Silly question. Like you really have a choice. Problem is - I don't have a clue as to what to write about today. So have decided on a story, not told BY me, but told TO me by the subject. So here is the story, in the subject's own words:
BANNERMAN ISLAND
The first thing I remember is wakening up in the middle of a river. The river was the Hudson, the place the Hudson Valley. I was an island surrounded by water, and I was created during the ice age. I guess that was a long long time ago.
The first people I remember were Native American Indians. They weren't always the friendliest of folks, I did get a kick out of watching them but then along came a man named Henry Hudson in 1609, who supposedly discovered this river and it was named after him. How he could be the discoverer when the Indians were already here is very confusing to me.
The first name I had, and it was spelled in several different ways such as Polopel, Polipel, Pollipel, Pollopel, Polypus, just to name a few. Legend has it that when I was inhabited by the Indians, I was used primarily as a defensive outpost, and I was supposedly haunted.
As Dutch exploration expanded, I grew as well. There are other legends about me - of the Heer of Dunderberg with his mysterious goblins. Dutch sailors were terrified by the eerie howling winds, the echoing claps of thunder, massive bolts of lightning, and I laughed to myself. What do they know. Because of where I am located this the way it was but it was all blamed on the Heer of Dunderberg. What kind of name is Dunderberg?
In 1777 during the Revolution I was used to ward off the British and then in 1781 I heard they were going to build a military prison and munitions storage facility, whatever a facility is. I just know things were happening, making my island head spin.
I waited and waited and waited. Nothing much happened. Then for a long time I was abandoned, don't know the how or why. Guess these folks just couldn't make up their minds. I did have some visitors, folks visiting by boat to picnic and swim. What a nuisance. I liked my peace and quiet. But were they peaceful and quiet? Of course not. Loud and rowdy. Some fishermen even constructed sheds on me. Sheds yet, with smelly fish in them. What is the world coming to?
Somewhere down the road I was bought by a man named Bannerman and he re-named me, so I am now known as Bannerman Island. This Bannerman guy had traveled a lot, and decided to build his own version of what the buildings on me should look like. Bannerman Castle was built, along with several other wooden structures and up on the hill his home.
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| Bannerman home on the hill |
As Mr. Bannerman was a business man, he used the castle as storage for the goods he bought and sold, including an arsenal filled with explosives. As the Castle was the first thing anyone saw, from land or from the water, he wanted it to be unique, a landmark so to speak. Here I thought I was the landmark.
Upon Mr. Bannerman's death the business and arsenal passed to his wife Helen and sons Frank and David. Goods were shipped to and received from me. In 1920 there was a major explosion when the powder house part of the Castle exploded. The force of the explosion was so great it sent a section of the castle wall on to the New York Central RR tracks, on the mainland, and also blew sections of the castle as far up the hill as the residence.
I was finally abandoned, leaving me with ruins. Then an unexplained fire erupted, burning all the wooden buildings remaining, and now I only have the ruins of the castle and the residence, as they were built of brick and stone.
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| Here is my castle today. I am so proud of it. |
Time passed. Weeds took over, vines began covering everything. No one visited me. I watched the trains on the mainland go by, watched the boats on the river go by, but I was alone. And lonely. And so I sat here in the middle of the river and waited, for something, I don't know what, but I waited.
Then one day things began to happen. People came again, but this time not to play, but to work. They began cleaning me up, making me look a little less haggard. Repairs began to be slowly made. I overheard a conversation saying that someone named Rockefeller had bought me, and turned me over to the Hudson Valley Historical something or other.
I am no longer lonely. From early spring until late fall, boats arrive several times a day, bringing folks who want to see Bannerman Castle and Island, and my, how many pictures they take of me and my Castle. I don't think there is another island anywhere that has its own Castle.
I have weathered many storms, thousands of years dating back to the early Indians, seen so much and lived through so much history.
Little by little I am being cleaned up, restored. My Castle may never be the same as it was, but what remains is being protected. My Castle!
I hope you have enjoyed the Island's story. This is what I do. Take pictures and tell stories. If you enjoy this type of story, check out my three volumes of IF ONLY I COULD TALK books, available through my web-site and Amazon.com and me directly - the third and final volume is being released in mid-December.
Bannerman Island's story will not be in any of the books, as I have completed the series, but you can print it out if you care to share it with anyone, or direct them to my blog.
Maybe tomorrow I will have something to talk about, maybe not. Time will tell. In the meantime enjoy and God Bless.
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