A month after I graduated from High School, my brother and I traveled to the United Kingdom. We stayed there for five weeks and toured through England, Scotland and Wales (not necessarily in that order). I was 17 years old and my brother was 21. I had just graduated high school, he had just graduated college. The trip was a gift from our maternal grandparents. It was a sort of Heritage trip, a chance to learn more about where our family came from. (And I profusely thank them both for the incredible gift they gave us. It was amazing for me!)

Caernarfon is in Wales, in the far Northeastern corner overlooking the sea that stretches to Ireland. It is sometimes spelled Caernarvon, in an anglicized version that is not used so much these days. The history of this area goes back to Roman times – when there was a fort called Segontium not far from the present day castle of Caernarfon.

The castle in the pictures is one that was built by Edward I in the 13th century. It was made to impress, to awe, to convince the people of Wales of England’s right to be in their country. It did impress and it was awe inspiring, at least for this American girl who had all sorts of fantastical and romantic dreams of Britain.

That’s pronounced BOH-cuh RUH-tone, by the way, for all of you Northerners who like to give it harsh, short vowel sounds.

Boca Raton is known these days for being home and playground for the rich and the famous, with beautiful golf courses and huge homes.

I know it differently, though. I remember it as the gathering point for our large family. Both of my parents spent years there as children, and I spent many hours there as a child. My memories of Boca include the neighborhood my dad grew up in, the beaches, and the school my grandmother taught in for years and years. I remember the mural of a Spanish Mission that my grandparents had painted on the wall of their dining room (such a sad day when we heard that the new owner had painted over that mural ) and the fairy tale mural my grandmother had on the walls of her classroom at school (perhaps why I love the story of Sleeping Beauty so much?).

I remember spending the night at my grandparents’ house with half a dozen cousins, being woken up with the sunrise in the morning, and told to get swimsuits on. We’d pick oranges off of the orange tree beside the house and squeeze the juice into a thermos. We’d all pile into the car, and drive to the coffee shop. We’d get donuts to go, and then on to the beach. Within minutes of leaving the house, we’d be there! Watching the sun come up over the ocean, the waves crashing the shore, as we ate our breakfast of fresh-squeezed orange juice and donuts, liberally sprinkled with sand. We’d splash into the waves and stand in the sparkling clear water, watching the tiny yellow school of fish curiously nibbling at our knees.

At Red Reef Park, I’ve explored the reef, with all its various forms of life. I’ve seen man-o’-war and jellyfish dotting the seaweed that came in withe tide. I’ve watched a nest of sea turtles hatch and make its way to the ocean. I’ve spent hours walking the coastline with my grandparents searching for beautiful seashells.

Boca, to me, has nothing to do with the rich and famous. Boca, to me, is a town filled with many happy childhood memories.

Antietam.

Cornfields are what I remember most about Antietam from my first visit. Looking out at the National Battlefield today, you might never guess the devastation that the Civil War’s “bloodiest single day of battle” inflicted on this quiet area. Lodged amidst the cornfields now are monuments, statues, and cannons that honor and remember the men that died there.

I used to have to cross over Antietam Creek in order to get to my college from home. Every time I drove over it (or more likely, was driven over it) a single sentence echoed eerily in my head: “The creek ran red with the blood of the fallen and wounded.”

The college I went to was right across the Potomac River from Sharpsburg (which is the town closest to the Antietam Battlefields). The area was overflowing with Civil War memories, ghosts and lore. It’s probably one of the things liked best about going to school there. There was such a sense of history. That long memory of the residents did lead to some odd myths and legends though.

One night, my freshman year, I went for a drive with a couple of people I knew. We were going to Antietam to experiment with a myth. The story goes that if you drive to this spot on a road I can only remember as “Bloody Lane” and put your car in neutral, your car will move UP a hill by itself. Supposedly, it’s being pushed by soldier-ghosts. So, we did as instructed, putting the car into neutral, and waited. We watched the cornfields on either side of the road, jittery in anticipation. And the car did move, but maybe we were on an incline we couldn’t detect. It wasn’t dramatic.

Until the guy driving the car let out a shout and said, “Did you see that?” “No, what?” My friend and I replied. “There was a guy out there. No, two. One was helping another across the road behind the car!” We craned our heads to look, thinking he was hallucinating or something. We didn’t see a thing.

He drove us away from there pretty quickly, acting genuinely spooked. After he’d calmed down, he started driving slowly back to school. On the way he described the men he’d seen. The sounded suspiciously like Confederate soldiers. My friend and I offered up suggestions: maybe they were re-enactors out late in the fields? Maybe he just hadn’t seen them clearly? Maybe he’d mistaken some trees waving in the wind for men?

He continued to swear that he’d seen ghosts out there. I never drove to “Bloody Lane” to try that again. Too many natives of the area told stories of the Civil War ghosts haunting the area. Much as I like history and areas steeped in it, I can live without the ghost stories!

The images shown in this post were found at The Clip Art Site.

If you were with me at my old blog, wfg thinks out loud, you may remember I played the alphabet game earlier this year.  It was pretty popular, even though it always seemed to make people hungry.  That’s what happens when I talk about food.

This time around, I don’t think I’ll make anyone hungry, but I’m going to do my best to give you all the urge to travel! I’m going to talk about the places I’ve visited throughout the USA and Britain.  Pictures and memories will be included!

During my alphabet game in January, E was for Easter Bread.  I talked about the tradition of making Easter Bread and the memories I have from years past.  Last year, I approached the baking of the bread with some trepidation.  This year, making it has helped drag me back from the fog in my mind.

Last night and this morning, I’ve once more attempted to re-create this long standing family tradition. I had to ask my parents for the recipe again (for about the hundredth time!). I’m not sure why I always lose it. I have a notebook to keep family recipes in. I have no excuse for losing it all the time! I had to call my mom as I was starting to clarify something on the recipe. But otherwise, I did it without her help!  I think my anise seed wasn’t as strong as I’d like it, but the texture is good.  Overall, I’d say this batch has been a success!

Now, to make everyone drool, I’ve got pictures of this year’s baking marathon! Click on the pictures to see them bigger!

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for passing on this family tradition. It’s means a lot to me, to dig my hands into the sticky dough and think of the generations of my family that have also stirred and kneaded and rolled and shaped this dough.