Slice of Life: Things we find in the attic
Fall is when I fell … in love with Shelter Island. Thirty-two years ago, I just happened to be out on a boat collecting scallops with Toots Clark on a brilliantly crisp October morning and I was just hooked, or dredged. Until that point, I had been more or less an itinerant, working for a chef who hauled his crew to hotels in Florida for the winter and the Northeast for the summer. I have thanked God many times for placing me here precisely at the time my wanderlust was wearing thin.
Over and over again, I find out new things or discover old things about Shelter Island that make me keenly aware of just how special this place is. Every creek, beach, neighborhood and open space has its own feel and attraction. The people who have lived here the longest can tell you stories and take you places known to only a few and every once in a while a new precious jewel is uncovered.
Not too long ago, I was in the attic of our Civil War-era house looking for bats — the flying kind. People have been telling me for a long time that I have bats in my belfry and while agreeing with them, my helpmate also insisted that we had bats in the attic. Prepared for close encounters of the guano kind, I ventured up through the access hatch. Guess what? No bats! But while moving things around, I found a small spiral scrapbook about four inches wide and six inches long. There was some indecipherable script on one page and many pages with newspaper articles about George Washington, for some reason, but nothing with which I could date the book. Then, near the end, there was a clipping about the christening and record-setting trans-Atlantic maiden voyage of the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, a German luxury steamship. A quick search on the Internet revealed that this happened in May of 1897.
I was delighted to have discovered another artifact to add to those we’ve found at different stages of renovation over the years. Once we found a Daily News calendar from 1887 stuck behind the lath in one of the walls. Helpmate/archeologist found two clay stout bottles underneath the cement of our old barn. Similar stories can undoubtedly be told by anyone who lives in an old house.
As I emerged from Sylvester Manor late Saturday evening after 12 hours of seclusion in the Hidden Field, the sight of two cars coming down Route 114 surprised me for a moment. It was as if I had forgotten where I lived. I have felt the same after a long hike in Mashomack or a full day of sailing. I had been transported to another place, yet hadn’t left home.
The manor is like Shelter Island’s attic. There are things that have been and continue to be discovered or uncovered. The Smithsonian, long called the nation’s attic, has even focused attention on what may be one of the northernmost plantations in America. Closely private for decades, another of Shelter Island’s treasures has been revealed bit by bit over the past four or five years, largely due to the efforts of Eben Otsby and his nephew Bennett Konesni.
Bennett also just happened to bring from New England several dozen incredibly talented musicians who can play anything with strings on it and who know a seemingly limitless number of songs, some centuries old. The desire to raise organic food on land that up until recently hadn’t seen crops for almost half a century combined with an equal desire to propagate folk songs has culminated in the annual “Plant and Sing” festival. What started one fall Saturday with a handful of people planting garlic and having a potluck supper in the manor house has grown to a three-day event with over 200 volunteers, a dozen bands, poets, playwrights and vendors.
Walking the Hidden Field on Sunday afternoon, listening to great music or poetry, eating delicious food and watching everyone relaxing or playing games on a warmer than usual fall afternoon, I thought how wonderful it was that people had gotten to see yet another beautiful Shelter Island spot.
My particular job was helping the sound man with logistics, getting bands on and off stage and eating barbecue. There were a few emergencies like generators running out of gas and such but, for the most part, it was pretty dang smooth.
I watched a nearly full moon rise over the field as the last band took the stage and reveled in the magic that the day had been. Later at the Pridwin, which earlier that night had seen another gi-normous crowd enjoying scallops, some of the aforementioned string wizards got together for some picking. I stayed for a little while but didn’t last long. I was just all in. As I walked in the door of our house a half-mile away, I could hear the harmonies in the distance very faintly through the still night. It was a fitting end to a very wonderful day!
