Little Falls is another fine example of Upstate New York’s formerly prosperous era, between the Civil War and World War II. Many of the Victorian grand dames lines the streets, some kept up while other decaying.

One of the claims to fame of the city is The Human Polar Bear. City resident and eye specialist businessman Professor Louis Sugarman was thus called the Human Polar Bear for his sensationalist plunges into the freezing cold waters of the nearby Mohawk River. The man apparently bathed “daily,” even in temperatures of 20 BELOW zero!

The day we visited, the Monday after New Year’s Day, was extremely cold and the wind whipped around the rugged cliffs. No baths for us! I originally hoped we could wander the streets a bit, snapping photos and admiring the architecture, but it was too cold. Instead, we sauntered into Ann’s Cafe and Deli Restaurant for coffee and sandwiches. The prices are outstanding and the food was tasty. The coffee was absolutely phenomenal.

After we’d thawed out, we wandered the canal area. Little Falls was one of the Erie Canal cities, and the city thrived from the commerce. Railroads and, later, the highways, replaced the canal. The city slumped from the loss but Lock 17 is here and is a popular tourist site for canal enthusiasts. According to Wikipedia, the lock here at Little Falls was “the highest lift lock in the world at 40.5 feet (12.3 m) in height” until recently.

The city has created a lovely park and visitors’ center in this area by the canal. We wandered the park.

In the center of the park stands an odd, modern sculpture. It clashes quite loudly amongst a backdrop of very old buildings and antique shops.

The park hosts a number of stores. I am not a fan of shopping, but it was so cold that we decided to wander in the building. What pleasant surprises we found!

The buildings were crammed full with quirky old stuff for sale. We delighted browsing through so many interesting tools, crafts, furniture and other objects that left us baffled. We spotted this very odd device. It is made from blown glass and is enormous- larger than a beach ball! We played a little guessing game. My son thought perhaps it was a huge Christmas tree ornament. I guessed it was a Victorian decoration for a garden, like those glass globes on pedestals.

I submitted the photo and asked my NewYorkTraveler.net Facebook friends. What a surprise! Three people answered and knew exactly what it is– a Japanese fishnet float! Fishermen once hung these glass floats on the edges of their nets to make sure the nets did not drop down into the water, lost forever.

I also spotted an old rotary phone. Oh this brought back memories! Remember how long it took, just to dial a number? And if you dialed the wrong digit, what a pain it was to start over!

We spent too long in the shops, looking at so many things. A storm was coming and we knew we must start the drive home soon… but there was always something incredibly interesting to see!

Finally, we made our way out. I took a quick diversion to the bridge over the canal. We were surprised to see extensive damage, still, from the August and September hurricanes and severe flooding that had hit the area. You can see that the floods washed away parts of the foundations of these buildings. Oh no!

The waterway was messy, full of piles of enormous rocks, fallen trees and some debris. I could tell that there had been some cleanup already. I wonder how extensive the damage was after the hurricanes?

The sidewalk was closed, for obvious reasons. You can see right down through the foundation.

We slowly made our way back to the vehicle. The streets were nearly empty and the clouds were beginning to darken. Next time we return to this little city, it will be in better weather to visit the Nicholas Herkimer Home just east of the city limits.

On our way, we passed by the Fairfield Windmill Project, a hotly contested “renewable energy” project that greatly divided the community.

From what I have been able to ascertain, the Oneida Stone was something akin to the Ark of the Covenant for the Hebrews. The stone followed the Oneidas to their new settlements (all by itself without human intervention– some say the stone rested on a glacier, hm); when the stone was heaved into the crotch of a tree, the Oneidas were victorious in battle. They used the stone as a council landmark, too.

Now I am wondering if there were not several stones that the Oneidas called sacred– one in Smithfield here and another smaller one elsewhere. Or perhaps there was one small sacred stone and it rested on some larger stones that have been confused as being sacred? Here’s a lithograph drawn by historian Henry Rowe Schoolcraft in his book, “Notes on the Iroquois.” That looks too large to be able to fit in the crotch of a tree, and it much too large to have been placed on the memorial table at Forest Hill Cemetery, which I took a photo of, below:

Guess what, we found the stone depicted in the old lithograph.

The uniqueness of the stone (or stones??) is that it is not indigenous to the Mohawk Valley– the stone is apparently of syenite, found in the Adirondack region. The Oneidas first settlement was somewhere near Oneida Lake, but they eventually moved to the area now known as Smithfield, NY. It is a beautiful area that commands a beautiful view of the valleys of Madison County.

The first white settler of Smithfield was an American Revolution patriot who fought that first battle at Lexington and Concord in 1775. He was given this tract of land for his military services. Oddly enough, he is my direct ancestor; so there is a personal interest in these stories. When my ancestor settled these lands, the Oneidas had recently left the area to settle in what is now known as Oneida Castle, NY– I blogged about it when I stopped to see the Skenandoah Boulder, which rests by the side of the road right outside the town limits.

Back to Smithfield here, it is said that the Oneidas first settled in this area as far back as the 1400s. They built a large village here, with Nichols Pond at the back and a swampy moat surrounding their village to protect the people from enemies (notably, the nasty Huron Indians from Canada).

Click the photo for ALL SIZES and choose “Original” to see it close up. You can see the pond at the back of the village, the moat on either side, and a fire in the entrance.

You probably also see some men with guns shooting at the village. What’s up with that?

Well, I’m glad you asked! If it wasn’t for this battle, you just might be speaking in French today! This scene depicts the famous battle of 1615 here on this spot. Samuel de Champlain, founder of Quebec and buddy to those nasty Canadian Huron Indians we mentioned, decided to travel to this Oneida village and provoke a fight. The Hurons and the Oneidas had a long-standing animosity. The Hurons thought de Champlain and his French buddies (and their amazing “iron arrows”– AKA “guns”) could wipe out the Oneidas.

It was the first time the Oneidas had ever seen or heard the “iron arrows.” They were absolutely floored, but they fought back viciously. de Champlain was wounded in battle, and the French and Hurons took off for Canada, leaving the Oneidas intact but badly wounded.

The Oneidas (and their tribesmen, the Iroquois League of Nations) never forgot that battle. They made the French their bitterest enemies. When things grew heated between the English and the French over North American territory, the Iroquois allied themselves with the English to defeat the French. And that’s exactly what they did, in the French and Indian War of 1754.

The area is a park now. If we had brought our shovels, we may have tried to look for some arrowheads or artifacts. but instead we roamed the vast acreage and explored the wooded area. There are trails that lead all around the pond. There were– amazing to me– hardly any insects.

The forest was strange to me, I don’t know why. I’ve been in all sorts of forests and have never been jittery, but this was eerie and forbidding.

And it was as humid as anything. We didn’t follow the trail for very long, but we did walk to the wetland overlook of the swampy end of the pond. It’s a huge pond!

Finally, across the park was another historical marker where some archaeology had been ongoing.

The pits were net extremely large– they were perhaps the size and depth of a kiddie pool. I do wonder how they stored squash and corn in soft soil pits, especially in the forest during New York’s steamy summers and wet autumns. But that’s another investigation…

As for the Oneida Stone, I’m still looking. From what I have been able to gather, “the” syenite stone was taken from the Oneidas in 1849 and set in Forest Hill Cemetery. The Oneidas were almost completely eradicated as a people. But they have come back to their ancestral lands, and the stone was returned to them in the 1970s. It is said that the stone now rests outside the door of their official council house, somewhere south of Oneida, NY. I hope to find it when I go out that way, soon. So the quest continues!

UPDATE: Since the writing of this article, I found the Oneida stone! Read about my story.

It costs the state $300,000 to operate the facility, but lawmakers say with a little help they could do it for less. One idea that would follow in the footsteps of other park sites around the state, entering into a public- private partnership to keep the home in operation.

…”We were very much surprised to learn that the plan is for a permanent closure and efforts are already being undertaken to move artifacts, furniture, looms, to remove those and take them to People’s Island and that would be the end of the Herkimer Home. Many of us think if those artifacts leave Herkimer County they are never coming back,” said [NYS Assemblyman Marc] Butler.

The Herkimer Home is one of the finest national parks in Central New York. I first visited the park during a field trip in seventh grade, and have adored the place ever since. Additionally, the site serves as a very important reminder of New York’s great past, a time of severe struggle and perseverance during the fight for Independence.

$300,000 is a PALTRY sum compared to many of the other expenses that New York has. The artifacts should NOT be taken from the site. If the state no longer wishes to support the park, then hopefully a private investor will rise to the occasion. Until then, the park should remain open and the artifacts untouched.

Do school children even visit this site anymore? I’m sure there is much more that the state can do to promote the park. We owe it to General Herkimer and all the men who laid down their lives so that we could even HAVE a New York State.

In autumn of 2007, we drove up to the foothills of the Adirondacks, north of Utica. We wanted to visit and pay respects to Baron Frederich Wilhelm Augustus Steuben, aka Baron von Steuben, buried on Starr Hill Road in Remsen, NY. He is known as the “drillmaster of the American Revolution,” but affectionately known as “von Schtooby” to my history-buff kids. My daughter says (in a very good German accent) that any American desiring to learn the techniques of the bayonet must have asked himself “vhat vould Schtooby do.” Ha!

I thought the site would be just the huge burial marker that I have seen in brochures. I grossly underestimated the size, quality, and beauty of this historic site. Our jaws dropped open when we pulled up to the gate.

I cannot express with words the eye-popping grandeur of this site, and the spectacular view of the Mohawk Valley below. My lame photos only serve to dim the incredible landscape. Wow. That’s all I can say. What turned out to be a 10-minute visit rapidly became an hour of woodland exploration and historical reflection.

I’ll drop a few photos to aid in my inadequate descriptions. How I longed for a fancy camera to fully portray its beauty!

The site is very well kept. Although it was officially closed, trails were open and brochures were available from a waterproof box. We turned to walk down a heavily wooded trail to Steuben’s burial site. Walking into these woods is like walking into another world. Strange birds chittered to us from the treetops. Deep hoofprints of virile bucks heavily imprinted the soil. Crunchy layers of pine needles and the remnants of a gravel path urged our feet to go deeper into the forest. It was… primeval. Numerous historical markers were the only evident signs that someone had been here before us.

We paid our respects to the man so responsible for the success of our independent nation.

Steuben had requested in his will that he be buried in an unmarked grave. However, ten years after his death, a road was proposed to cut through his burial place (progress, you know). The body was interred and placed in its present-day site: a five-acre, heavily wooded area. The marker is enormous (as you can see) but very plain. A crown is carved on one side, and Steuben’s name on the other. A few stone plaques gave more details.

My daughter has written a brief history of this patriot:

Baron von Steuben (“Baron” was not his first name; Frederick was his first name, and he had several “middle names”) was a hardcore veteran from Prussia (now a part of Germany) when he came to America to aid the Continental Army in its fight for independence. He became known as the “Drillmaster of the American Revolution,” because during the harsh winter of 1777 in Valley Forge, Baron von Steuben taught the Americans how to perform bayonet drills. His services were invaluable, for until the Americans learned how to use this dreadful weapon, the British troops and Hessian mercenaries almost always won the day on the battlefield, for they knew how to use the bayonet. But when the American troops became more skillful with it, they could be more of a match against the British.

Baron von Steuben was well-liked by General Washington and his officers; however, communication with the Americans was at first difficult. Steuben did not speak English, and it became necessary for him to be accompanied by an interpreter when drilling the Continentals. There, too, was another problem– none of Washington’s officers spoke German! Thankfully, the language that Steuben and a few officers understood was French. So when Steuben drilled the Continentals, he spoke in French while his interpreters (Gen. Nathaniel Greene and Lt. Col. Alexander Hamilton) would translate itinto English for the soldiers. These two American officers, particularly Hamilton, were responsible for teaching Steuben the English language.

Not surprisingly, a close friendship developed between Hamilton and Steuben. After the war’s end, Steuben, who suffered great financial difficulties, found sanctuary in Hamilton’s home. Hamilton did everything in his ability to aid Steuben, who is reported to have once told some impatient creditors, “My Hamilton is my banker.” Hamilton was also responsible for helping Steuben secure land in Upstate New York that Congress had promised Steuben for his services. Hamilton helped Steuben secure the deed, and that piece of land became the place where Steuben spent his final days. He passed away in 1794.

In his will, Steuben requested that he be buried in an unmarked grave. But his services to his adopted country were far too significant to allow his fellow Americans to forget him. The Welsh-Americans who settled near his land, and the citizens of New York, erected monuments and memorials to him. A large monument was built over his remains.

It is easy for us Americans, especially in this present age, to forget those who forged the freedom which we enjoy, but freedom is itself a monument to those heroes. It ever reminds us of the debt of gratitude we owe to them.

“The world will little note what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.” Abraham Lincoln.

After leaving the burial site, we walked back to the open square and found means of entry to another area of the forest. It was like walking into another world.

Like I said, I wish I had a better camera to detail the glorious beauty of this land. It is stunning. Slivers of sunlight barely punctured the gnarly network of bottlenecked pine trees. Our presence startled a pair of eagles who had been nesting high in the trees. At first, we didn’t know what the earth-shattering rustling was. We looked up to see a couple of tremendously large birds stretch out their wings and flap through the dense pine boughs. The sound was terrifying and the birds were so large I feared they would swoop down upon my youngest (but not likely). I’d estimate the wingspan of the eagle I saw was about 6 or 7 feet.

Walking through the forest was a bit laborious for me (unprepared for hiking as I was), but nothing deterred the children from dispersing and disappearing behind enormous clumps of pines. I think they could have explored all day and into the night. I finally had to gather them up and pull them out of this place, as it was getting late.

Yet there were even more places to explore after this! Quickly, we picked apples from an apple tree (so tart but delicious), discovered a tiny toad and chased him down for a while, and attempted to begin another trail down a beckoning road.

I begrudgingly called to the kids to forsake this plan, and led them to Steuben’s cabin for a peek on our way out of the park.

The cabin is a replica (a very good replica) of the little house Steuben built for himself. It was locked up (the memorial site is only open from Memorial Day to Labor Day) but we could peer inside the glass windows. The interior looked incomplete. We saw a stone hearth and a lovely plank floor, but plywood and wood scraps were on the floor. A barrel filled with toy wooden muskets stood by a wall. The interior looked under construction still.

We longingly looked back into the woods, but we had to leave. The sun was going to set soon, and I had dinner to make.

What a lovely property for a great man. Rest in peace, Baron von Steuben.

On our way home, we stopped for a brief second to snap a photo of another historical marker. This one was dedicated to the Welsh immigrants who cleared the land and settled this area in 1795.

Before there was Utica, there was Fort Schuyler, built in this area by the British in 1758. It was a critical spot for the new American settlers. Fort Schuyler was “a chain of forts built to protect the northern frontier from the French and their Indian allies, and to guard the great ford across the Mohawk Valley.” Fort Schuyler was named for Colonel Peter Schuyler, the uncle of the famous Phillip Schuyler (who later became Alexander Hamilton’s father-in-law). There’s a bit of confusion about the naming of the forts. During the American Revolution, Fort Stanwix in Rome (another British-built fort and was named for a British officer during the French and Indian War of the 1750s) was renamed Fort Schuyler, after Philip Schuyler. This Fort Schuyler here near Bagg’s Tavern was renamed “Old Fort Schuyler.” After the Revolutionary War, both Fort Stanwix/Fort Schuyler and Old Fort Schuyler were dismantled. When Fort Stanwix/Fort Schuyler was resurrected in the 1970s as a memorial, it was given it’s original name Fort Stanwix. Got that? There’ll be a test tomorrow… whew!

In 1794, Moses Baggs built a small but comfortable tavern near the fort, to house the many settlers and military men traveling from the eastern to western ends of New York State. George Washington and Marquis de LaFayette stayed at the tavern, as well as Henry Clay and General Ulysses Grant. It also became a stagecoach stop for mail delivery. In 1815, Moses Baggs’ tavern was torn down and replaced by a larger one made of brick. That, too, is gone. This newer stone building and park remain as a memorial to the important part Utica played as intermediary for travelers and ideals of revolution and reconstruction.

If I remember correctly, this area is where a huge revival was sparked in the 1820s, under the preaching of Charles Grandison Finney. Utica was one of the most affected cities. It was reported that all bars and houses of ill-repute were closed, because there was no business for such promiscuous living. Everyone was “getting religion” and didn’t want to sin anymore! This area was buzzing with revival that it became known as the “Burned-Over District.” Imagine, this happening in Utica, New York!

And then this plaque at the top of the tavern made us stop in our tracks.

How great is thy fall, O honorable and patriotic city! Why do we wander your streets as strangers, left to peruse the mere remnants of such a glorious past?

The little tavern building is not open to visitors. We drew closer to peer inside the windows.

The surrounding park is nice, if a little odd. It’s strange to be wandering around such an historical and ancient (as far as America is concerned) fatherland and have roaring 18-wheelers coasting above you on a highway. The Adirondack Railroad and Amtrak trains are in the back, too.

We went to investigate the old train displays next to Utica’s Children Museum, which is on the other side of Bagg’s Square.

Utica’s Union Station (a beautiful building that we will blog about sometime) is next to Bagg’s Tavern and the Children’s Museum.

The city of Utica is in deep decline right now, as are most other Upstate New York cities. Utica was blighted during the 1930s-60s with an Italian mafia organziation that brought “prosperity” to some, but drug abuse, prostitution, and scab-attacks to others. It is so ironic that Utica, that “honorable and patriotic city” became known as Sin City. It has never really recovered. But I believe better days await the city. Like Samuel Adams said, who tirelessly pounded America’s conscience with a clarion call for national virtue, “It does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people’s minds.” Utica needs to be the Burned-Over District once again!