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.

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.

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?

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?

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.

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’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.

=================

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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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.

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.