You would think with the winter months upon us, I’d be home in front of the computer pounding away at posts for this blog. Well, this winter in New York has been so mild, so lovely, that I’ve been out and about for much of it.

One of my outings took me to Old Bethpage Village Restoration, a historically rich location that makes me think of Colonial Williamsburg and how it might have looked in its earliest planning stages.

Known as the Jewel of Long Island, Old Bethpage Village Restoration (OBVR) has been severely underfunded and budget cuts have cost it the “living history” part of its description since almost all of the full time costumed interpreters have been laid off. Fortunately, new management seems interested in revitalizing the Village and our hope is for a rebirth.

Meanwhile, as the Village stands cold and closed for the winter months, a skeleton crew – of sorts – is charged with maintaining and cleaning the buildings. Each house in the Village was brought there from another part of Long Island, each teaming with its own history. Some of the furnishings in the homes belong to the family that once lived there, other furnishings are mismatched.

All of this makes OBVR a prime location for paranormal activity. Because of that, one of the updates I would love to see in this village is a regularly scheduled lantern ghost tour. When I am in the Village, there is no question in my mind – Here, there be ghosts.

On a particularly sunny cleaning day, we brought our cameras and digital recorders. There wasn’t much activity that day, mostly personal experiences of cold spots, unease, dizziness and headaches. In each home, however, we captured whispered voices, barely audible. I will share four that seem the most vivid and urge you to use headphones for a fuller experience.

If I sound less than disappointed about our soft bits of audio evidence, it’s because of the phenomenal visual evidence we captured. At first, I was excited, then I became frightened. I don’t know what or who we captured in the pictures I’ll be sharing here, but as I considered it, I realized, we’ve never felt threatened in those homes so our perception of what ‘good’ and ‘bad’ looks like is just that, perception. We don’t know what’s on the other side and so we shouldn’t make judgments – can’t judge a book by its cover, right?

A word about the recordings on this page. For some reason, the player will play all of the recordings in succession. Just press pause to prevent if from continuing until you’re ready to hear the next track.

And so without further ado…

In the Schenck House – a home built in 1730 by a Dutch Farmer – We are standing at the front door having just walked into the house and locked the door behind us. I just noted the size of the floorboards and beams – HUGE gorgeous wood – when a light sing-songy female voice comes from the space immediately around us. We know it’s not us because it happens as I’m talking about the beautiful wood and my daughter laughs. We didn’t even hear this voice at the time.

SCHENCK HOUSE 2:06 Ghost Child – SCHENCK FOYER

The Williams House – build by a master house carpenter, Henry Williams, in 1820 – is known for its hautings and though presumption is its residual not intelligent, some of the otherworldly ‘comments’ tell us the opposite. Take for example this bit of recording while we stood in the parlour –

Listen hard for the whispers, there are two. The first is at 7 seconds, about two beats after I say, “You have a beautiful house”, the whisper sounds like, “What?” The second, at 11 seconds, sounds like a slow, drawn out, “They’re here.”.

WILLIAMS HOUSE – Parlour Ghost Hunting – WILLIAMS HOUSE PARLOUR

Eventually, we set the recorder in the family room and went about our work in the other rooms and upstairs. While the recorder remained alone on a table by a bible and spectacles, there were separate comments made – we, remember were in the other rooms or on the second floor and our voices, when heard, are distinctly ours.

Listen at 14 seconds. We hear “go”. At .21, .25 and .27, we hear, “That’s you.” “Go.” “Take them.”

WILLIAMS HOUSE BIBLE Ghost Voices – WILLIAMS HOUSE by Bible

A few minutes of silence pass and then at 4 seconds is a frustrated – almost weary and bored of our presence – “Go home.” Just before the whisper, you’ll hear silence then us talking in the background.

WILLIAMS HOUSE “GO HOME” GHOST HUNTING – WILLIAMS HOUSE – GO HOME

And finally, at the Noon Inn, built in 1835, we climbed up to the attic. Well, I didn’t. I stood on the steps to the attic and had to come back down. I felt heavy, the air thick. Cold. My daughter followed me down and our friend remained on the stairs, feeling uncomfortable and asking me to take her picture at that moment because something did not feel right to her. The first picture you’ll see is the photo I took at that moment and cannot explain. Look to her left. Right there in black on the stairs.

BLACK MASS NOON INN

This next photo is one I took once we were all down the stairs. I cannot explain this one either. Look toward the top right. Zoom in if you dare.

FACE NOON INN

This last picture is one I took almost immediately after the one above.

NO FACE NOON INN

I’ll leave it to you to decide what these images mean. Your comments, opinions and/or personal experiences are VERY welcomed.

There is much contention over the proper way to greet others and wish them well during this holiday season. For ages, a majority of Americans have wished each other a Merry Christmas. No thought was given to the receiver’s religious affiliation or lack thereof. It was understood that a Christian holiday was celebrated by all – or at least most – of those around us.

America is the land of immigrants. People of all nationalities, all religious backgrounds, all beliefs and non-belief. To assume our neighbors are as we, is to ignore the flux of time.

For some, I have no doubt, a greeting of “Happy Holidays” is meant to minimize the religious impact of “Merry Christmas”. I find that sad. There is no room for politicizing if one truly wishes another well. I do believe, however, that the intent to insult is rare so if someone wished me a happy holiday, I would simply respond in kind.

Which brings me to my salutation habits for the holidays. If I am with people whom I know celebrate Christmas, I am quick to cheerfully wish them a Merry Christmas. And when in the presence of people who celebrate Chanukah? Happy Chanukah, of course. To wish either something else would be the same as wishing a person a Happy Thanksgiving when it’s their birthday. It would not apply.

However, if I don’t know the person I am with – like just last week when I bought stamps at the post office – but I want to wish them happiness in whatever they celebrate, I will happily say, “Have a wonderful holiday!” or “Happy Holidays!” Most often, the response is just as cheerful and inclusive.

I live in a highly diverse area. I love the various cultures – the cuisines, the attire, the traditions and languages. The more aware we are of those around us, the more accepting we are and the happier our communities. Why exclude others – unintentionally or otherwise – by spreading joy of one holiday and not another?

From the majority of well-wishers, the expression “Happy Holidays” is not an insult but rather the opposite. It is saying I value you as an individual and do not judge you based on your beliefs when I wish you the best in the days ahead. So please, try not to be upset when people around you wish you happiness. More often than not, it is with the sincerest intent.

How do you wish others happiness this time of year? How do you respond to specific or general wishes for your happiness? Are you offended? Do you correct those who would wish you a Merry Christmas if that is not the holiday you celebrate? Or…?

Whatever the case, you now know my intent so I wish happy holidays to all of you. Whoever you are – whatever your belief – peace, love, comfort and health are my heartfelt wishes for you.

On this Thanksgiving Eve in the USA, I hope we can all take a moment to remember what others have done for us without asking and without realizing how powerful and selfless their actions have been. I hope we remember to thank the bravery of those who have stood up for that which we hold dear and I hope, do hope, we can somehow come together, united in voice and vision for a future without arrogance, abuse of power or disregard for others.

The quest for freedom shall never be squashed. Hope and determination has coursed through our veins from the beginning of time, and it will until the end. Bullets and pepper spray be damned.

The other morning, at about 8, my little family and I decided to take a walk along the Greenway. It’s so beautiful there and as we strolled, I was reminded of a post I wrote a few years ago. This may be cheating but I’m going to do it anyway since the Greenway is so wondrous and full of history. My original post was called, “History Underfoot – the Vanderbilt Motor Parkway”. I think the title says it all.

Vanderbilt Motor Parkway -

There are bits of history everywhere. Too bad we’re often too busy to notice it, or too uninformed to be aware of it – even if it’s right under our feet.

There’s a bike path in Queens near Cunningham Park – the NYC Greenway. It’s a hidden gem not just for biking but for walking, if you’re so inclined. It’s approximately 3 miles and walking/biking from one end to the other will certainly give you a workout. I know because we walked this path yesterday morning – from one end to the other and back. So peaceful there in the woods… actually, there are no woods. Just clumps of trees on either side of the path, with homes beyond them. Continue along and beyond the trees there is the highway – Northern Parkway to be precise. So here you are strolling in what feels like a surround of nature when in reality you’re smack in the heart of the city. Ah, but the woodsy scent, bird songs and rustle of leaves as chipmunks and squirrels dart here and there make you forget about what’s going on beyond the trail.

The trail was not always so quiet. In fact, it was not always a trail but a high-speed motorway designed, financed and built in 1908 by and for one of the Vanderbilts. William K., to be exact.

William K. Vanderbilt was a car racing enthusiast who built this highway with the intention of using it to hold the Vanderbilt Cup. The road was graded just so for racing, the curves meant to challenge. This private motorway was the first in the nation to use bridges and overpasses to avoid intersections.  

(photo courtesy of R. Berliner, III)

Two years of racing on this road, however, proved disappointing. Some spectators were injured and others killed during a race in 1910, and New York decided to disallow racing on anything but raceways – and that included private roads. No longer able to hold the Vanderbilt Cup, and with a need for help to pay back taxes, William K opened the road to the public - amazing that a Vanderbilt would need help paying for anything, yes? Twelve toll ‘lodges’ were built to collect a total of $2.00 in tolls. I guess you could say the road was opened to the privileged, not necessarily the public at large. These socialites traveled the road at high speed – 60mph! – in order to reach the gold-coast party circuit, then travel it back after the parties wound down. Clear sailing from Queens to Suffolk County, New York. Forty-five miles of scenic road.

Toll collectors lived in the toll lodges. Reminds me of the guards on the Great Wall of China who lived right there on the wall – their lives spent patrolling and nothing more.

(photo courtesy of H. Kroplick/R. Berliner, III)

With the birth of Prohibition in the 1920′s, the road had new purpose. Rum-running. As a private road, there were no obstacles to this process, and rum-runners certainly had the funds for tolls. Ah, but William K. didn’t approve and so brought in state police to… well… police the road and run the rum-runners out.

Eventually, the road became obsolete. The need for high speed ways to get from here to there was met by the city and state. Northern Parkway was built – a FREE highway with bends and curves more conducive to leisurely driving than racing.  Motor Parkway was eventually given to New York in exchange for back taxes still owed. Fourteen miles of the original road have been modified for today’s use, but  sadly, other areas of it have become obscured by time, weeds, neglect and ignorance.

The three mile stretch that still exists in Queens contains some of the original cement guardrails – 100 years old.

(Old and new together – Early 1900′s cement guard rails in foreground, with early 2000′s metal guard in back.)

They show age, they show neglect. They don’t come close to showing us the grandeur they once proudly guarded. And yet, they remind us to ask questions and seek answers of a past long forgotten, and truthfully, can we ask more than that?

I live within the NYC limits so you can guess at the amount of noise I hear every day. All day. And night.

The police precinct is a few blocks away and the firehouse just past that. Three hospitals serve my area, too, so ambulance response time is quick. We have two airports nearby and a train practically next door. Add city buses, cars honking at the traffic light on one corner and stop sign at the other, and it’s a wonder people in my neighborhood stay sane.

However, think about that scene in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil where John is spending his first night in a beautiful and balmy Georgia. The windows are open. The curtains are blowing. But for John to sleep, he needs noise. A city boy through and through, he turns on a tape recording he’s made of NYC streets and the sounds become his lullaby.

So, I wonder, if I were to leave the city, and land in the center of a quiet oasis, would I be content or uneasy? Would I feel peaceful or paranoid?

I think it would be nice at first. Free space to breathe, stretch, lounge and soak up the quiet. But I also think the newness of that would wear off quickly, and I’d wind up looking over my shoulder way more often than I do here at home.

What about you? Are you where you are because you want to be or because it’s where you’ve landed? And, given the choice, would you stay in the quiet or hectic area you call home, or can you see yourself comfortable in the opposite atmosphere?

Yesterday, as trick-or-treaters came to my door, I noticed how the youngest eagerly held up their goody sacks then cautiously said, “Trick-or-treat.” Almost all of them said, “Thank you.” Some even wished me a happy Halloween or a good night. Most took one bag of chips from the huge bowl, but some hesitated, unsure what to do because I’d stuffed fake – scary – rats in among the assorted treats.

Some… grabbed as many as they could with nary a please or thank you.

I’m exaggerating.

ONE trick-or-treater did this and he was at least 15 years old – perhaps older. I couldn’t tell. His “costume” was a bandana over his nose and mouth, like a bandit.

It’s sad, really. Not that he took FOUR bags of chips in his huge greedy hands, but that at his age, an age when he’s close to adulthood, he’s that greedy, that arrogant, that ‘entitled’.

It’s also sad that with all the adorable and well-behaved kids that came around yesterday for treats, the one who behaved less than stellar is the one who stands out – like the class clown, the class screw-up, the class diva.

Why we’re wired to note and record bad behavior is a puzzle to me. Shouldn’t we dismiss those who act poorly and give thought and time to those who treat us well? Who are polite and considerate? Why is it, I wonder, that acting out – being the noisy wheel that gets the oil – is the attention whore, while good behavior, which should be commended and shown as appreciated, is shrugged off because it’s how it ‘should be’?

You car may run great – for example – but instead of taking it in for regular maintenance, we wait until it acts up. Bad behavior gets the attention. Good behavior is ignored. Maybe we need to show more appreciation for the good things people do. Maybe then, we’ll see more of it – even if there’s no more of it than before.

Mornings like this, dark, damp and chilly, remind me of nudging my daughter awake, telling her not to dawdle but to get ready for school. She’d stumble, bleary-eyed out of bed, hair a knotted mess, shoulders slumped, breathing still slow as if she could fall back to sleep right there on the way to breakfast.

Somehow, we always managed to get her to school on time – JUST in time, perhaps, but in time.

This morning, as I slowly rose and stretched, I had to smile. The sun had not yet risen. The sound of tires on wet road and the feel of a slow but constant cool breeze through the open window made me grateful that time of waking my daughter, pushing her to get up from a warm bed, was long gone.

As homeschoolers, we’re fortunate to be able to set our own schedule. I worried when we first started the process that we’d fall behind. Become lazy. I overcompensated for that possibility by continuing the regular school routine. I actually used a chalk board and timer so we’d cover lessons in the ‘proper’ amount of time. I was a stickler for the rigid learning schedule on which we’d turned our backs.

I did that because I was unsure of myself. Other homeschooling moms told me to relax. To allow

Photo courtesy of Rancho Sahuarita Homeschool Club

my daughter the opportunity to set her own pace. I thought, judging from the way she stumbled from bed each morning, letting her set the pace was not the best idea.

I was wrong.

Children are amazing creatures. Eager to learn – living to learn – and with a drive we as adults cannot fully understand.

It took several months, but I finally backed off, giving my daughter room to explore. To my amazement, she did exactly what I was told other homeschooled children do. She began studying on her own. Setting her own pace, opening her textbooks and getting assignments done without my help interference.

Homeschoolers are often looked at with disdain. I understand to some degree since we are rule breakers. We’ve stepped out of the conventional routine and now march to our own beat. Since the beat is different for everyone, our routines appear to be without order. Perhaps they are. But then each child’s learning style is different and so, the unsteady, freestyle rhythm of our lives gives us the opportunity to learn and grow at an exciting and quite interesting pace.

My daughter chose to give up more than half her summer this past year in order to complete two high school grades in one year. I watched her rise later in the morning than she would for public school, but also witnessed her diligence, her accomplishments, her pride in herself and her work. I would have missed all of that if she’d been in school. And, perhaps, it never would have happened. She grew to understand what she needs and enjoys in a learning process but has also modified those wants and needs to fit what’s required.

I’ve talked about homeschooling before and will no doubt talk about it again. It is not for everyone. For us, for our family life, it was the perfect option and in coming weeks, I’ll give you a hint of some fabulous experiences homeschooling has provided.

I know it was a matter of public safety, and I can’t say I have an answer to how officials could have or should have handled the situation, but the shooting death of 49 wild animals brings me to tears.

I’m speaking of the situation in Ohio yesterday, where the owner of a 73-acre exotic animal farm opened all of the animal enclosures as well as the front gates, setting his collection of animals free, before shooting himself in the head. So what happened to these confused animals who suddenly wound up in places they were not permitted? They became the enemy. The wild beasts officials felt forced to slaughter.

It’s said the animals had remained close together, near the open gates of the farm. They were not on the attack.

But in fairness, who could know this for sure?

Even Jack Hanna – an animal lover I greatly admire – said officials had no choice. Night had fallen and the public safety concerns of the day had grown deeper.

I’m struggling with this. To see the bodies of these magnificent animals strewn upon the ground… it’s simply heartbreaking.

Why this man was allowed to own these animals is what baffles me. He had a criminal record. He’d been convicted of animal abuse for neglecting cattle on a hill he could not climb. He did not call for anyone to help and so they starved to death. Just this summer, he served time for weapons violations – 100 guns were found on his property. Add to that, the Ohio legislature’s failure to renew a law stating that people convicted of animal abuse or neglect could not own animals, and you have the makings for an avoidable disaster.

And that’s exactly what yesterday’s massacre was. An avoidable disaster.

Here is a more accurate take on that issue from MSN news -

An executive order issued by former Gov. Ted Strickland just days before he left office in January prohibited people convicted of animal cruelty from owning exotic animals. The administration of current Gov. John Kasich allowed the order to expire in April, noting concerns about its enforceability and its impact on small businesses.

There is nothing we can do about the heartbreaking events of yesterday. Those animals had no idea what was going on and died because some lowlife who ‘owned’ them set them “free”, knowing perfectly well what their fate would be.

However, there may be something we can do about other exotic animals. We can take a stand, as the Humane Society of the United States is urging, and see to it that laws about exotic animal ownership are changed and enforced – for the benefit of the public as well as the animals. You can do that by contacting the governor of Ohio or by sending your thoughts to the Ohio Department of Natural Resources via the link below. I’ve sent my thoughts. I can only hope you will send yours as well.

Contact the Department of Natural Resources

Ask the Ohio DNR to immediately issue emergency regulations restricting the sale and possession of dangerous wild animals.

Whatever we do, we cannot allow something like this happen again.

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EDITED – SATURDAY – OCTOBER 22, 2011

The Humane Society has just released a statement regarding Ohio Governor John Kasich’s lackluster response to the Exotic Animal Horror that occurred in his state because his administration failed to renew a law protecting the public and animals alike. The Humane Society’s statement, explanation and plea for help is here – Ohio’s Response Lacks Teeth.

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For the past few weeks, I’ve shared ghost stories with you – and how fitting that is, since Halloween is just around the corner.

I’ve shared ghostly images and voices. And now I’m going to share a video. This is the one I’ve promised from the beginning. And it’s one I still cannot fully explain.

If you haven’t seen my other Ghosts of Gettysburg Posts, please visit them first, then come back here for the grand finale. Here are the links to the other posts – Part One, Part Two, and Part Three.

At this point during our visit to Gettysburg, we were preparing to check out of our hotel. It was the morning of Thursday, September 1st and we not only had a rough night – you might recall the “battle” experience I described in my last post – but we also rose extra early so we could get to Reynolds Woods before sunrise. We did that and it was now 9:30 or so in the morning. Time to ‘read’ our room.

Joanne – the brave one among us – set her digital recorder and K-II meter on the dresser while my daughter and I did some last minute packing and other diversionary tactics like that. Yes. We were unsure whether to tempt the fates.

A K-II meter, remember, is an EMF or electromagnetic field detector. It is said that K-II Meters or EMF Detectors, which are normally used to locate areas of high electrical or magnetic interference, can also detect paranormal activity. Sometimes, however, what appears as paranormal activity is simply electricity in the air. In our case, the K-II did not start bleeping or blinking until Joanne began asking questions like, “Is anyone here with us?” “What is your name?”

Unable to ignore the responses she was getting, my daughter and I joined in. She turned on her laser grid – a “web” of bluish-purple lights – and shined it on the wall near the door and K-II meter. The reason for that is if something were to move between my daughter and the wall, we would know because it would block out the lights. I, meanwhile, grabbed my camera and started to film the experience. After a few minutes, I set my camera – still recording – on the dresser, angled toward the door.

Rather than describe the room and our positions within it, here’s a graphic – and don’t laugh at it. I can’t draw, so for me, this is a masterpiece.

You can see none of us – even when Joanne switched seats from the edge of the bed to a chair – are in the way of the laser grid. You can also see from our positions, that only my camera was angled toward the door. Nothing else. Once I set my camera down, I had nothing in my hands. My daughter had only the purple laser grid and Joanne had only her video camera.

And yet in this first segment, there is an unexplained red orb floating around near the door and foot of the bed closest to the window.

Segment 1 – Floating Red Orbs

We have NO idea what that orb is, and we did not see it at the time. Of course, now it’s easy for those who were not there to shrug off, insisting one of us must have had a red laser pen. But we did not. And we did not walk between the purple laser grid and the wall, though in this next segment, you can clearly see shadows of not just one person, but two. Going and then coming. And you can also see the room grow light and then dark. There were no dimmer switches in the room, and the curtains were drawn. All we can surmise is that this entity somehow blocked my camera lens, and the camera – set to automatic – tried to compensate.

Segment 2 – Shadows and light

We did not see the details of this as it happened. All we saw was something block out the purple lights – no shadows. After the second flicker of those lights, I was sure something in the room next door – the fitness room – was somehow affecting our K-II and our lights. So, I left the room, only to come back seconds later because the door to the fitness room was locked. No one was in there.

In this next segment – a replay of the end of Segment 2 – I pass the foot of the bed. Note my shadow on the door and wall. It’s nearly the same as the prior shadows… only no one passed in front of the bed before me. No one we could see, that is.

Segment 3 – My shadow

Toward the end, the K-II went quiet. As you watch this segment, note how the K-II responds to Joanne’s questions.

Segment 4 – Settling Down

Here is the full ten-minute video, uncut, so you can see the progression of what happened. Throughout, Joanne is trying to communicate, and when she says, “back away” or “come closer”, she means for the spirit to move to or from the K-II meter that’s blinking on the dresser. Theory is, the closer an entity is to the meter, the faster and louder it would be. If this entity moved away, or disappeared, the lights would go out and the chirping would stop… as you saw toward the end as things settled down.

I’ve loved sharing our Ghosts of Gettysburg experiences with you and hope you’ve enjoyed reading about them. Hopefully, if you didn’t see certain images in the pictures I posted, or hear certain voices in the recordings, you’ll come back to look and listen again.

This was an exciting adventure. One we will not soon forget. One that has given us new respect for that which we otherwise might never have seen.

If this is your first visit to my Ghosts of Gettysburg series, you might want to check out the first two parts before reading through this one. Part one is here – Ghosts of Gettysburg-Part One, and Part two is here – Ghosts of Gettysburg-Part Two.

The end of our trip to Gettysburg was rich with paranormal activity. We captured more and more images in photographs, heard more unexplained voices and sounds from our digital recordings, and sensed the presence of ‘others’ with greater intensity than in our first couple of days there.

In fact, our last evening there gave us the most vivid personal experience of the entire trip.

We’d arrived back at our hotel around 10:30pm and had hours of recordings to listen to. Understand, we didn’t choose just any hotel. No. We decided to stay at a hotel that sits squarely on the battlefield. Prior to this evening, we each felt as if something wasn’t quite right within the room but we all agreed not to ‘test’ the room until we were packed and ready to leave.

We are only so brave.

But this night forced a test of the room regardless. Now, if someone were to tell me what I’m about to tell you, I probably wouldn’t believe them. All I can say is that what I’m about explain did happen. We experienced it – audibly, physically and emotionally.

As we sat there listening and comparing ‘evidence’ from the day, I kept hearing sounds – like men yelling. Like hundreds of feet stomping. Like cars backfiring – or musket shot and cannon fire. I dismissed what I heard because we’d had a highly-charged day and because I have tinnitus and thought the sounds in my head, mixed with the white noise of the A/C, had sent my imagination soaring. Besides, there were three of us there, and I seemed to be the only person noticing these strange sounds.

I didn’t know my daughter and my friend were hearing the same thing but not reacting for the same basic reasons I did not react.

It wasn’t until exactly 1:17AM, when my friend was describing a sound she captured on audio, that I distinctly heard distant drumming. It could not be denied, so I said it aloud at the exact time my daughter said the same thing. Each of us, now relieved we were not alone with odd sounds in our heads, explained what we’d heard, were still hearing, and for how long. It seemed each of us heard what can only be described as a battle raging beyond our hotel door.

We sat silently for about twenty minutes, just listening, feeling intense grief, sadness and confusion. It was a powerful physical experience. A weight pressing in on us, making it hard to breathe, to think past the mayhem we ‘knew’ was going on yards away in space, more than a century away in time.

Stiltedly, we talked about peeking through the window. About opening the door to look outside. About taking a step closer to “that side of the room”, to prove what we were feeling was real, to capture some of it on film, on recorder.

We did none of that. We were too absorbed by the moment. Too overcome with a sense of dread. A sense that doing anything other than wait it out would propel us through some unseen barrier into a time and place from which we might never fully escape.

Melodramatic? Maybe. But it is that depth of concern and compassion, that sense of desperation and fear of the known and unknown, that we felt down to our bones.

Thing is, after those minutes sitting there as distant observers, suddenly everything went still. The ‘battle’ had ended and we were left feeling the emptiness of it all.

We had trouble sleeping that night and, in fact, had turned on the television for the first time since we’d checked into the room. Anything to shake the grip of the experience. I believe we finally went lights-out around 2:30-3:00 in the morning.

We would later learn that on the morning of July 1^st – this was September 1^st – at one in the morning – the same time we experienced this event – a battle raged on the part of the battlefield where our hotel now sat. We were also told that, in the past, other guests of the hotel had mentioned hearing drums at 1AM.

This validated our experience for us but also explained a small something – what we experienced had to be what’s called a “residual” haunting. A residual haunting occurs when an event – like a bloody and vicious battle – is so traumatic, so emotionally charged, that it leaves an impression on time so powerful, it cannot ‘escape’ but rather replays itself continuously.

You know what happens to your vision when you read a block of white text on a black background? You “see” those white words for several minutes afterward – no matter how much you try to blink them away. If you consider how miniscule the impression of white on black is compared to war and death, then you can imagine how the Battle of Gettysburg would leave a powerful imprint on time.

As if the residual battle experience were not enough to convince us more was going on than we could ever comprehend, we had another experience the next morning. In our room.

And we captured it on a video that I will post next time, in my conclusion of the Ghosts of Gettsyburg.

I know, I know. I said I’d share it this time but I truly believe it deserves its own post.

Here are some more photos and recordings to hold you over until next time…

As a photographer’s wife and a person who’s been involved with photography for a good number of years, I’m not convinced this first picture shows anything more than poor handling – mine – of a camera during a long exposure. However, I’ve seen other photos and heard other explanations for this light trail that make paranormal activity seem plausible. I’ll let you decide:

Light flare or Spirit Light?

In this next series of photos, you’ll see one that is bizarre, even to me. It was sunrise – 6:20AM to be exact – and we were in Reynold’s Woods. I decided to take a few shots, panning the area slightly before each so the final effect, if all three were laid out in a line, would be a panorama of the area. So – three shots. One after the other. Nothing changed except the section of woods where I pointed the camera. Each exposure is ¼ of a second and though not one is perfectly sharp, you’ll notice a stark, unexplainable difference between the first and last shot compared to the middle shot. They’re here in the order they were taken:

I’m still confused by orbs, but for those of you who “get” them, here are some more photos:

Soldiers National Cemetery -

Reynolds Woods –

now you see ‘em, now you don’t. Actually, it’s the opposite in these two photos – which were taken immediately after one another –

And now, since I did promise a video, I’ll showing one I created for our tour of the Willis House. There were so many whispers during this recording that I thought a video of it, with the sections indicated, would be easier and more enjoyable to hear. Still, you might need headphones for the best result.

In case you are not a regular follower of this blog, I ask you to view my original post about the Ghosts of Gettysburg, as that will anchor you into my tale. The experiences I had with my daughter and a friend were as real as the experience I have now as I type. Of course, some of our experiences were solely personal and could not be documented. Other experiences were captured on film and digital recorders and I included some of that “evidence” in my last post, which you can find here – Ghosts of Gettysburg.

If you’ve already read that first post, you should know a lot has happened since then. I’ve had the chance to listen to more recordings and view more images and have discovered more images – some in the photos I’ve already posted. Debunking some evidence has been easy in some cases and rather difficult in others. I have some recordings that sound intriguing but after hearing the same moment from my daughter’s or friend’s recordings, we realize there is nothing paranormal about them. Despite the evidence we feel is indisputable, disregarding or disproving any of it is a disappointment. Alas… as is the saying, “When in doubt, toss it out.”

For the evidence we believe to be accurate – we can start by having a look at the photo below. It’s from an early morning trek into Reynolds Woods. Originally, I saw two ghostly images in it – one on the path walking toward me, the other crouched in the brush toward the front left. It wasn’t until I looked at the image with a fresh eye, that I saw yet a third ghostly image in the same photo.

Here is the original picture with the two images indicated:

Now here is that same image with the discovery of the third ghostly apparition:

In my last post, I mentioned our experiences with temperature fluctuations in The Wheatfields. Well, I’d left my camera in the car so I don’t have photos from there but I do have an interesting recording. I didn’t hear voices while I was there, but on playback, I heard what sounds like mumbling as we speak and then through the silence, I hear something sad – a man whispering, possibly praying… using the words: “Help me.” “Take me.” “Hey.” Each plea is made a few seconds apart with “Help me” at :18, “Take me” at :21 and “Hey” at :26.

Can you hear them? (For a fuller experience, you might want to use headphones)

Ghosts of Gettysburg – Voices in the Wheatfields

To move on with our experiences… after all of the experiences we had throughout the audio/auto tour of the battlefield, which I described in my last post, we went back to an area we had been the night before during a commercial ghost tour. This was a small field behind the Jennie Wade House. Jennie Wade was the only civilian killed during the Battle of Gettysburg. She was baking bread for the troops when a stray bullet ripped through the door and pierced her heart. She died instantly. There are ghost tales about her and her home, but I’ll skip all of that and tell you about the field behind the house since that is where we had several personal – and intense – experiences.

According to our enthusiastic, intriguing and lovely tour guide, Kendra Belgrad, some Confederate soldiers who were outnumbered in this spot by Union soldiers, chose to play dead rather than fight. On retreat, the Confederate soldiers who did fight ‘captured’ these men, called them cowards and said they would never have a hero’s burial but would instead remain in the spot where they failed to fight. The fighting Confederate soldiers then murdered the ‘cowardly’ soldiers and buried them in that field. It is said ghostly images are constantly captured in that field. There are images of orbs, of heads peeking around trees and of men leaning against the trees and holding their muskets.

These are the images we hoped to capture the evening after our auto tour. And we did capture them. Almost immediately.

Once on the field, I turned my camera toward the tree where a lot of activity has been reported. I took a few shots and noticed a red ‘glare’ in them. I’m a photographer’s wife, so I considered the first flare to be simple reflection of tail lights from cars parked in the lot beyond the tree. However, in each photo, the red glare was in a different position. First next to the tree “peeking”, then just around the tree’s edge and then more toward the center of the tree. I looked at each digital image as I shot it and on the fourth or fifth shot, I was stunned. So stunned, that when I glanced at my daughter, the expression on my face scared her into insisting I not tell her what I saw.

What I saw in that startling image was what looked like a soldier who had just been shot and had slammed back against the tree. His hat looks like it tipped down over his face as he slumped back and the red glare is on his shoulder – perhaps where the bullet hit.

Admittedly, the image is dark. I did not use flash and the area was back-lit by the hotel and streetlights. Still… if you look closely, you should be able to see what I saw here:

Here is the shot immediately after the one above – notice the soldier image is no longer there:

Perhaps they’ll both be easier to see here:
He’s here –

but not here (in the very next shot):

A few minutes later, in a different spot of the field, my daughter’s K2 readings went wild. K2 meters register high magnetic fields. The meter flickered throughout this experience but registered noticeably seconds before our friend said she felt as if someone was standing right between her and my daughter. I fired off three shots and the first one shows a soldier standing precisely where she said she felt a presence. The other two shots show nothing.

I’m pretty sure this one will be very easy to see:

In case you can’t see him, here he is:

Of course, we captured a lot of orbs and other questionable images during our time there. I don’t know enough about orbs to say whether what we caught were spirits, bugs or some other natural phenomena. But… here are a couple of our orb photos and a couple of possible ghost images:

Odd mist in only one of four images:

Orbs:

Outline of man in mirror (Jennie Wade House):

Here’s that last one cropped and indicated:

Ghost? Nah. Just me sitting on a hero’s lap.

Don’t think this is it. We captured more voices and suspicious – or should I say “curious” – images and sounds. Here we were walking along Cemetery Ridge when we came upon some black walnuts lying on the ground. As we discussed them, there’s a long labored sigh then a very clear – stern – male voice seems to say, “Open!”. Not sure why he said that but, from his tone, he expected his order to be obeyed. Listen here…the ‘sigh’ happens as we’re walking at :08 and the ‘Open!” is at :15 ,right after I ask, “Are they edible?”

Ghosts of Gettysburg – Voices – Sigh and “OPEN” at Cemetery Ridge

In my last post, I mentioned how each of us felt uncomfortable at Culp’s Hill. I posted audio of what sounds like the hammer of a rifle/musket and a voice saying, “Whisper!” as my daughter speaks. There are a lot more sounds – some clearly voices – from that spot and I’ll post another one here. It happened as we walked along an unsteady incline on our way further into the woods. Listen as my friend says she hears something and feels like she’s being watched. You’ll first hear my, “Ooo!” as I slip on an wobbly rock, then you’ll hear the drawn out whispered voice talking over us at :04 -

Gettysburg Ghost Voices – Culp’s Hill – GET HOME

What do you think it says? We hear the words, “Get home!”

I’ll wrap up with two more experiences – in my next post.

One experience is something I cannot prove. I can only say all three of us endured it at the same moment, sharing our perceptions in real time and noting how each of us knew what the other was going to say before it was said. The experience was that vivid to us all. The other is one that just might make a believer out of the most skeptical among us. It made a believer out of my husband… and since he’s a photographer and our ‘proof’ is on video… that’s saying a lot.

Until next time…

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My thanks to Mrs. Dunne and the children of P.S. 31 for their rendition of the Pledge of Allegiance.

I’ve neglected this blog through August but have good reason. I’ve been vacationing.

My family had much to celebrate this summer. My fifteen year old graduated high school and was about to celebrate her Sweet 16. As a combination gift, as opposed to a party, she asked to visit the Harry Potter attraction at Universal Studios in Florida and to go ghost-hunting in Gettysburg. We did both (and more) and had a phenomenal time. So phenomenal, that I couldn’t bring myself to break up the action by posting here. My bad… but oh so good.

I’d love to share all the details of Disney’s Magic Kingdom and Universal’s Harry Potter, and maybe I will. Eventually. But our trip to Gettysburg was so incredible I must share that first.

We arrived in the Historic area of Gettysburg around 4pm on Monday August 29th and we left on Thursday, September 1st, around 1pm. In that short time, we had one spirit experience after another. Some of our experiences were physical – feeling pressure, like being submerged. Feeling intense fear or complete peace. Feeling cold – freezing cold. And even feeling as though we’d walked through spider webs. None of that can be proven. Each event was a personal experience we will always remember but cannot document.

However… we have photographs and voice recordings that prove, to me at least, that what we saw, heard and felt was indeed something from another realm.

Wednesday was our biggest day, the day with the most activity. It started in the early evening when we visited an area of the Dobbin House that had been part of the Underground Railroad.

As we climbed the dark, narrow stairs to the attic, we saw a cupboard cut into the wall which once held pottery and stoneware. Behind that cupboard, in the attic crawl space – no higher than four feet, no wider than 20 and with no windows – runaway slaves were hidden. We walked up a few more stairs and entered the main attic – with 8-foot ceilings, windows… and another door. To another level. I opened that door to peer in and immediately jumped back in fear. I cannot tell you why. I didn’t see anything and I didn’t hear anything. I simply felt an unbearable dread that left me wanting to crumble to my knees and sob.

It took all my strength and resolve to go back to that door and slip my digital recorder into the opening. I felt a strong cool breeze on my hand, but heard nothing until I played back the recording. I am convinced the breeze was simply an attic breeze and nothing more. However, I cannot explain the voices captured on my recorder.

Listen for yourself… there is talking that can be explained. I was with my daughter and a friend. It is their voices you hear ‘mumbling’ in the background. But listen closer. At 14 seconds in, see if you can hear a whimper/cry of fear. Then at 21 seconds, listen carefully for a man’s very low and cautious, “Hello?”, immediately after that, at 24 seconds, is the whimper/cry again. THAT was not from us.

And yes, the voice at 3 seconds saying, “I can do this. I can’t do this. Okay, I can do this.” is Gemini me working up the nerve to open the attic door again.

Ghost Voices – Dobbin House

After we left the Dobbin House, we went back to finish an auto tour of the battlefield that we had started the day before. It was nearly 5pm when we reached Culp’s Hill. A short trek into the woods gave each of us a feeling of being watched. It wasn’t a good feeling. I didn’t feel it as strongly as the others. At first. Then suddenly, I couldn’t get out of their fast enough. At one point, before I high-tailed it out of there, my daughter, who had walked ahead of us, started heading back toward us. I knew she was behind me but heard footsteps coming from somewhere on my right. We were in the woods. Could be rabbits, chipmunks, snakes or any other animal. I shrugged it off. THEN, from the same spot, I heard what sounded like the hammer of a rifle being pulled back. It wasn’t loud but I heard it. On playback, that sound is right against the recorder – which was in my hand. A few seconds after that, before I acknowledge hearing the sound, my daughter starts to speak and a ‘voice’ says, “whisper”. We did not hear that voice until playback later that night.

It’s all in this recording – “rifle hammer” at 10 seconds and “whisper” at 18 seconds – see if you can hear it:

Culp’s Hill – Ghost Gun and Voice

We spent about an hour at Culp’s Hill and moved on to the next Battlefield location – The Wheatfield. The Wheatfield was the scene of a horrific battle – not that all battles aren’t horrific. It is said that more than 4,000 men died in the Wheatfield and that if a person wanted to cross the field, they could walk across without their feet ever touching the ground. That’s how many bodies of men and horses covered the area. Heartbreaking.

We had an experience at the Wheatfields that we cannot prove – though I haven’t listened to all of the recordings yet and there are still more photos to look through. However, my daughter went to one area as if drawn to it, and set out all of her equipment – Camera, EVP Device, EMF Meter, Ambient Temperature gauge – and then she stood up, moving back and to her left. Only thing is, as she moved, she raised her right foot as if stepping back and over something. We asked why she did that and she said she didn’t know. I took her temperature gauge and did some readings. The air around us was about 80 degrees. The air in the spot she stepped over was 25.

We spent a solid amount of time in the Wheatfield then moved on to the next stop – the site of Picket’s Charge. As we listened to the audio CD for the auto tour, I gazed out at the sky. The sun was setting and it looked beautiful. I took a couple of pictures then noticed a sliver of moon to my left. As I was about to photograph it, I saw movement in the brush. Like someone popping their head up to get a quick look around. That scared the begeebers out of me but I quickly aimed my camera and fired off two shots. One of them, to my eyes anyway, shows a group of Union Officers having a pow-wow. Can you see them?

How about now…

We left the battlefield soon after this because once the sun set, it was too easy to lose our way along the unlit paths.

We had several more experiences that night but if I write about all of them here, this post will go on for pages. For now, I’ll leave you with a few more photographs and a promise to post more about our experiences next time.

Can you see the soldier walking along the path – straight toward the camera? Or the soldier kneeling in the left hand bushes?

See them now?

You’d have to look REALLY hard to see the ghostly images in this picture. Trust me, I know, because I did just that. I saw not only a couple of soldiers walking, but one in the woods (possibly) and a closer image – in color no less – of a Union soldier’s face. They’re all boxed so you can find them easily:

And one more for today and that’s it, I promise:

No. No ghosts in that last one. Just the three  of us playing dress-up.

Coalition forces have lost over 7,000 troops in Afghanistan and Iraq since the wars there started. And just this week alone, the US lost 30 troops in Afghanistan. It’s heartbreaking, devastating. Some – most – of those who perished were only 21 years of age. Young men and women sacrificing themselves in the name of hope, of peace, of freedom.

CNN has an interactive map showing the hometowns of fallen US soldiers. They’ve provided their names, their photographs, age, unit and more. There’s an option for family members and friends to add comments, to share memories of their beloved heroes. You should take a look at this map. It’s one thing to hear the number of casualties. It’s another to see the number of pinpoints that represent each of these men and women dotting the US map. Hover over a pinpoint and you will see the soldier we lost there. You will have a chance to get to know him or her in a small way. To acknowledge them. To see who they were, to put a face to each of the numbers.

The casualty maps are here – Casualties: Afghanistan and Iraq

Though we can never thank these soldiers or their families enough for the sacrifice they’ve made, we can honor their memory and we can celebrate the return of others who have watched their comrades die, who have seen horrors we cannot imagine and who have returned to the loving arms of their families.

As much as we grieve for those we’ve lost, we need to cheer for those who’ve come home. And we need to thank them all for the selfless, tireless, brave and determined strength they’ve displayed.

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Flags photo copyright: Dan

My soon-to-be sixteen-year old is just days away from finishing her high school studies.

As a homeschooler, she’s free to decide when she’d like to do her work – mornings, weekends, evenings – as long as she puts in the required amount of hours and covers the work we’ve outlined in our correspondence with the district’s homeschool director. To my amazement, my child has chosen to continue her schoolwork long past the end of the traditional school year. She has worked steadily since last September and has managed to complete two grades in that time.

I say this because I’m extremely proud of her. I also say this because, while we’ve been homeschooling for five years now, I’m still awed by the freedom, choices and possibilities associated with the process.

This is not for everyone and I would never say homeschooling is the BETTER option for everyone. I will, however, say it has been not only a better option, but the BEST for my daughter and my family.

Her traditional elementary school was wonderful. It was hard to let our little girl go there each day without us. Harder to know she was experiencing new and wonderful things, and we weren’t there to see the light in her eyes as she ‘got it’. But, it gave her a sense of confidence and independence that we admired. Add to that the warm, nurturing environment that was her elementary school, and it was – and still is – hard for me to see how homeschooling could be better or give her more.

In middle school, everything changed. The hours upon hours of homework after a full school day did nothing to help her ‘learn’ the subjects, but rather made her want to just “get it done”. Her friends were as overloaded with homework and projects as she was and so they barely saw each other. Homework was worse on weekends, as if the school had a policy declaring children should not be permitted any free time, ever.

The teachers were no longer nurturing. They were like drill sergeants. I get that tweens can be unruly and you have to maintain order. But I truly believe they’ll grow and learn better when treated with respect rather than contempt. I think of the bees-to-honey scenario.

It was the exhausted broken spirit I saw in my child that prompted me to, finally, make the move I’d considered when she was just three years old. Homeschooling.

It has worked for us in ways I could explain page after page. I will sum all of that up by saying my daughter had choices. She chose to work and to work hard. There are no ‘grades’, there is no competition, there is no principal’s office or hall monitor. There is only one child, one teen, doing her personal best because that is what she wants to do.

She’s fortunate to have had the best of both. I’m fortunate to have had the ability to provide that for her.

Have you made life or life-style choices for your children that could have gone either way? What were they? Given the same circumstances, would you make the same choice again?