Category Archives: architecture

Wildlife Overpasses Are Saving Lives

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Elk walking across a vegetated wildlife overpass above a busy multi‑lane highway, with cars passing underneath and open plains in the background.

A Slow Start for a Smart Idea

Not so long ago, wildlife bridges were almost unheard of. The first versions started appearing in the 1950s, but here in the U.S., the idea took decades to gain traction. Canada embraced the concept much earlier, and because they’re our closest neighbor, we had a front‑row seat to watch their success.

When Human Impact Forces Action

For years, wildlife advocates pushed for safe passage for migrating animals, while politicians pointed to the cost. And as often happens, nothing really changed until enough people were affected. Once the human impact became impossible to ignore, momentum finally shifted.

Colorado’s Most Dangerous Stretch of Highway

One of the worst areas for wildlife collisions is in Colorado. You might remember when I shared the opening of the I‑25 Greenland Wildlife Bridge — and then the update when the first three elk crossed it shortly after it opened. The latest numbers are jaw‑dropping.

A 91% Drop in Wildlife Collisions

Since the overpass opened, wildlife‑vehicle collisions have dropped 91%. Ninety‑one percent. That’s not just a win — that’s a lifesaver.

Before the bridge was built, this stretch of highway saw up to 25 animal‑vehicle collisions per day during migration season. Think of the ripple effect: fewer injuries, fewer animal deaths, fewer totaled cars and trucks. Imagine a big rig hitting an elk — the damage to the truck, the cargo, the driver, and of course the animal. And that’s just one accident.

Built for Big Game — Used by Everyone

The overpass spans I‑25 near the Greenland exit between Larkspur and Monument. It was designed primarily for pronghorn and elk, but the success has gone far beyond that.

Video feeds show entire elk herds using the bridge. Pronghorn are crossing to the west side of I‑25 for the first time in decades. Bears, deer, coyotes, and other animals have been spotted using it too.

Biologists even created a protected pathway for small mammals by piling wood along the edges so they wouldn’t be picked off by predators while crossing. It’s not just a big‑game solution — it’s a full‑ecosystem fix.

A herd of elk standing in a grassy field, with a large bull elk in the center and leafless trees in the background.

A Model for the Future of Wildlife Safety

Colorado’s success is more than a local win — it’s a blueprint. When we give wildlife safe passage, we protect animals, drivers, families, and entire ecosystems. The Greenland overpass proves that thoughtful infrastructure can save lives on both sides of the guardrail.

Projects like the Greenland overpass remind us that the West isn’t just a place we admire — it’s a place we share. When we build with wildlife in mind, we’re choosing a future where animals can follow the paths they’ve used for centuries and drivers can travel safely through the landscapes we all love. It’s a simple idea with enormous impact, and Colorado has shown what happens when we finally decide to make room for every creature that calls this region home.

 

A Landmark, a Coffee Shop and a Steaming Kettle

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A large golden teapot sculpture hangs from the corner of a downtown Boston building, with real steam rising from its spout. The teapot is mounted high above the sidewalk against a brick façade with rows of rectangular windows.

The Mystery of the Steaming Kettle

Boston’s love affair with its oddball icons

Quirky Little City Treasures Bronze sculptures of a mother duck and her ducklings line a cobblestone path in a park, each duck wearing small decorative hats and ribbons. Benches and trees sit in the background, creating a charming Public Garden scene.

Boston is full of landmarks and statues — quirky little city treasures like the ducks in the Public Garden. When I first started working in downtown Boston back in the late ’70s, there was a little coffee shop in Government Center where we always grabbed a pastry on the way to work.

A large golden teapot hangs from the corner of a downtown building while pedestrians walk below. The street is lined with multi‑story buildings, including one with a “State Street Bank” sign, creating a busy urban scene.The shop was distinguished by a giant teapot that actually spouted steam. I kid you not. The shop was named for that teapot — The Steaming Kettle — and everyone knew it. Everyone recognized it. It was one of those things that made Boston feel like Boston.

From Scollay Square to Government Center A historic street scene of Scollay Square shows people walking along cobblestone roads with horse‑drawn carriages and early automobiles. A small building with a clock tower and a red‑tiled roof stands at the center, surrounded by brick storefronts and vintage signs, capturing the lively atmosphere of early 20th‑century Boston.

But as so often happens in life, things change. I changed jobs and became a suburbanite. Government Center was revamped yet again.

At one time the area was known as Scollay Square — you may remember it from the Kingston Trio’s song about Charlie on the MTA. “Charlie’s wife goes down to the Scollay Square station…” But alas, Scollay Square is no more.

We now have the big brick expanse of Government Center. But through all the upheaval, the Steaming Kettle stayed.

A Teapot With a Past

A vintage street scene shows pedestrians in early‑20th‑century clothing walking past a storefront with a large teapot mounted above the entrance. The shop’s sign reads “Tea Company” and “Home of Best New England Teas,” and surrounding buildings display period advertisements, creating a lively old‑Boston atmosphere.The kettle was built in 1873. It originally hung outside the Oriental Tea Company, whose owners quickly realized they needed a hook — and the giant teapot provided just the thing.

In 1875, they ran a contest to guess the weight of the kettle. Participants had to buy a ticket to log their guess.

Part two of the contest was even better: guess how many people could fit inside the kettle. When the kettle was lowered to the ground, eight boys and one very tall man popped out of it.

Then came the official weighing. Boston’s sealer of weights and measures recorded the result: 277 gallons, two quarts, one pint, and three gills. That weight was later inscribed right on the kettle itself.

The Oriental Tea Company lasted until 1966, when it finally closed its doors. But Boston doesn’t give up its icons easily. A large golden teapot hangs outdoors against a blue sky, suspended by metal supports beside a modern building. Text on the side lists its measured capacity in gallons, quarts, pints, and ounces. The owner opened another shop in the same area — The Steaming Kettle Coffee Shop — and brought the now‑famous kettle along.

The shop changed hands several times, eventually becoming a Starbucks. Except for a brief period in 2016 when the kettle was damaged, it hung proudly from its installation back in 1873.

And Now… a Boston Mystery

Today, the whereabouts of the kettle are a mystery. The Starbucks location closed in 2025, and after that the kettle seems to have gone missing.

But this is Boston, folks — a city that loves its oddball relics. Who knows? Maybe some historical group or an enterprising entrepreneur will locate that giant teapot and reinstall it in its rightful place, as iconic as the Old State House.

I hope they do. That kettle is a part of my Boston heritage.

A large golden teapot is mounted on the exterior of a curved stone building, supported by metal brackets. The shiny teapot stands out against a bright blue sky and tall windows, creating a striking landmark on the city street.

 

Rainbow Bridge Remembrance Day

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A serene landscape featuring a wooden bridge over a small stream surrounded by green grass and colorful flowers. A bright rainbow arcs across a golden sky with soft clouds, and a butterfly hovers near the center, creating a peaceful, dreamlike scene.

In Memory of Mr. Jazz Rainbow Bridge Remembrance Day was created by author Deborah Barnes in honor of her beloved cat, Mr. Jazz, who passed on August 28, 2013. It’s a day to remember the pets who touched our lives and left pawprints on our hearts.

Today we honor the pets who shared our homes, our routines, and our hearts. Pet loss is a grief that cuts deeply. They become family, and when they’re gone, the silence they leave behind is enormous. Many people say they mourned a pet more than a person — and while that can feel uncomfortable to admit, it’s true for many of us. We love them fiercely, and we lose them fiercely. And still, we adopt again. Because love is worth the risk.

My Rainbow Bridge Roll Call

Mittens – My first cat. Black with white paws, and the beginning of it all.

Squinty – A semi‑feral, long‑haired, scruffy stray… but I loved him anyway.

Starsky and Hutch – A matched pair of white cats with black ears and black caps on their heads.

Shadow – A polydactyl adventurer who loved car rides and terrorized every squirrel in the neighborhood.

Pyewacket – The sweetest little black‑and‑white kitty.

Little Joe – A rescued Persian, loyal right to the end.

Smoky – Saved from animal control and a hoarding situation. Declawed, poor thing, but still gentle and sweet.

Buddy – My boomerang cat. I tried to re‑home him three times, but he kept coming back. He wanted to be with me — and he was, until he passed.

Rocky – My first orange cat. A very special boy. We were together almost 20 years, and his passing left a hole in my heart.

Each one gone, each one remembered. All of them loved.

And beyond the cats…

There were dogs who wagged their way into my life, a parakeet who filled quiet mornings with chatter, and even a horse whose steady presence taught me patience and trust. Each one left their own mark, but the cats — oh, the cats — have always been the constant thread through my years.

The Present Moment

Banner and Balboa are here now — six years old already, somehow. Half their lives lived, half still ahead.

A Wish for You

If you’ve recently lost a pet — cat, dog, bird, reptile, or a companion I can’t even imagine — I wish you comfort. I believe they will be waiting for you at the Rainbow Bridge, whole and happy, ready to greet you again someday.

The Green Monster: Fenway’s Most Famous Troublemaker

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A sunset view of Fenway Park with the Green Monster in left field, packed stands, and an outfielder positioned near the wall under warm evening light.

🟢 The Green Monster: New England’s Favorite Wall

If you know the Green Monster, chances are you’re either from New England or you’ve spent enough time in Massachusetts to develop strong opinions about chowder, rotary etiquette, and the Red Sox. And no — it’s not Cookie Monster’s cousin. He’s blue. This one sits proudly in left field at Fenway Park, the oldest ballpark in Major League Baseball. (That’s MLB for anyone still living under a rock.)

🟣 A Wall So Famous Even Presidents Notice

I have no doubt the success — and notoriety — of our beloved Monster hasn’t gone unnoticed by the current president. After all, Boston’s Green Monster is a wall, and for more than a century it has done an excellent job keeping ticketless spectators out of Fenway. It’s iconic, adored, cursed, photographed, and defended with the kind of passion only Red Sox Nation can muster.

Maybe that’s what they’re aiming for with the border wall? A structure people complain about but secretly love? But I digress. Let’s stick with the wall that actually works and doesn’t need congressional hearings to stay upright.

🟢 Why the Monster Exists at All

No other ballpark has anything quite like it — and no other ballpark would embrace such a quirky obstacle with the same enthusiasm.

When Fenway Park was being designed in 1911–1912, the layout of Boston’s streets boxed the left‑field boundary into an unusually short distance — only about 310 feet from home plate. That was far too close for comfort, since routine fly balls could easily sail out onto Lansdowne Street and let people watch the game for free. To fix the problem, the team’s owner, John I. Taylor, decided the only solution was to build a wall tall enough to make that short distance meaningful.

The first version wasn’t the green giant we know today. It was a wooden fence perched on an incline known as Duffy’s Cliff, and for years it was actually more of a dark blue than green. A fire in 1933 destroyed much of Fenway, including the old wall, and the replacement was a steel-and-tin structure that eventually gained the hand‑operated scoreboard still used at its base. It wasn’t painted green — or given its famous nickname — until 1947, when all the advertising signs were removed.

Today, at 37 feet high and only 310 feet from home plate, it remains the tallest outfield wall in Major League Baseball. It turns easy fly balls into doubles, doubles into heartbreak, and occasionally gifts a home run that would be an out anywhere else.

🟣 Pesky’s Pole: Fenway’s Other Trouble Spot

As if the Monster weren’t enough drama, Fenway has another quirk that keeps players humble: Pesky’s Pole, the right‑field foul pole. Balls that might have stayed fair in any other park smack that pole and bounce foul, leaving batters muttering words not fit for family‑friendly broadcasts.

The pole is named for Johnny Pesky — beloved player, manager, coach, and lifelong Red Sox ambassador. Though he wasn’t known for power, he occasionally curled a rare home run around that tight right‑field corner. His teammates teased him about it, calling the pole “Pesky’s Pole,” and the name stuck.

There’s also a quirky little tradition that’s grown around Pesky’s Pole over the years. Fans on Fenway tours often leave their mark by signing the pole — names, dates, quick messages, declarations of Sox loyalty. It started as a bit of harmless mischief, but it became so beloved that it’s now practically encouraged. The grounds crew repaints it from time to time, but the signatures always return. Red Sox Nation is nothing if not persistent.

🟢 Why Red Sox Nation Loves the Chaos

These quirks — the towering Monster, the mischievous foul pole, the unpredictable bounces — are exactly what make Fenway Park so beloved. Red Sox fans are famously rabid, and Fenway’s personality is part of the charm.

So next time you head to the park, remember: You’re stepping into Red Sox Nation. A home run might turn into a double thanks to the Monster. A perfect hit might clang off Pesky’s Pole and go foul.

It’s all part of the extra drama that makes Fenway Park unforgettable.

 

A Lighthouse Lover’s Guide to Cape Cod

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Chatham Light on a clear summer day, the white tower and red‑roofed Coast Guard station standing against blue sky and green trees, with visitors gathered out front.

Cape Cod’s Mighty Sentinels 

Nobska Light- Photo credit Linda Whitcomb

Some people are real lighthouse folks. They love them. Lighthouses have a mystique about them — they represent our relationship with the sea. They stand as guardians for sailors and provide a path of safety to snug harbors. They warn ships away from dangerous shoals.

If you’re one of those lighthouse people, this post is for you.

Cape Cod, with its hook into the Atlantic Ocean, presented a multitude of hazards. In response, we built lighthouses — lots of lighthouses — beacons to guide sailors home.

Today on Cape Cod you can visit eleven of these mighty sentinels. Not all allow interior tours, but all can be admired from the outside. I’ve started out many times to visit them all, but somehow I always run out of time or get sidetracked.

How many have you made it to?

Nobska Light (Falmouth/Woods Hole)

Nobska Light has watched over Vineyard Sound since 1829. Its original 30‑foot stone tower and whale‑oil lamp guided mariners through the tricky currents between Woods Hole and Falmouth. Over the years it evolved from a simple coastal beacon into one of Cape Cod’s most beloved landmarks. With its white tower, keeper’s house, and sweeping views toward Martha’s Vineyard, Nobska remains a place where history and beauty meet the sea.

Chatham Light (Chatham)

Chatham Light stands watch over one of the most dramatic stretches of coastline on Cape Cod, where shifting sands and powerful Atlantic surf have challenged sailors for generations. First lit in 1808, the station has evolved through storms, erosion, and countless rescues, yet it remains a steadfast symbol of the Coast Guard’s presence on the Cape. With its crisp white tower overlooking the restless waters of Chatham Bar, this lighthouse feels alive — a place where history, danger, and beauty meet at the edge of the sea. Even from the outside, you sense the weight of its duty and the stories it has seen.

Stage Harbor Light (Chatham)

Stage Harbor Light sits quietly along the shoreline, a weathered sentinel overlooking the calm waters of Chatham’s southern coast. Built in 1880, it once guided fishing boats and coastal schooners through the harbor’s shifting channels, but today it stands retired, its lantern long dark. Yet the lighthouse still carries a certain grace — the kind that comes from decades of salt air, storms, and sun. Seen from the beach or by boat, Stage Harbor Light feels like a glimpse into an older Cape Cod, a place where time slows and the past lingers in the wind.

Nauset Light (Eastham)

Nauset Light is the lighthouse everyone recognizes — the bold red‑and‑white tower perched above the Atlantic, famous from the Cape Cod Potato Chips bag but even more striking in person. First built in 1877 and moved inland in 1996 to escape relentless erosion, it stands today as a symbol of the Cape’s constant dance with the sea. The surf below is never quiet, the wind never still, and Nauset feels like it’s holding its ground with quiet determination. Whether you catch it at sunrise or under a bright summer sky, this lighthouse carries the spirit of Eastham’s rugged coastline in every line of its silhouette.

Three Sisters Lighthouses (Eastham)

The Three Sisters are unlike any other lights on Cape Cod — three small, weathered wooden towers set inland among the pines, quietly telling the story of a coastline that has shifted and reshaped itself over centuries. Built in the 1830s to guide mariners past Eastham’s treacherous outer bars, the original trio once stood proudly along the shore, their three lights forming a distinctive pattern at sea. As erosion claimed the bluff, the Sisters were moved, retired, and eventually restored, now standing together like old friends who have seen much and endured more. Visiting them feels less like seeing a lighthouse and more like stepping into a chapter of Cape Cod’s past that refuses to be forgotten.

Highland Light (Truro)

Highland Light is the grand old sentinel of Cape Cod — the tallest, oldest, and perhaps most storied lighthouse on the peninsula. First lit in 1797 and rebuilt in 1857, it has watched centuries of ships pass along the treacherous “Backside” of the Cape, where deep ocean swells meet steep bluffs. In 1996, the entire tower was moved 450 feet inland to escape the relentless erosion that threatened to send it over the cliff, a dramatic reminder of how fragile this coastline can be. Standing beside Highland Light, you feel the sweep of history and the raw power of the Atlantic all at once. It’s a place where the past feels close, the horizon feels endless, and the lighthouse seems to hold its ground with quiet, unwavering dignity.

Race Point Light (Provincetown)

Race Point Light sits at the edge of Provincetown where the Cape feels wild and wide open, a place where sand, sea, and sky stretch out in every direction. First lit in 1816, it guided ships along the outer arm of the Cape, where strong currents and shifting sandbars made navigation treacherous. Reaching the lighthouse today often means a long walk through soft dunes, the wind in your face and the Atlantic roaring nearby — and that journey is part of its magic. When you finally arrive, Race Point Light feels both remote and welcoming, a sturdy white tower standing against the elements with quiet resilience. It’s one of those places where you can hear your own thoughts and feel the full sweep of Cape Cod’s untamed beauty.

Wood End Light (Provincetown)

Wood End Light sits at the quiet edge of Provincetown, where the land thins into sand flats and tidal marshes before giving way to open water. Built in 1872, it guided ships past the tricky currents at the mouth of Cape Cod Bay, standing as a steady companion to Race Point and Long Point. To reach it, you cross the breakwater — a long granite path that disappears under high tide and feels almost otherworldly when the wind is calm and the harbor is still. When you arrive, Wood End Light feels peaceful and solitary, a simple white tower keeping watch over the shifting tides and the wide, empty horizon. It’s one of those places where the Cape feels both remote and deeply familiar.

Long Point Light (Provincetown)

Long Point Light sits at the very tip of Cape Cod, where Provincetown’s sandy arm curls into the bay like a protective hook. Built in 1875, it guided ships past the harbor entrance and the shifting shoals that once made this stretch of water notoriously tricky. Reaching it today feels like traveling to the end of the world — a quiet walk across sand flats, gulls wheeling overhead, and the town shrinking behind you until all that’s left is sky, tide, and the steady white tower ahead. Long Point Light has a lonely beauty to it, a sense of isolation that’s peaceful rather than stark. It’s the kind of place where you can stand for a moment and feel the full sweep of the Cape’s geography, the curve of land meeting the open bay, and the lighthouse holding its solitary post with quiet grace.

Sandy Neck Light (Barnstable)

Sandy Neck Light stands at the entrance to Barnstable Harbor, a quiet, dignified beacon tucked along one of the Cape’s longest and most beautiful barrier beaches. Built in 1857, it once guided schooners and fishing boats through the harbor’s narrow channel, but today it serves mostly as a picturesque landmark — privately owned, lovingly maintained, and best viewed from the water or the long, winding trail behind the dunes. There’s a peacefulness to Sandy Neck Light, a sense of calm that comes from its distance from the bustle of town. With the salt marsh stretching behind it and the harbor opening before it, the lighthouse feels like a gentle reminder of the Cape’s quieter side, where tides move slowly and the past lingers in the breeze.

Bass River Light (West Dennis)

Bass River Light is one of Cape Cod’s quiet treasures — a small, graceful lighthouse tucked beside the Lighthouse Inn in West Dennis, still shining each night as a private beacon. Built in 1855, it once guided vessels along the busy Bass River channel, its light reflecting off calm waters and salt marshes that haven’t changed much in more than a century. Today it feels almost like a secret, a lighthouse you stumble upon rather than seek out, with the inn’s white buildings and the river’s gentle tide giving it a peaceful, timeless charm. Bass River Light may not be as famous as some of the Cape’s larger towers, but it carries a lovely intimacy — a reminder that even the quieter corners of Cape Cod have stories worth telling.

Closing Thoughts

Cape Cod’s lighthouses are more than landmarks — they’re storytellers. Each one has weathered storms, guided sailors, and stood watch over generations of coastal life. Whether you’ve visited one or all eleven, each lighthouse offers its own moment of connection with the sea and the history of the Cape.

Note: Most of the photos were taken from the internet. If I was able to give a photo credit I have done so. Many thanks to the talented photgraphers that captured these images.