Saratoga: From Mineral Springs to Racing Royalty

The iconic entrance to Saratoga Race Course, complete with jockey statues and the flowered fountain that signals you’ve arrived at racing season.

Growing Up North of Saratoga — Where the Springs Smelled Like Rust and Trouble

I grew up just north of Saratoga, in the quieter world of Bolton Landing — close enough to feel the pull of the big summer scene, far enough away to keep our own identity. Saratoga was a big deal in my youth. The crowds, the buzz, the racing, the whole ritual of it. And of course, the smell.

Before I ever cared about who was closing on the outside, Saratoga meant mineral springs, bathhouses, and that unmistakable tang of iron and carbonation rising from the ground. People came to “take the waters,” to stroll the grand hotels, to sip from springs that tasted like everything from crisp seltzer to rusty nails.

I’ll be honest: I always thought Saratoga stunk. That sulfur‑metal smell hit you long before you ever saw the water. Some people swore it was healing; I just wanted to get upwind.

But Saratoga didn’t stay just a spa town. As the crowds arrived for the waters, they wanted entertainment — and the entertainment they wanted was horses. By the 1860s, racing had taken root, and the town evolved into something bigger: a place where the elegance of the spa era met the electricity of the racetrack. Health, history, horses wasn’t just a slogan; it was the rhythm of the region I grew up in. And somewhere in that mix, the seeds of my own love for horse racing were planted.


How the Triple Crown Actually Became the Triple Crown

The Races Existed Long Before Anyone Connected Them

Gallant Fox Triple Crown Winner

We talk about the Triple Crown today like it’s some ancient, sacred tradition, but the truth is far messier — and much more interesting.

  • Belmont Stakes: first run in 1867
  • Preakness Stakes: first run in 1873
  • Kentucky Derby: first run in 1875

For decades, they were just three important races on the calendar. No one thought of them as a set. No one talked about a sweep. No one whispered the words “Triple Crown.”

That didn’t happen until the 1930s, when a sportswriter used the phrase after Gallant Fox won all three in 1930. Only then did the idea catch fire. Before that, a horse who won all three was simply… a horse who won three big races.

The Schedule Wasn’t Always Set in Stone

Even after the Triple Crown became “a thing,” the races weren’t always run in the same order or on the same timeline. The spacing we think of as traditional — Derby in early May, Preakness two weeks later, Belmont three weeks after that — is really a mid‑20th‑century standard, not a sacred commandment.

Which brings us to today’s debate.


Why This Year’s Triple Crown Conversation Is Different

Golden Tempo comes from behind to win the Kentucky Derby

Golden Tempo, Napoleon Solo, and a Missing Middle Jewel

Napoleon Solo wins the Preakness

This year’s storyline took a sharp turn right after the roses were handed out. There will be no Triple Crown in 2026. The Kentucky Derby winner, Golden Tempo, did not run in the Preakness — leaving the second jewel wide open for Napoleon Solo (yes, like The Man from U.N.C.L.E.) to swoop in and take Baltimore.

With no sweep on the line, the conversation shifted from “Who will win all three?” to “Should the series itself change?”

The Modern Debate: Is Two Weeks Too Short?

Trainers say today’s horses need more recovery time.
Traditionalists say the tight spacing is the whole point — the test of stamina, grit, and resilience that makes the Triple Crown so rare.

Some want the Preakness pushed back to three or even four weeks after the Derby.
Others argue that changing the spacing would rewrite the very identity of the series.

Either way, the debate is louder than ever, and it’s rolling straight toward the Belmont Stakes in June, even if the crown itself is already out of reach.


Closing Thoughts: A Bolton Landing Kid With Saratoga in Her Bones

Even though I didn’t grow up in Saratoga, it loomed large from my little perch in Bolton Landing — close enough to feel the excitement, close enough to know when something big was happening, and definitely close enough to smell those springs whether I wanted to or not. I may not have loved the scent, but the place itself worked its way into me anyway. Those early trips south planted the seeds for a lifelong fascination with horse racing — a fascination that still pulls me back every spring, every Derby, every Preakness, every Belmont. Even now, all these years later, Saratoga remains a big deal in my world… smell and all.

See You June 6 in Saratoga for The Belmont Stakes!


Black Forest Cake

It’s another Monday Special from Andy Anand Chocolatier.

Who can say no to a decdent Black Forest Cake?

A delicious  ending to your Memorial Day meal. A black Forest cake from Andy Anand Chocolatier

 

A perfect finish to a Memorial Day get together. It may be raining outsie but it’s  sunny at the table!

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This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you.

Today Is Memorial Day

Today is Memorial Day.

A day of remembrance, a day to pause, and a day to say thank you — not for service, but for sacrifice.

So while you enjoy your day off and that first cookout of the summer, please remember that today, Memorial Day,  is the day we honor all those who didn’t come home. This is the cost of freedom. This is why we stop, reflect, and acknowledge the men and women who gave their lives wearing the uniform of the United States.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row

To the fallen, and to the families who carry their memory, I say: Thank you for the ultimate sacrifice. You are the reason we are free today.

The Furry and the Restless- Episode 2 The Cardboard Coup

Banner sitting proudly in the cardboard box, blissfully unaware he’s about to spark a feline power struggle

Scene 1: Banner’s Brief but Glorious Reign

Banner discovered The Box with the wide‑eyed optimism of a cat who believes the universe occasionally gifts him nice things.

He stepped in, sat tall, and lifted his head like he was posing for a Renaissance portrait.

Banner’s internal monologue:
“Yes. This is perfect. I am perfect. The Box is perfect. Everything is going great for me personally.”

For a shining moment, Banner was the Prince Regent of Cardboard, blissfully unaware that his reign had an expiration date.


Scene 2: The Return of the True Monarch

Balboa reappeared — not running, not pouncing, just materializing like a villain entering stage left.

His eyes narrowed.
>His whiskers stiffened.
>His soul whispered:

Balboa’s internal monologue:
“I leave for FIVE MINUTES and this is what I come back to? Treason.”

Banner, sensing the atmospheric pressure drop, executed a graceful, drama‑free exit — the kind that says, “I was done anyway.”


Scene 3: Consolidation of Power

Balboa climbed into The Box with the solemn dignity of a king returning to his throne after a brief and embarrassing coup.

He inspected the corners.
>He checked the flaps.
>He sniffed the air like a monarch detecting betrayal.

Balboa’s internal monologue:
“I can still smell him. Unacceptable. I will be filing a formal complaint.”

Then he sat — tall, tense, and deeply unimpressed.


Scene 4: Banner’s Hopeful Interlude

Banner retreated to the top of the cat tree — the highest point in the land — and gazed down upon the cardboard kingdom like a tiny, fluffy general surveying the battlefield.

His tail twitched.
>His whiskers quivered.
>His little cat brain began swirling with plans.

Banner’s internal monologue:
“Okay… okay… hear me out. What if I… take back the box? Not now. Later. When he’s sleepy. Yes. A surprise insurrection. Brilliant.”

From his lofty perch, he looked almost regal — if “regal” included the occasional distracted blink and the faint hum of a single orange cat brain cell working overtime.

He knew Balboa ruled the cardboard empire.
He knew any rebellion would be short‑lived.
But that didn’t stop him from dreaming.

For now, he plotted.


Scene 5: The King’s Return (and He Is Not Amused)

Balboa eventually arrived to reclaim the new box, too.

He settled in with the expression of a king who has discovered someone sat on his throne without permission.

Balboa’s internal monologue:
“This kingdom requires constant supervision. I am surrounded by fools.”

He sat alert, annoyed, and fully prepared to defend his cardboard empire from future uprisings.


🐾 The cardboard kingdom is secure… for now. But in this house, the next coup is always just one box away.

 

Historic memoir bound in the skin of highwayman James Allen, displayed under glass at the Boston Athenæum

The Book That’s Literally Skin‑Deep

Rare 1837 book bound in human skin at the Boston Athenæum, shown with its Latin‑inscribed cover inside a display case.”


Boston’s Most Macabre Treasure

Massachusetts has no shortage of historic firsts — the first lighthouse, the first subway, the first chocolate chip cookie, even the first telephone call. But tucked away on Beacon Street, inside the quiet, book‑scented halls of the Boston Athenæum, sits an artifact that makes all those milestones feel downright ordinary.

It’s a book.
Bound in human skin.
And yes, you can actually see it.


A Highwayman, a Deathbed Confession, and One Very Unusual Request

The story begins with James Allen, also known by several aliases, including George Walton — a 19th‑century highwayman who spent his life robbing travelers along the Boston Post Road. He wasn’t a glamorous outlaw; he was a gritty, stubborn one, constantly in and out of prison, and eventually mortally wounded during an escape attempt.

On his deathbed in 1837, Allen dictated his life story — a short memoir titled Narrative of the Life of James Allen. But he didn’t stop there. He made a final request that would cement his place in Massachusetts lore:

He wanted copies of the book bound in his own skin.

One copy was to be given to a man who had once fought him off during a robbery attempt — a man Allen respected for his bravery. Another copy went to the Boston Athenæum, where it remains today.

On the cover, stamped in gold, is the Latin inscription:

“Hic Liber Waltonis Cute Compactus Est.”
This book is bound in the skin of Walton.

Subtle? No.
Unforgettable? Absolutely.


Anthropodermic Bibliopegy: A Real (and Rare) Practice

As bizarre as it sounds, binding books in human skin — anthropodermic bibliopegy — was a real, if extremely uncommon, practice in the 18th and 19th centuries. Most examples come from:

  • Medical schools (anatomy students memorializing cadavers)
  • Criminal confessions
  • Personal mementos with a macabre twist

But Allen’s book stands out because it wasn’t done to him — it was done at his own request. A final act of control? A strange attempt at immortality? A criminal’s version of a legacy? Historians still debate it.

What’s certain is that the Athenæum’s copy is one of the most famous examples in the world.


Behind the Red Doors of the Boston Athenæum

The Athenæum itself is a treasure — one of the oldest independent libraries in the United States, founded in 1807. Its reading rooms feel like stepping into a different century: marble busts, oil portraits, polished wood, and the soft hush of serious book lovers.

The human‑skin book isn’t on open display. It’s kept in a secure, climate‑controlled room, brought out only for researchers or curious visitors by appointment. Staff are used to the request — it’s one of the most asked‑about items in their collection — but they treat it with the same respect as any rare artifact.

In recent years, scientific testing confirmed what the inscription claimed: the binding is, in fact, human skin.

Boston history is full of surprises, but this one still manages to raise eyebrows.


A Story That Sticks With You

What makes this such a compelling Massachusetts tale isn’t just the shock factor. It’s the layers:

  • A criminal who wanted his story preserved — literally.
  • A library that has safeguarded it for nearly two centuries.
  • A piece of history that blurs the line between the macabre and the meaningful.
  • A reminder that Boston’s past isn’t just revolutionary — it’s downright strange.

You can walk past the Athenæum’s iconic red doors a hundred times and never guess that one of the rarest, most unusual books in the world sits quietly inside.

But that’s Massachusetts for you.
Just when you think you’ve heard every story, it hands you one bound in human skin.