Wordless Wednesday: An Acorn of Unusual Size

Finding this was a bit of a surprise. (Photo: Shala Howell)

Finding this was a bit of a surprise. (Photo: Shala Howell)

In the process of very thoroughly cleaning out my piano, my piano tuner found this bizarrely large acorn tucked away inside. The Six-Year-Old and I have no clue what possible connection there could be between 1901 Everett uprights and 1.25″ acorns, but she is determined to find out.

Here’s her file on the case.

The Six-Year-Old's file on the Case of the Bizarrely Large Acorn. (Photo: Shala Howell)

The Six-Year-Old’s file on the Case of the Bizarrely Large Acorn. (Photo: Shala Howell)

Insight from our readers would be greatly appreciated.

*****Update:****

Thanks to dedicated readers Gran and my friend Aoife, I’ve learned that what we found is actually a chestnut. So after learning that the American Chestnut tree is an endangered species, I contacted the American Chestnut Foundation to see if the nut we found came from that sort of tree. (Hey, it’s a really old piano. It’s possible.)

Turns out, no. Based on the picture I sent her of it, Mila at the American Chestnut Foundation kindly identified my chestnut as the very toxic horse chestnut type, not the deliciously roastable American chestnut kind. She also sent me a link to a webpage that explains the difference between the two trees, in case any of you are interested.

What’s the American Chestnut Foundation?

About 75 years ago, a bit of bark fungus caught a ride to New York on a chestnut tree imported from Asia.  Chinese chestnut trees had become immune to this fungus over the years, but the billions of American chestnuts in our forests at the time were highly susceptible. The blight spread rapidly, wiping out the American chestnut population almost completely. Once upon a time 25% of the trees in the Appalachian forest were American chestnut trees. Today fewer than 100 American chestnut trees larger than 60 cm in diameter remain in the woodlands of eastern North America (there are still American chestnuts in the western part of the country, because the blight hasn’t taken hold there yet).

The American Chestnut Foundation is dedicated to increasing the blight-resistance of the American Chestnut tree, as a step toward reintroducing this once vital hardwood back into our eastern forests.

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“Why is John Philip Sousa endorsing my piano?”

While researching Monday’s post on the history of my 1901 Everett piano, I came across this:

Endorsement of Everett Pianos by John Philip Sousa. (Source: Everett Selections, published by the John Church Company).

Endorsement of Everett Pianos by John Philip Sousa. (Source: Everett Selections, published by the John Church Company).

Why on earth would John Philip Sousa of Stars and Stripes Forever fame be endorsing my piano? Were Everetts really that awesome?

Turns out the parent company of Everett Pianos, the John Church Company, was a sheet music publisher. And that led to fun product tie-ins like The Everett Piano March, composed by Herman Bellstedt, Jr. in 1894, and completely unbiased endorsements of Everett pianos from musicians like John Phillip Sousa, whose works were published by the John Church Company.

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“Is our piano an endangered species?”

Our 1901 Everett upright. I'd love to claim that this piano was handed down to me through the generations, but the fact is we acquired it when we bought our first house in Hyde Park, MA 11 (12?) years ago. (Photo: Shala Howell)

Our 1901 Everett upright. I’d love to claim that this piano was handed down to me through the generations, but the fact is we acquired it when we bought our first house in Hyde Park, MA eleven (twelve?) years ago. The previous owners of the house had gotten a new spinnet and asked if we wanted their old upright. (Photo: Shala Howell)

A couple of weeks ago — the Monday after Endangered Species day in fact — I had Joe Morocco, pianoman out to repair and tune our old Everett piano.

The highest C hasn’t worked on the piano for at least seven years. I have been hanging on to the piece needed to repair it for all that time without doing anything about it. (I mean really, aside from toddlers and concert pianists who actually plays the highest C?) Repairing it just didn’t feel critical. But lately, for various reasons, I began to think that my luck in keeping track of this random little hammer was about to run out.

In the process of stripping my old Everett down to its metal harp so that he could repair and replace the hammer, Joe Morocco gave me quite an education both about my piano and the world in which it was constructed.

Our Everett with the mahogany stripped off, exposing the brass rail and the wooden harp on its insides. That's Joe Morocco in the corner using a ladies' hair straightener to prep the broken hammer for installation. (Photo: Shala Howell)

Our Everett with the mahogany veneer stripped off, exposing the pin block, brass rail, metal harp, and sound board (the wood behind the metal) inside. That’s Joe Morocco in the corner using a ladies’ hair straightener to prep the broken hammer for installation. (Photo: Shala Howell)

Five Reasons My Everett is an Endangered Species

1) Based on its serial number (31862), my piano was built in 1901 in a piano factory on Washington Street in Boston and sold on Boylston. Only 800 Everetts were built that year, and relatively few remain in the wild today. So in that sense, my piano is an endangered species. But not nearly as endangered as U.S. piano manufacturers themselves. In 1901, all pianos were made and sold locally. There were 300 piano manufacturers in Boston alone, and countless others in places like Chicago, New York City, and Cincinnati. Today there is only one piano manufacturer in the entire United States — Steinway.

2) Piano manufacturers in the 1900s preferred to make piano strings out of copper, because copper creates a superior tone. But a copper shortage around the time my piano was constructed forced Everett to use copper strings for the ten lowest tones only, and steel for the rest. If you listen carefully, you can actually hear the change in sound quality between the notes. (The steel strings have a more nasal tone.)

Closup of a portion of the pin block in my Everett, showing the transition from copper to steel strings. Incidentally, my piano uses an exposed pin block, an older style of construction. In newer models, the metal harp covers the pin block and has a series of holes through which piano tuners access the pins. (Photo: Shala Howell)

Closeup of a portion of the pin block in my Everett, showing the transition from copper to steel strings. Incidentally, my piano has an exposed pin block, an older style of construction in which the metal harp wraps around the pins but doesn’t cover them. In newer models, the metal harp covers the pin block and has a series of holes through which piano tuners access the pins. (Photo: Shala Howell)

3) The sound board in my piano is made of spruce wood with at least 13 sap lines per inch. The number (and straightness) of the sap lines matters because it affects the sound board’s ability to vibrate. Someone somewhere figured out that at least 13 straight sap lines per inch were required to produce the Everett sound, and that was the standard to which all Everett pianos were built. (Oh, and that buzzing sound you hear when you play the F sharp below middle C? That’s because my sound board is cracked. Bummer.)

Closeup of the sound board in the lower half of my piano, showing the sap lines. (Photo: Shala Howell)

Closeup of the spruce sound board in the lower half of my piano. (Photo: Shala Howell)

4) The sound boards in modern pianos are built to support an A440 standard pitch (essentially this means that the A above middle C is set to a frequency of 440Hz, and the other notes on the piano are tuned accordingly).

According to this 1893 ad from the John Church Company, Everett pianos won the highest honor at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago. (Image via Amazon)

Super picky attention to details like the number of sap lines in their sound boards was one of the reasons the Boston Everett Piano company took home top honors from the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago. (Image via Amazon)

Setting a standard pitch for the A above middle C enables instruments from around the world to play together without setting off a chorus of protesting cats in the alley behind the concert hall. The sound board in my Everett was built to support an earlier standard, A435, the pitch standard recommended by the Austrian government in 1885.

5) But what really makes my piano an endangered species is the fact that its tiger grain mahogany veneer is made of Honduras mahogany (Swietenia humilis). It’s not exactly an extinct species, but the Honduran mahogany stands were logged so extensively over the past few centuries to meet demand for mahogany furniture in the United States and Europe that Honduras mahogany is considered commercially extinct today. Although stands of this slow-growing tree still exist, Honduras mahogany is heavily regulated and no longer widely used to make furniture.

And that means, instead of dragging The Six-Year-Old to the Arnold Arboretum to hunt for endangered species on Endangered Species day, I could have simply walked her into the front room and introduced her to our very old piano.

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The Six-Year-Old goes bowling

The Six-Year-Old waits for the results of her last throw. (Photo: Shala Howell)

The Six-Year-Old waits for the results of her most recent throw. (Photo: Shala Howell)

The Six-Year-Old simply adores candlepin bowling. And I adore her running commentary as she does it.

The Six-Year-Old bowls, hoping as Six-Year-Olds will, for a strike her first time out. Her ball travels oh-so-slowly down Candlepin Alley toward a pristine set of 10 pins. The Six-Year-Old, anxiously: “Oh I hope I get it!”

The ball gutters at the very end of the lane. Not a single pin falls.

The Six-Year-Old, in great disgust: “Oh! I was robbed! Great job being robbed, Six-Year-Old!”

No really. She truly does refer to herself as the Six-Year-Old. Perhaps the blog is actually taking over her life.

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The Six-Year-Old Negotiates: Episode 2, The Tooth Fairy

This week, The Six-Year-Old lost her first two teeth. Or rather, The Six-Year-Old went to the dentist and the dentist pulled them out for her.

Not the Six-Year-Old's mouth. This photo comes courtesy of the blog Pediatric Dentistry.

Not the Six-Year-Old’s mouth. This photo comes courtesy of the blog Pediatric Dentistry.

Here’s what happened. Last week, the Six-Year-Old starting looking a bit shark-like. Her permanent teeth had started to come in on her bottom jaw, even though her baby teeth hadn’t started falling out, giving her two rows of teeth.

When I took her in to the dentist, he explained that this was very common. He called it over retained baby teeth, and said that the thing to do was to help convince those baby teeth to come out to make room for the very impatient permanent teeth coming in.

At first, The Six-Year-Old was all for it. Until she realized what the word “extraction” actually meant.

Things got a bit rough there for a bit, but with the help of the soundtrack from Lion King and a very skilled, patient, and kind pediatric dentist (Thank you, Dr. Moreno!) extracting the teeth ended up being a relatively quick and painless procedure.

The Six-Year-Old, heavily bribed with the promise of “All the popsicles you can eat up to 30″, rapidly recovered and was back to her normal bouncy self within a very few minutes of getting home.

She spent the rest of the day happily speculating about what exactly her buddies at school would say when they saw her.

There was a slight bobble at dinnertime, when she realized that the Tooth Fairy was going to come and take away her teeth overnight. That’s when the negotiating started.

The Six-Year-Old: “Mommyo, will the Tooth Fairy take both of my teeth?”

Mommyo, hard-heartedly: “Yes.”

The Six-Year-Old, tentatively: “Do you think she might share just this once? I have two. We could each have one!”

Mommyo, helpfully: “Why don’t you write her a letter and ask?”

The Six-Year-Old, hopefully: “Do you think that would work?”

Mommyo, noncommittally: “Maybe.”

The Six-Year-Old's letter to the Tooth Fairy. (Photo: Shala Howell)

The Six-Year-Old’s letter to the Tooth Fairy. (Photo: Shala Howell)

Transcript:

“Dear: Tooth Fairy
From: … Howell

Please leave my teeth here. Reasons.
1: You can take 1.
2: 1 tooth is enough.
3: You don’t have to give me a prise. (sic)
4: My frist (sic) tooth.

Based on the hour at which The Six-Year-Old got out of bed this morning, having the Tooth Fairy come is even more exciting than a visit from Santa.

The Six-Year-Old, bounding into our room in the dark (no small feat in the Northeast in late spring): “Guess what guys! Exciting news! The Tooth Fairy came! She left me a tooth AND a dollar!”

Mommyo, gamefully: “A whole dollar! Wow, when I was a kid, I only got a dime.”

The Six-Year-Old, sympathetically: “That’s terrible, Mommyo. Did you ever try writing her a letter?”

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Wordless Wednesday: Crescent Ridge Dairy Farm in Sharon, Massachusetts

(Photo: Shala Howell)

(Photo: Shala Howell)

Every year about this time, we trot off in search of the region’s best ice cream. We have a great deal more research to do before we pick a winner, but the Crescent Ridge Dairy Bar in Sharon, Massachusetts is definitely on the list of contenders.*

The ice cream is delicious, served in copious quantities, and there are cows to keep you company while you eat it. What more could a Six-Year-Old possibly want?

(Photo: Shala Howell)

(Photo: Shala Howell)

Bonus: What is Daddyo doing?

(Photo: Shala Howell)

(Photo: Shala Howell)

Oh. That.

(Photo: Michael Howell)

(Photo: Michael Howell)

*Did you know? in 2008, the National Geographic named the Crescent Ridge Dairy Bar one of the top 10 places to get ice cream in the world. Holy cow.

Judge for yourself:

Crescent Ridge Dairy Bar
407 Bay Road
Sharon, MA 02067
Mon-Thurs 11AM – 8PM
Fri-Sun 11AM – 10PM
Menu

Waffle cones for the three of us came in at about $18.

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What’s Wordless Wednesday?

Recently I discovered Wordless Wednesdays through the blog, 5 Minutes for Mom. Basically, on Wednesdays all around the Internet, bloggers post their favorite photos, ideally without any words to accompany them, but often with 1-2 sentences of context. I’m not a photo-blogger. I’m more of a word girl, so I thought Wordless Wednesday would be fun.

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Happy Memorial Day!

Richard Overton in front of the East Austin home he built upon returning home from his service in WWII. (Photo: KVUE)

Richard Overton in front of the East Austin home he built upon returning home from his service in WWII. (Photo: KVUE)

After spending the last month making appearances around the country, 107-year-old Richard Arvine Overton, America’s oldest veteran, plans to spend Memorial Day sipping whisky and smoking cigars.

“I don’t know, some people might do something for me, but I’ll be glad just to sit down and rest,’ World War II veteran Richard Arvine Overton told Fox News from the East Austin, Texas home he built after returning from active duty.

It’s a rare day off for Overton, who attributes his long life to his practice of mowing lawns and taking a single baby aspirin every day.

‘You got to keep moving. You don’t sit down and watch TV all the time. You have to keep moving,’ Mr Overton told KVUE after being recognized for his service by Austin Mayor Lee Leffingwell on May 9.

Happy Memorial Day, Mr. Overton, from The Six-Year-Old and all of us at Caterpickles.

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The 6:47s

(Photo on left: Shala Howell. Photo on right: Vis-Home.)

(Photo on left: Shala Howell. Photo on right: Vis-Home.)

After a hard day decluttering, Mommyo slumps at the dinner table and stares up at Daddyo with bleary eyes.

Daddyo, sympathetically: “My Daddyo intuition tells me that you have a case of the 6:47s and we need to get you up to bed stat.”

Mommyo’s head drops to the table in shame. Mommyo, whimpering: “But I wanted to stay up tonight.”

The Six-Year-Old, leaning over to Daddyo and whispering loudly in his ear: “Daddyo, I think you’d better carry her upstairs.”

Daddyo, brightly: “Cheer up, Mommyo. Last week it was the 5:47s. At this rate it will soon be ten or eleven before you need to go up.”

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Oklahoma

This is devastating.

Aerial view of the devastation in Moore, OK. (Photo: KFOR)

Aerial view of Moore, OK after an F4 tornado passed through the town yesterday afternoon. (Photo: KFOR)

When I was in second grade, a tornado passed directly over my elementary school. Growing up in Dallas, our school had tornado drills at least once a month in the spring, so we all knew what to do when the warning came. Within minutes, my classmates and I were huddled in the hall, heads tucked into the crack between the smooth cold concrete floor and the brick wall of the reinforced hallway, fingers laced over the back of our heads, braced for impact.

I don’t know how long we stayed there. In my memory the moment consumes the entire day, although in truth it must have been only a few short minutes. Just long enough for the other classes to file in along the wall behind us, and for the litany of fear from the little girl huddled next to me to burn itself into my brain.

I still dream about her. About Toni, who spent the entire time crying inconsolably, not for us, but for her mother, who had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and who was hospitalized somewhere out there in the path of the storm.

I thought about Toni yesterday as I watched the coverage from Oklahoma. Sent up a prayer for her along with all my other prayers for the folks in the path of yesterday’s monster storms.

I always hated spring in Texas.

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In which I am forced to confront my own irrelevance

The Six-Year-Old, holding up a picture of a pine tree in the sun: “Mommyo, what color on here do you want the back of the tapestry to be?”

Mommyo: “I like the green or the brown.”

The Six-Year-Old, decidedly: “I’ll color it yellow.”

The tapestry in question. (Art: The Six-Year-Old, Photo: Shala Howell)

The tapestry in question. (Art: The Six-Year-Old, Photo: Shala Howell)

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