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Our teacher told us one day he would leave
And sail across a warm blue sea
To places he had only known from maps,
And all his life had longed to be.
The house he lived in was narrow and grey
But in his mind's eye he could see
Sweet-scented jasmine clinging to the walls,
And green leaves burning on an orange tree.
He spoke of the lands he longed to visit,
Where it was never drab or cold.
I couldn't understand why he never left,
And shook off the school's stranglehold.
Then halfway through his final term
He took ill and never returned,
And he never got to that place on the map
Where the green leaves of the orange trees burned.
The maps were redrawn on the classroom wall;
His name was forgotten, it faded away.
But a lesson he never knew he taught
Is with me to this day.
I travel to where the green leaves burn
To where the ocean's glass-clear and blue,
To all those places my teacher taught me to love
But which he never knew.
Some images just require viewing large on black to really bring out the detail; this image is one of those.
Van Patten Mountain Camp, Organ Mountains, New Mexico.
ihveissues & I shot this place in January '08, and we worked together to light paint this scene. I painted the bush in the foreground and the building, and Tom painted the tree.
All things beng equal, I would have preferred to have most of my shots form this special site to be lit naturally, but time and the position of the moon conspired to leave the front of the building in shadow all night, or at least until several hours after Tom and I had to be done shooting this site. So we had to go with artificial lighting in most shots, and even natural flashlight looked, well...artificial. So I eventually decided to just have some fun with it and painted it up in color. I hope to shoot here again some night with the moon in the western sky!
Night, full moon rising behind the mountains, red-gelled strobe, green-gelled xenon flashlight & blue-gelled 2 mil spotlight.
Juba, 18 October 2022: Under-Secretry-General Pramila Patten, the Secretary-General's Special Representative for Sexual Violence in Conflict pictured meeting with survivors’ networks at the UNMISS headquarters in Juba, South Sudan. Ms. Patten interacted separately with survivors, listening to their accounts. USG Patten will travel to Yambio, Western Equatoria, also where UNMISS is working with partners to implement a survivor-centered project to empower survivors of conflict-related sexual violence.
Photos by Isaac Billy/UNMISS
Original Disneyland 12-inch LP. First issue in the original 4000 series of long-playing soundtracks. These were the most extensive recordings of these classic movie scores up to this point. Still a beautiful (and rare) recording.
Cover: Bobby Driscoll, James Baskett, Luana Patten, as Johnny, Uncle Remus, and Ginny.
Plus Brer Fox, Brer Bear, and Brer Rabbit, of course!
I shot this photograph in July 1969, when I was a passenger in the rear seat of my buddy Bobby's little two seater, bush pilot's plane. That groovy little ol' hedge hopper didn't have lights or a radio.
The shot is looking westward over Rural Route 11, about seven miles north of Patten, Maine, in Penobscot County. It is about three miles south of Katahdin Lodge. We are flying due north into Moro Plantation, Aroostook County.
We are looking out into 90 miles of the Great North Woods. It's all thick forest land with a few woods roads here and there, until you reach Canada.
Today, there are well maintained snowmobile and ATV trails traveling all through that deep, delightful forest. I'd sure like to get back up there and ride those trails. You can easily reach them from Katahdin Lodge's front yard. I mean doorya'd.
One Saturday evening in August 1969, around sundown, I was with Bobby's daughter Barbara, my steady girlfriend, parkin' and sparkin' out in back of a potato field, when Bobby flew over us at treetop level.
Now that'll grab y'ur attention!
Bobby often went up for short flights of that nature just before dusk got dark. He also usually took a passenger along for the ride. His most frequent flying companions were his good wife Jean, my Uncle Finley, or the Maine Guide whom I guided bear hunters with at Katahdin Lodge, Gary Glidden.
Luckily for Barb and I, we were merely just sparkin' and not burnin' up the bench seat in the cab of that pick up truck.
My sweet little munchkins and I were out on our usual Saturday night date. And that generally kicked off with a movie in Patten at the old converted opera house. Sheesh it was hard to find a seat there without busted springs biting your butt. I can't recall one darned detail about that building, but it was definitely just about ready for the wrecking ball. They showed a movie there once every Friday night, and then repeated it once on Saturday night. It was all geared for young teenagers. Weren't no adults willing to put up with that wild crew in there. The show was more about congenial, boisterous, adolescent horseplay than it was about the movie.
Barbara and I maintained a well planned and proven m.o., our modus operandi, for our Saturday dates.
Her younger siblings went to the show every Saturday. They were too young to be riding around in cars and acting wild with other kids yet, and the movie house was the only other entertainment around on most weekend nights.
Our m.o. was go to the movie for at least a half hour, make sure her brother and sister spotted us there, then we high tailed it for the door. We exited the former opera house and entered the world of teenage drivers in Patten, Maine. That consisted off a whole lot of riding around the wide open countryside for miles and miles then going parkin' in the moonlight.
The Saturday we got caught parkin' by her papa-in-a-plane, I had gotten off work earlier than usual, so I picked up Barbara earlier than usual. That meant we had some time to kill, until the movie house opened. So we rode around out in the country for a little while. But I was in need of some rest from driving, because guiding bear hunters entails driving an average of 80 to 90 miles a day. That's the only reason we stopped and parked in the potato field at that particular time.
But I do declare to you that we did not really get to parkin' heavy. That was for after the show and way after it got dark.
Wow! I'm hearing things!
While I'm writing this, I am experiencing audio flashbacks of the distinct bwurrrhherrrring sound of Bobby's single engine plane straining to hop back up over the treeline of the potato field; after he had swooped down below treetop level in the adjacent field looking to spot any deer, moose, bear or other critters who were just strolling out from their daytime sleeping quarters for a night of harvesting their groceries.
Most mammals in Maine eat breakfast at dusk, work the night shift, eat dinner at dawn, and then peacefully snooze all day.
So anyways, here comes Bobby's plane!
And here's how it went down there in the pick up truck:
Barb and I, more or less in unison, "What's that sound I hear? Turn down the radio. Look over there! It's your/my father! Oh crap! Oh no! Who's that in the back seat?"
Barb, "It must be my mother! It has to be! I know it's her! Can you see 'er?"
A mighty shook up me, "I bet it's my uncle in the back seat! Oh man!!"
Barb, "He's comin around behind us. What'll we do? What'll we do? That's my mom in there, I know it, I know it, that's my mom in there. She's gonna kill me!"
Me, "Maybe it's Gary. Oh man I hope it's Gary!"
Barb, "I'll be grounded for a month. She's gonna kill me!"
Me again, "If it's Finley, I'll never hear the end of it."
Barb, "If it's my mother, NEITHER ONE OF US ARE EVER GOING TO HEAR THE END OF IT!"
My maturing, young 19 year old vocal chords were yankin' tight and twangy like four pound test fishing filament being used to pull a truck out of a ditch. My voice was taking on a strangely higher pitch, when I said, "He's waving at us! Oh my gahhhd. He could see right in here on us. Good thing we wasn't doin nuthin."
It sure was a "good thing we wasn't doing nuthin," because from where I was sitting in the cab of the truck Bobby and I could see each other's faces so well I clearly saw that he was laughing at as.
But neither Barb nor I had one iota of a clear clue as to who was in the plane's back seat. The rear side window was too small and the rear seat set too far back for us to see who was in there. But Bobby didn't come back for a second helping of teenage angst. He certainly was eating it up on that first fly-by though.
I cranked up that Chevy truck and headed straight to the old opera house. We stayed for the entire movie that night. After the movie, we made sure to speak to her brother and sister. Well, she yelled at one of 'um for throwing the rest of their popcorn at the other one. Barb was, after all, their older teenage sister, and it's rare to get anything but a bunch of yellin' out of your slightly older teen sister.
Then we two scared love birds drove to the Clam Shop up the street, and got something to drink and eat. We rode around some after eating, but we never drove out past the town limits. All the parkin' spots were outside of town. No matter. The mood had passed.
That was some scary night, especially when I took her home after our date. We were at her family's mudroom door 15 minutes early; it was 10:45 PM, instead of the usual 20-30 minutes late, for Barbara's 11 PM curfew. But not a soul was stirring inside the house. They were all in bed already. We were quietly perplexed and thoroughly subdued.
A little goodnight kiss and off I went--to slowly drive up the North Road to the Lodge, to face my Uncle Finley and Aunt Martha.
Had Bobby been there waiting for me at his house, and had he punched me in my face and knocked me down in the dirt, as I had expected him to do, there would have been nothing I could have done. But apologize for what had happened.
Then drive up to the Lodge to pack my bags and leave.
Not only was Bobby a tough little, top-notch Maine woodsman, who could have easily whupped my young, suburban bred keyster, Bobby was one of Finley's best friends. If Bobby had gotten angry at me, he would have gotten angry at Finley too. Then Fin and Marty would have been angry at me. Plus the whole Town of Patten would have turned against me.
So it's a darned good thing for me that my buddy Bobby had a great sense of humor.
On most Saturday nights, I hung out in Patten or rode around the countryside with friends and buddies, until 2 AM or so. I hung out with other young men who were old enough to stay out that late, but who were still unmarried. We could even drink beer there without fear of any hassles. But vehicular accidents and a better understanding of alcoholism and how it progresses ended that open tolerance of underage and public drinking in Patten a long time ago.
I usually drove Rt. 11 from Patten to the Lodge at 10-15 MPH over the 50 MPH speed limit; but that night I just puttered along doing 45 MPH or so. But when I pulled into the Lodge's driveway, nobody was awake there either.
Now I had to try to get some sleep. It wasn't easy. And the morning wake up was even rougher. But I had to mosey on in and eat breakfast with everyone there.
I ate a quiet, uneventful breakfast with Fin, Marty and some of the Lodge's paying bear hunters.
Still nothing said. Man o' day! What to do?
When Finley Kenneth Clarke got pissed at somebody, he rarely held his anger in or allowed the offending pissee, whomever they may be, to get away scott free. So I knew that he hadn't been in his good friend Bobby's plane the previous evening.
I picked up the Sunday newspaper and headed for the mass of comic strips in the funny section. I needed some cheering up.
I couldn't really read or concentrate on anything well enough to even understand what was going on in the drawings of the comic strips. My psyche was effectively dissolving into the mystery of the plane's back seat passenger, and what was going to happen when Fin got wind of the 'wildlife' scene that Bobby and his passenger had spotted, when they were up there spotting wild game from the air.
Then Gary Glidden stops by at the Lodge.
Gary was rarely ever there on a Sunday, except when harvested bears from the Saturday hunt had to be skinned.
Fin was a bona fide workaholic. He suffered from PTSD that came from him fighting on the front lines of the Korean War. He earned a Silver Star and more. One symptom of PTSD is furious, marathon, perfectionist style workaholism. He often did some kind of work around the Lodge for at least a half day on Sundays.
Gary had gotten himself drafted into one of those Sunday projects once, so he rarely showed himself at the Lodge on Sundays. Can't blame 'im, he only got Sundays off.
As was expected by all who knew that, Gary said that he wasn't staying long enough to sit down. And he didn't accept the offered cup of coffee. You could see that he was in a jolly good frame of mind. He was steadily smiling harder, wider and taller than was his norm. He was talking more energetically than normal too. His arms and hands moving quickly to the beat of his conversation.
All the while, I was stealthily peeking past the newspaper, whilst tuned into all that Gary was saying and doing. Fear, of the words "plane" or "Bobby" or "Barbara" or "David" coming out of Gary's mouth, had my mouth dry, and my teeth worried.
I was worried all over.
As I sat there doing my best version of a b-movie hotel detective sitting in the hotel lobby watching everybody and everything from behind a wide spread newspaper, my very good friend Gary simply eagle-eye peered over the crowd of people sitting or standing around the Lodge's long, wooden dining room table, and he had simply grinned at me. The hugest, most soul shaking grin I ever had aimed in my direction. A very expansive grin, which was very unnerving to me.
It was obvious that Gary had been in the back seat of Bobby's plane on the prior evening. And that the guldang-sun-'uv-an-oar had stopped by just to let me know it.
What a rub that was.
Who coulda' passed up the chance to do something like that?
Gary had done it in the spirit of close, pure friendship, though.
You see something so rib-splitting hilarious as what Bobby and Gary had swooped down upon, during the previous evening, and you simply have to make the most of it.
I never thought of this before: Those two guys must have practically been bouncing around the insides of the plane, due to them laughing so hard their ribs nearly busted open.
Gary, Bobby and I had had some good laughs together.
Gary and I had worked together for a lot of hours. Numerous times, we had tracked wounded bears together, often at night. And we never carried any firearms, because 100% wild Maine Black Bears always avoid humans.
I have tracked wounded bears at night by myself; more than ten times; less than twenty times.
Bobby was the Lodge's plumber, and I was his assigned helper, when he needed one up there. One time Bobby and I worked together all day long, while crawled up under a back bedroom that was not built over the cellar of the Lodge's main building and only had about a three foot high crawl space under it. And crawl a lot that day we did. Bobby let me know that he appreciated me sticking with him all through that dirty job.
Bobby said, "I figured that a city kid like you would be off somewhere goofing off every chance you got."
The reason he said that was, because he had stayed under there in the dirt, every time I was sent to fetch tools or plumbing supplies from his work truck, as he required them. He was surprised that I always came right back, crawled right on back in under the building, with a healthy smile on my face, and got right back into the job and funny conversation that we kept going the whole time.
Bobby's family had spent many a Sunday afternoon visiting at the Lodge. We all knew each other and our families.
I can take a joke, and if those two champeen' friends of mine, Bobby and Gary, had one on me, so be it.
I'm chuckling mildly about it right now myself.
Gary was my friend--genuine and trustworthy. He never told Finley what he had seen from the plane. On that worried Sunday of mine in Maine, after Gary had hit me hard with that grin, he left without mentioning a word about the plane ride to anyone.
But it wasn't time for me to relax a little yet, sitting there in the Lodge's dining room on my Sunday off.
I had no idea of who else knew about the prior evening's bush pilot and potato field incident, besides my champeen' friends Bobby and Gary.
The phone could ring any second with Barbara's mother, Jean, at the other end. She and my Aunt Martha, were best friends, until Marty died. Jean and Marty woulda' been far too much for me to deal with, if they came after me in anger. I'd have been done for at Katahdin Lodge, for sure.
After an uninterrupted, peaceful lunch, the only thing to do was to keep my usual Sunday date with Barbara for a drive somewhere in the beautiful Katahdin Valley.
I drove down to the Barb's house, with tremendous trepidation tickling my innards.
I walked into the house, from through the mudroom door.
In the kitchen, Barb's mother said a normal, pleasant hello to me, as she continued preparing their usual big Sunday supper.
Then, bravely, but a might bit meekishly, I eased on in towards their living room, where Bobby was sitting and reading the Sunday paper.
Ol' Bobby dropped his newspaper down a few inches, looked up at me with a great, wide, glowing grin on his face and said, "Well hellooo theah Dave, ya been in any potato fields lately?"
And that was it!
I never heard a word about it from Barbara's mother.
But miracle of miracles, in the normally faster-than-a-radio-signal small town gossip circuit, it took two weeks before Finley finally heard about it. That was because Gary, Bobby and Jean were protecting me from Finley's war time PTSD instilled brand of anger.
But Bobby and Gary each had to eventually tell someone else the story. So they told a sister or brother, a cousin or friend in town, and that is how it finally made its way to Finley. It was just too freakin' hilarious for them to keep to themselves. Can't blame 'um for that.
When Fin found out, he really rubbed it into me. And for a several weeks running, every new group of bear hunters heard about it sometime during the week.
It sure was embarrassing for me at the time, but it's one of the best memories of Maine that I have today.
Northern Maine Adventures Photo Album
"If something's worth doing, it's worth doing right." Finley Kenneth Clarke
katahdinlodge7photos.blogspot.com
© David Robert Crews {a.k.a. ursusdave}
email: ursusdave{at}yahoo{dot}com
The Guild Church of St Margaret of Pattens: The dedication is to Margaret of Antioch
Situated in Rood Lane, Eastcheap, London, EC3M 1HS. St Margaret’s is Church of England and was first recorded in 1067, a year after ‘The Battle of Hastings’. Originally built in wood, it was rebuilt in stone at some undetermined date. It was neglected and fell into disrepair and was demolished in 1530 but by 1538 it was rebuilt.
Unfortunately it was destroyed in the great fire of London in 1666 and it wasn’t until 1687 that it was rebuilt but it was worth the wait as Sir Christopher Wren was the architect. The exterior is notable for the spire which is 200ft tall. It was Wren’s third highest and the only one that he designed in the ‘Medieval Style’. The interior of the church is a basic rectangle but it does have some very unusual furnishings. It possesses the only canopied pews in London, they are at the back of the church close to the entrance. These were intended for the churchwardens. There is also a punishment box carved with a head of the devil, this is where wrongdoers would sit during the mass.
It was one of the few churches that escaped damage in ‘The Blitz’. In 1954 it ceased to be a parish church and became one of the Guild church. There is no Sunday service but there are regular week-day services.
The name ‘patten’ derives from wooden-soled overshoes that were worn to prevent people from ruining their own footware because of the poor state of the roads (mud, horse manure and other excrement tipped from the building, there was no sewerage facilities as we have today). There is a small museum inside the church, with display cases showing the history and products of the Pattenmakers and the Basketmakers. Since the 15th century the Worshipful Company of Pattenmakers have been associated with St. Margaret’s and there are panels on the south wall that show past masters. The Worshipful Company of Basketmakers also have close links to St. Margaret’s and there are similar panels to commemorate their past masters.
Finally, in one corner of the church is a closed cabinet where there is written ‘For God, King & Country’ and there is also a dedication on the bottom of the cabinet. Open the doors and inside are memorial plaques to the submariners of a ‘K4’ class submarine that went down in a tragic accident of the coast of Fife in September 1918 with the loss of 105 men. There are also 12 other WWI casualties not connected to the sinking that also appear on the memorial. One of my photographs shows the whole story.
This is the first of three postings.
Stacey Lubar, Jocelyn Greenan, Jamie Dorros, Diane Ray Brown, Kristin Cecchi, Tara Patten, Ashley Bronczek. Photo © Tony Powell. 2019 Great Ladies Luncheon and Fashion Show. Ritz Carlton. May 1, 2019
I’ve tried to detect pattens for when you see these streaming bits of sun at sunrise and sunset. At first, I thought it was just related to moisture and particulate in the air. Then I thought it was related to clouds five+ miles away that are naturally broken up with gaps between them of several hundred meters. Now I think it’s a combination of the two. Maybe this explains why it is so rare.
Now that I live in the mountains, I never see the horizon any more. It doesn’t bother me so much, but it is harder to get these kind of shots. Those of you that also live with no horizon know what I mean! :)
- Trey Ratcliff
Click here to read the rest of this post at the Stuck in Customs blog.
The Guild Church of St Margaret of Pattens: The dedication is to Margaret of Antioch
Situated in Rood Lane, Eastcheap, London, EC3M 1HS. St Margaret’s is Church of England and was first recorded in 1067, a year after ‘The Battle of Hastings’. Originally built in wood, it was rebuilt in stone at some undetermined date. It was neglected and fell into disrepair and was demolished in 1530 but by 1538 it was rebuilt.
Unfortunately it was destroyed in the great fire of London in 1666 and it wasn’t until 1687 that it was rebuilt but it was worth the wait as Sir Christopher Wren was the architect. The exterior is notable for the spire which is 200ft tall. It was Wren’s third highest and the only one that he designed in the ‘Medieval Style’. The interior of the church is a basic rectangle but it does have some very unusual furnishings. It possesses the only canopied pews in London, they are at the back of the church close to the entrance. These were intended for the churchwardens. There is also a punishment box carved with a head of the devil, this is where wrongdoers would sit during the mass.
It was one of the few churches that escaped damage in ‘The Blitz’. In 1954 it ceased to be a parish church and became one of the Guild church. There is no Sunday service but there are regular week-day services.
The name ‘patten’ derives from wooden-soled overshoes that were worn to prevent people from ruining their own footware because of the poor state of the roads (mud, horse manure and other excrement tipped from the building, there was no sewerage facilities as we have today). There is a small museum inside the church, with display cases showing the history and products of the Pattenmakers and the Basketmakers. Since the 15th century the Worshipful Company of Pattenmakers have been associated with St. Margaret’s and there are panels on the south wall that show past masters. The Worshipful Company of Basketmakers also have close links to St. Margaret’s and there are similar panels to commemorate their past masters.
Finally, in one corner of the church is a closed cabinet where there is written ‘For God, King & Country’ and there is also a dedication on the bottom of the cabinet. Open the doors and inside are memorial plaques to the submariners of a ‘K4’ class submarine that went down in a tragic accident of the coast of Fife in September 1918 with the loss of 105 men. There are also 12 other WWI casualties not connected to the sinking that also appear on the memorial. One of my photographs shows the whole story.
This is the second of three postings.
Free concerts every evening at the Alameda County Fair. Thursday 7/1 was free day for seniors (yes it's true!) and I guess it was not a coincidence that Crystal Gayle was the headliner. She will be 60, herself, next year and her hair is now literally down to the floor!
Sure made this girl's brown eyes a bit blue.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=yGWQI_8jMGA
Pictured here with her band leader and cool saxophonist, Jay Patten.
One of the highlights of the WPT stop in South Florida is the Beach Volleyball match with the Royal Flush Girls, Tony Dunst, Vince Van Patten, Marianela and various pro volunteers. I know it's asking a lot, but take a look at the bikini clad fun!
One of the highlights of the WPT stop in South Florida is the Beach Volleyball game with the Royal Flush Girls, Tony Dunst, Marianella, Vince Van Patten and various pro 'Volunteers' -- I know it is a lot to ask of you but take a look at the bikini inspired photos of with winners and losers.
Van Patten Mountain Camp, Organ Mountains, Southern New Mexico.
Night, full moon, red-gelled strobe, blue-gelled flashlight. 3 minute exposure.
This shot of Chris Patten was taken yesterday at Encaenia in Oxford, it's something of a rarity as usually I don't upload anything until it's at least six months old due to my ever-growing backlog of shots.
President Patten (right) reads resolution, "We, representing the ABORIGINES OF AUSTRALIA ... on the 150th Anniversary of the whitemen's seizure of our contry, HEREBY MAKE PROTEST against the callous treatment of our people ... AND WE APPEAL to the Australian Nation of to-day ... for FULL CITIZEN STATUS and EQUALITY WITHIN THE COMMUNITY".
This image is part of the collections of the State Library of NSW and has been used with permission. The State Library’s Flickr Commons channel can be accessed via the following link: www.flickr.com/photos/statelibraryofnsw
Medieval England over shoes used to keep shoes and clothing clean when walking the dirty streets . See St Margaret Patterns Church for cross reference. www.flickr.com/photos/blinkoart/42292987425/in/photostream/
Tai Cheong Bakery • 泰昌餅家
The bakery's most popular "Fat Patten's Egg Tart" （酥皮蛋撻）comes from former HK governor Chris Patten who used to be the bakery’s most regular customer and he particularly liked their egg tarts. Hence people began to call the egg tarts at this bakery “Fat Patten’s egg tarts”. They’re really delicious! Come and taste it and you will see why Chris Patten liked them that much.
Hong Kong • 香港 '12
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Michael Crichton present in 1973 "Mondwest" with Yul Brynner, Richard Benjamin, James Brolin, Dick Van Patten, Majel Barrett,...
Van Patten Road sunset in Shiocton, Wisconsin while enjoying the sounds of spring migration. iPhone panorama taken March 29, 2019.
I’ve found a small dragon in the woodshed.
Think it must have come from deep inside a forest
because it’s damp and green and leaves
are still reflecting in its eyes.
I fed it on many things, tried grass,
the roots of stars, hazel-nut and dandelion,
but it stared up at me as if to say, I need
foods you can’t provide.
It made a nest among the coal,
not unlike a bird’s but larger,
it is out of place here,
and is quite silent.
If you believed in it I would come
hurrying to your house to let you share my wonder,
but I want instead to see
if you yourself will pass this way.
112 pictures in 2012 #66: Religion (in the middle is the spire of St Margaret Pattens church built by Christopher Wren in 1687)
Thank you Mr Tom Patten!
Buckland in Gloucester is first mentioned in a charter dated 709 which recorded that the Manor of Bokland was given by Kynred, King of the Mercians to St Peter's Abbey, Gloucester. The Abbey continued to hold it until the Dissolution of the Monasteries some 800 years later.
A church was built here in the 13th century at a time when the Early English style of building was changing to the Decorated style of Gothic architecture. The church, like many others in the Cotswolds is dedicated to St Michael.
In the church's long history, there have been three major restorations. Firstly, at the end of the 15th century when the clerestory was added and the original steep nave roof was replaced by a higher, flatter roof. The second was from 1877 to 1885 and the third from 1982 to 1985. Happily the church was spared the alterations which so many other churches suffered during the 19th century, although sadly the highly coloured medieval frescoes were removed in 1877 at the instruction of the consulting architect, Mr F.S. Waller.
ninth-plate ambrotype, circa 1857
unidentified photographer
In 1855/1856, Mary Ann Brown Patten became the first woman to successfully sail a clipper chip around Cape Horn through the notoriously treacherous waters at the tip of South America. Schooled in navigation by her husband, Joshua Patten, the captain of “Neptune’s Car”, she took charge of that San Francisco-bound vessel after her husband was incapacitated by tuberculosis and the ship’s first mate was imprisoned for insubordination. Only nineteen years old and pregnant at the time, Patten brought the ship safely to its destination, earning international renown for her heroism under extraordinary circumstances. This portrait was made following that voyage. The ship's insurers, recognizing that Mary Patten had saved them thousands of dollars, rewarded her with $1000 in February of 1857. In her letter responding to the gift, she said that she performed "only the plain duty of a wife." Captain Patten died in July of 1857, less than two years after his last voyage. Mary Ann Brown Patten was given $1399 from a fund for her relief set up by the Boston Courier. She apparently died a only few years later on March 18, 1861. Check here for a short video clip telling of her sailing around The Horn.
The Guild Church of St Margaret of Pattens: The dedication is to Margaret of Antioch
Situated in Rood Lane, Eastcheap, London, EC3M 1HS. St Margaret’s is Church of England and was first recorded in 1067, a year after ‘The Battle of Hastings’. Originally built in wood, it was rebuilt in stone at some undetermined date. It was neglected and fell into disrepair and was demolished in 1530 but by 1538 it was rebuilt.
Unfortunately it was destroyed in the great fire of London in 1666 and it wasn’t until 1687 that it was rebuilt but it was worth the wait as Sir Christopher Wren was the architect. The exterior is notable for the spire which is 200ft tall. It was Wren’s third highest and the only one that he designed in the ‘Medieval Style’. The interior of the church is a basic rectangle but it does have some very unusual furnishings. It possesses the only canopied pews in London, they are at the back of the church close to the entrance. These were intended for the churchwardens. There is also a punishment box carved with a head of the devil, this is where wrongdoers would sit during the mass.
It was one of the few churches that escaped damage in ‘The Blitz’. In 1954 it ceased to be a parish church and became one of the Guild church. There is no Sunday service but there are regular week-day services.
The name ‘patten’ derives from wooden-soled overshoes that were worn to prevent people from ruining their own footware because of the poor state of the roads (mud, horse manure and other excrement tipped from the building, there was no sewerage facilities as we have today). There is a small museum inside the church, with display cases showing the history and products of the Pattenmakers and the Basketmakers. Since the 15th century the Worshipful Company of Pattenmakers have been associated with St. Margaret’s and there are panels on the south wall that show past masters. The Worshipful Company of Basketmakers also have close links to St. Margaret’s and there are similar panels to commemorate their past masters.
Finally, in one corner of the church is a closed cabinet where there is written ‘For God, King & Country’ and there is also a dedication on the bottom of the cabinet. Open the doors and inside are memorial plaques to the submariners of a ‘K4’ class submarine that went down in a tragic accident of the coast of Fife in September 1918 with the loss of 105 men. There are also 12 other WWI casualties not connected to the sinking that also appear on the memorial. One of my photographs shows the whole story.
This is the second of three postings.
Sophia Patten's Greek family & friends
For an editorial profile story in the Winter 2007 issue of AZ Teen Magazine
Phoenix Arizona AZ editorial Photographer
Strobist info:
(2) Nikon SB800s in shoot through umbrellas to light the foreground (white ripstop nylon to reduce the light hitting the table area)
(1) Nikon SB-26 in the doorway
(1) Nikon SB800 lighting the kitchen area
(1) Nikon SB-26 on the floor, lighting the right corner
(1) Vivitar 285 lighting the left corner of the room
(1) Dyna-lite 2000 ws pack outside the room to create the pattern of window light on the back wall (ok that part is not strobist, cause it's a big pack, but the rest of the shot is lit with batter powered strobes). The house faces North, so there no chance that light will pour into this room like this. Translucent disc in front of window to soften the light on Mom.
Learn how to light at Strobist.
The semester started today (my last semester evveeeeerrrr!) and I was in class and on campus from 9am-8pm. This is how every Monday/Wednesday are going to be for me until May. ughh.
LOST also started tonight - a sweet, extra long, double feature. So due to lack of time, and lack of any better idea, I pulled my camera out in the middle of the episode.
Scott kind of hates all the pictures I take of him, but I think he knows how happy it makes me...so he allows it anyway.
I've gotta come up with a game plan on these days, a better way of keeping up with this 365 project while juggling with school and work. Something.