It was a harbinger of unlimited optimism success and good fortune, all wrapped up into audacious coach design. In those days, you could actually customize your new car. You could choose the color scheme, the accessories, and even the engine. Our Dads would generally go for the works. Huge engines and convertible tops were the absolute ultimate.

Though, we’ve come to shun cars for a whole host of reasons, our infatuation with them has not yet been totally purged from our blood. Many towns still sponsor car shows. I’d be willing to bet that at least one of them quite within easy traveling distance from your own has a classic or custom car show this weekend. Go to “Car Show News: Classic Auto Events”: http://www.carshownews.com/national/ to find out what’s happening (where and when) in your State.

The mother of all auto shows in our area takes place each year in New York at the Jacob Javits Convention Center. The next one is scheduled for some time in April. It will feature the latest domestic production as well as stunning foreign models. Some of the cars you’ll find there will never be seen on any street. For further information, go to the website: http://www.autoshowny.com/.

Peter Koelliker pkoelliker8@yahoo.com