Realization

On the Franklin train platform Monday morning waiting for commuter rail train # 704 to Boston I overheard a conversation that I thought mentioned Borderland St Park. When the lady waked away from the gentlemen who had mentioned this, I took the opportunity to ask him about Borderland. Yes, he had gone there yesterday to walk his two white German Shepherds. The weekend before they had walked on a different trail, the dogs had found something in the woods and taken off. He went after them and ended up getting scratched up going through the shrubs and underbrush. He stuck to the trails yesterday. You may recall that we have been there previously to watch the high school cross country meets. It is a wonderful place, one of the hidden gems in MA.

Another commuter buddy asked where it was. It is in Easton. It was once one of the Ames family estates. The Ames family had made their money the real way by making shovels. Yes, in the early 1800’s the major construction projects all were dug by hand. The Erie Canal, the transcontinental railway, these were all done with manual labor. Usually Irish but over time other ethnic groups had their turn at the handle as well. The Ames family was Protestant but one of them married a Catholic and this branch of the family land ended up becoming Stonehill College. She had not been well accepted by the remainder of the family so she turned the land over to the church when her husband (the Ames connection) passed away.

I commented; see the politics around religion goes way back. Another commuter buddy chimed in that while he is French he initially had trouble when he brought the woman who was to become his wife home to meet the family. She was Irish. The Irish at the time were taking the mill work from the French and causing great hardship. It was not that long ago for something very similar to have occurred in my own family tree. My father is Irish, my mother French Canadian. When they got married, my mother's father did not go to the wedding. My maternal grandfather went to Mass daily at St Ceclia’s in Pawtucket, RI because they said mass there in French, and just as because God spoke French. He did not have anything to do with his daughter until I came along a couple of years later.

It was this last part of the story that struck me differently this morning. I have told the story several times before. But this time the realization came that this single event maybe the root of my nature as a connector. I make connections between things, between people. I foster the network and let the net work. I also found out this weekend at PodCamp Boston that I am my own content network. Little did I know? Thanks for helping me figure that out Chris!

I have much to catch up on but if I don't get my beauty sleep, life becomes difficult.

Catch you all later!


Technorati Tags : French, Irish, Ames, Borderland, commuter+rail, content+network, PodCampBoston2006

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