Marc Explores
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85 years ago today my grandfather Giovanni (far left) arrived in America. He sailed from Naples, Italy nine days earlier with his mother and two brothers to join his father, already a naturalized citizen, in south Philadelphia. Giovanni was six years old (although the passenger manifest says five), and with only a vague but very common explanation of why the family left his small Italian town, now found himself in a vibrant, culturally diverse city on the verge of the Great Depression. … Read More
They came with an appetite. Bald eagles, once calmly perched atop the spruce trees that line Campobello Island’s rocky coast, now dive bombed seagulls and pushed aside cormorants until they and they alone could claw the fish on the water’s surface. And they clawed like hell.
“Not a cloud in the sky” is an all too easy measure of perfect weather, especially if you’re at the beach. Double especially if you are on vacation, when just a drop of rain feels like a personal punishment from God. But the phrase is also just a catchy alternative for describing the plain, flat, static upper half of your world. What happens when those dreadful clouds roll in?
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