Tag Archives: Wednesday Weekly Reader

The Unexpected Fulfillment of the Tuba: A Story of Brass and Belonging

Posted on by

Sam Quinones’s book, The Perfect Tuba: Forging Fulfillment from the Bass Horn, Band, and Hard Work, is a deeply captivating journey that elevates the low-pitched brass instrument from a punchline to a powerful metaphor.

The narrative uses the history, culture, and dedicated players of the tuba as a lens to explore themes of purpose, community, and the rewards of hard work in modern America. After years of chronicling the darkness of America’s opioid crisis, Quinones shifts his focus to a pursuit of light, finding it in the dedicated people who master the cumbersome, often-overlooked tuba. His core argument – that true fulfillment comes not from instant gratification, but from the slow, communal process of hard, persistent work – deeply resonated with me.

That’s because, unlike the glamorous trumpets and melodic flutes, the tuba and its cousins – the baritone horn and the euphonium – are instruments of humble service. They demand dedication, physical strength, and a willingness to be the anchor rather than the star. I know this firsthand; for years, I hauled the tenor voice of the low brass, first a baritone horn and later a four-valve euphonium (also known as a tenor tuba), through the chaotic world of high school and community bands.

From Cornet to Conical Bore

My mother, a music teacher, ensured my brother and I picked an instrument in elementary school and stuck with it at least through high school. My brother chose the alto saxophone; I started my musical life in the 5th grade on the cornet, enjoying its bright, mellow tone. But by 7th grade, the band director needed more depth, and I shifted to the baritone horn, pitched an octave lower and playing the critical tenor harmony line. It was here, in the heart of the low brass section, that I began to understand the quiet power of support.

The baritone horn offered no instant gratification. You couldn’t wail solos or dazzle a crowd with flashy finger work. Your part was the foundation, the quiet, harmonic filler that blended with the rest of the bass instruments to give the melody its depth and weight. It was the aural equivalent of the unsung road crew that paves the highway for the celebrity motorcade.

Yet, this lack of celebrity bred a certain camaraderie among the low brass. We were the ballast of the band – and we knew it. We had to work harder than anyone else just to be heard clearly, not to mention perfectly in tune. My fondest high school memories aren’t of scoring a winning point in a game, but of those exhausting, sweaty band camp practices under the summer sun, where we meticulously drilled the rhythmic march patterns. The sense of accomplishment culminated in the summer of 1975, when my band participated in a national competition, including marching in Walt Disney World’s “America on Parade,” celebrating the nation’s Bicentennial. That shared, unforgettable experience was an early, invaluable lesson in purpose. The goal wasn’t just to play the notes right; it was to hold the entire structure of the music together. When the band director, who procured a brand-new euphonium before my senior year, would stop practice and say, “The low brass is carrying this,” a silent, deep satisfaction would run through our section. The five of us were not the stars, but we were essential.

Finding Community in the Commitment

Quinones dedicates significant space in his book to inspirational stories, such as the visionary high school band directors in Roma, Texas, who used band programs to instill discipline, pride, and opportunity in a challenging environment. This echoes the experience of countless band kids who find a sense of belonging and structure outside the main social currents of high school. The band room became a haven – a place where the hard work was respected and the only currency was effort.

The pursuit of the titular “perfect tuba” – two mythical 1930s York instruments now held by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra – is a compelling quest in the book, yet Quinones finally concludes that the perfection is unattainable and therefore, irrelevant. What matters is the striving -the dedication of the craftsmen, the long hours of practice, and the selfless collaboration.

This commitment transcended my school years. Following graduation, for several decades I continued an on-again, off-again relationship with the horn, playing in an assortment of church ensembles, TUBA Christmas events, and much later, joining a community orchestra and even serving as a substitute band teacher for a couple of years. These groups, often comprised of retired professionals, local teachers, and lifelong hobbyists, are the living embodiment of Quinones’s counter-narrative to modern distraction and commercialism. No one is paid. No one is seeking fame. Everyone shows up simply for the love of the work and the communal joy of making music.

I still remember the satisfaction of performing a particularly challenging (for a 50 year-old hobbyist!) piece at a concert in Birkdale Village. My supporting euphonium part was a fast-moving succession of sixteenth notes – a constant churning of sound that felt impossible to execute perfectly. But after weeks of diligent practice, I nailed it. No one in the audience cheered my performance specifically; they cheered the magnificent sound of the entire band. That feeling – the intoxicating sense of having contributed my utmost to a shared, beautiful creation – was the ultimate reward. It was, as Quinones notes, a feeling entirely earned from within, not bought or found instantly.

The Unexpected Heart of the Bass: Tennessee Tech

One of the ultimate testaments to the dedication Quinones celebrates is the unlikely international phenomenon created by R. Winston Morris at Tennessee Technological University – my school! Starting in 1967 at an institution renowned more for its engineering and sciences than its fine arts, Morris founded the Tennessee Tech Tuba Ensemble (TTTE). This ensemble not only carved out a niche for the low brass but virtually invented the modern tuba ensemble movement worldwide. I had the distinct pleasure of participating in TTTE Tuba Symposiums in 1974 and 1975, along with several hundred low brass players from all over the south.

Over more than 40 years, the depth and breadth of their work has been staggering: they are the most-recorded collegiate tuba ensemble in history (with over 30 commercial albums), have performed in major venues like the Kennedy Center and eight times at Carnegie Hall, and have commissioned or inspired over 1,200 arrangements and compositions. The TTTE’s repertoire spans from classical arrangements and original concert works to jazz (including arrangements of Duke Ellington and Chick Corea), proving that the versatile, foundation-laying tuba is capable of both humble service and astounding virtuosity.

As I read through the book, the inclusion of the TTTE was a pleasant surprise, and a fitting tribute to the work of Morris and the hundreds of tuba and euphonium players who have enriched the program at TTU, many I knew from my college years there.

The Antidote to Modern Life

Quinones suggests that the slow, deliberate work required by the tuba is the “mirror opposite of addiction.” My experience confirms that sentiment. The dopamine hit of mastering a difficult passage, the resilience built by accepting failure and starting over, and the profound connection felt when a hundred people breathe and play as one – this is a narcotic of genuine fulfillment.

In an era of instant access, fleeting trends, and mass distraction, the tuba, baritone horn, and euphonium teach us a radical and beautiful idea: The most valuable things in life are those that require patience and sacrifice. To truly succeed, you must commit to the grunt work, be willing to be the anchor in the back, and trust that your quiet contribution is what allows the entire performance to soar.

The physical horn might be heavy and unglamorous (a fact I confront now in my current on-again, off-again relationship with the instrument due to medical issues limiting my playing), but the lesson it carries is one of the lightest and most enduring: Find your “tuba” – that one hard, noble thing you can devote your creative energy to – and in the striving, you will find your self-worth and your community. The perfect sound might be a myth, but the perfect feeling of having earned it is absolutely real.


The Perfect Tuba is far more than a book about a musical instrument. It is an exuberant ode to tenacity, craftsmanship, and the quiet dignity of a life spent in service to a demanding but rewarding craft. It is highly recommended for anyone looking for an inspiring, profoundly human story about how humble effort can lead to self-fulfillment and a stronger sense of community.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

John Williams: The Composer of the Soundtrack of Our Life

Posted on by

There are certain melodies that define a generation. For those of us who grew up in the latter half of the twentieth century, no composer has shaped our collective memory quite like John Williams. From childhood TV shows to teenage adventures at the cinema, from raising our own children to sharing stories with grandchildren today, Williams has been there, his music weaving through the fabric of our lives. It’s no exaggeration to say that John Williams is the composer of the soundtrack of our life.

With a music teacher mother, music was always a part of my early life, and I was captivated by its many forms. I remember sitting in front of our family’s television set in the 1960s, completely mesmerized by the themes of TV shows as arranged by a composer who would go on to define what movies should sound like. Williams cut his teeth in television during those golden years when families gathered around the glowing screen together. He composed for “Lost in Space,” “Gilligan’s Island,” and “Land of the Giants” – shows that became fond memories of my childhood. That distinctive “Lost in Space” theme, with its otherworldly electronic sounds and driving rhythm, promised adventure in the great unknown every single week.

But it was the movies where Williams truly became part of our DNA. In 1975, when “Jaws” hit theaters, we learned something profound: two simple notes could create visceral terror. That ominous, pulsing theme didn’t just accompany the shark – it became the shark in our minds. Swimming in the ocean has never been quite the same since. Williams won his first Academy Award for Original Score for that work, but more importantly, he demonstrated that film music could be a character unto itself.

Then came 1977, and everything changed. When the opening crawl of “Star Wars” appeared on screen, accompanied by that triumphant, brass-heavy fanfare, we didn’t just hear music – we felt the universe expand before us. Williams had reached back to the grand symphonic traditions of Golden Age Hollywood, to composers Erich Wolfgang Korngold and Max Steiner, and made them relevant again for a new generation. Coming at the end of my freshman year in college, my friends and I left the theater humming those themes, unable to articulate it at the time, but knowing we’d experienced something transcendent. Williams had given us a musical language for heroism, for the Force, for an entire galaxy far, far away.

The late seventies and eighties became the John Williams era, though we barely noticed how omnipresent he was. “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” taught us that five notes could represent communication with the infinite. “Superman” gave us a theme so perfect, so purely heroic, that it defined what nobility sounds like. Personally, the love theme from “Superman” – “Can You Read My Mind” – became “our song” for my wife and I. “Raiders of the Lost Ark” brought back the spirit of adventure serials with a march that made us want to grab a fedora and seek ancient treasures. “E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial” broke our hearts and mended them again with music of such tenderness and wonder that many of us wept openly in darkened theaters. Williams’ work for the 1984 and 1988 Olympics and the 1986 100th Celebration of the Statue of Liberty brought the spirit of America to the forefront with its bold, brassy sound.

As we moved through the nineties and into the new century, the music depth and breadth kept expanding: the “Viet Nam” trilogy – “Born on the Fourth of July,” “JKF,” and “Nixon;” “Saving Private Ryan;” a new Star Wars prequel trilogy; the initial Harry Potter movies; and “The Patriot,” among many more.

Certainly for our family, Williams music has accompanied us from college to kids to grandkids. As our generation raised families of our own, Williams was there too. We introduced our children to Indiana Jones, watched them wave toy lightsabers while humming “The Imperial March,” and saw their eyes widen during “Jurassic Park” as those majestic dinosaur themes swelled. In our house, three generations have now grown up with Williams’ music as their reference point for how emotion and image combine.

What many forget is that Williams has also been a champion of concert music. For a decade and a half, he conducted the Boston Pops, bringing orchestral music to millions and proving that the boundary between “serious” music and film scores was always artificial. His Olympic fanfares and ceremonial pieces have marked important moments in our national life. He’s composed concertos for violin, cello, and other instruments – even the tuba! – ensuring his legacy extends beyond the screen. Dozens of celebration pieces have given a memorable sound to a wide-ranging list of events from the wedding of Japanese Crown Prince Naruhito and Crown Princess Masako (“Sound the Bells!”) to a commemoration of the Boston Red Sox’s 100th anniversary (“Fanfare for Fenway”).

Williams has composed for seven decades, earning five Academy Awards, four Golden Globes, and over fifty Oscar nominations – more than any living person. He’s worked with Steven Spielberg on nearly thirty films, creating one of the most fruitful artistic partnerships in cinema history. Yet numbers don’t capture his true impact.

The real measure of Williams’ genius is this: his music has become inseparable from our memories. We can’t think of summer blockbusters without his heroic brass. We can’t imagine childhood wonder without his soaring strings. We can’t conceive of movie magic without his harmonic language.

For those wanting to delve deeper into the life and craft of this remarkable artist, John Williams: A Composer’s Life offers an comprehensive look at both the man and his methods, exploring how he created the scores that shaped our cultural landscape. As I read through the book, I would often pause and play a specific tune just referenced, and the memories came flooding back each time.

As this was being written, a surprise announcement was made: John Williams is scoring Steven Spielberg’s new, untitled movie, set to be released in 2026. This will mark the duo’s 30th film together, and if history is any indication, this 93-year-old film music icon’s collaboration with one of the most celebrated directors of our time will be another classic.

We Baby Boomers have been fortunate. We’ve witnessed the moon landing, the digital revolution, and profound social change. Through it all, John Williams has been our constant companion, giving voice to our dreams, our fears, our sense of wonder. When we close our eyes and hear those familiar themes, we’re not just remembering movies – we’re remembering who we were when we first heard them, and who we’ve become since.

That’s the mark of a true master: John Williams didn’t just compose film scores. He composed the soundtrack of our life.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

Salisbury, NC: A Crossroads of American History on the Great Wagon Road

Posted on by

Part Four of #OctoberOnTheRoad

In the heart of North Carolina’s Piedmont region lies Salisbury, a city whose significance in American colonial and frontier history far exceeds what its modest size might suggest. As a crucial waypoint along the Great Wagon Road – the primary route for westward migration in 18th-century America – Salisbury emerged as a vital commercial, administrative, and cultural hub that helped shape the settlement patterns and development of the American South.

The Great Wagon Road: America’s First Highway

To understand Salisbury’s importance, one must first appreciate the monumental role of the Great Wagon Road itself. Stretching over 800 miles from Philadelphia through the Shenandoah Valley and into the Carolina Piedmont, this route served as the primary artery for migration and commerce during the colonial period. Between 1730 and 1775, an estimated quarter-million settlers traveled this road, making it arguably the most significant thoroughfare in pre-Revolutionary America. These migrants – predominantly Scots-Irish, German, and English settlers – were seeking fertile land and economic opportunity in the southern backcountry.

Strategic Establishment

Salisbury was officially established in 1753 as the county seat of Rowan County, which at the time encompassed a vast territory extending to the Mississippi River. The town’s location was no accident. Positioned at a strategic point where the Great Wagon Road crossed the Trading Path – an ancient Native American trail running east-west – Salisbury became a natural crossroads. This intersection of major routes transformed the settlement into an indispensable stop for travelers, traders, and settlers moving south and west.

The town was named after Salisbury, England, reflecting the British colonial influence, though its character would be shaped by the diverse stream of settlers flowing through on the wagon road. Its founders, including surveyor John Dunn, recognized the commercial potential of this location and deliberately planned a town that could serve the needs of the constant flow of migrants.

Before the official establishment, at least seven log homes already dotted the landscape. Among those early settlers was Johannes (John) Adams – evidence that these trails served as vital migration and trade corridors. Originally part of Anson County, the growing influx of families prompted the creation of Rowan County, with Salisbury designated as its county seat due to its thriving population.

The settlers brought more than farming traditions. Adams and his son, arriving from Lancaster, established themselves as potters – Adams purchased a lot in 1755 and became Salisbury’s first documented potter of European descent. Their lead-glazed earthenware reflected German ceramic traditions from Central Europe, contributing to North Carolina’s rich pottery heritage alongside influences from the Piedmont Quaker community and the Moravian settlement in Salem. Salisbury’s economy thus developed around both its geographic advantages and the specialized trades its settlers introduced.

John Adams died in 1762, and his sons evidently did not continue in the pottery trade. I am still trying to track down when they left Salisbury, but there is little doubt they did. There are no records of burials before 1793 in the Lutheran Cemetery, which means that John Adams was probably buried in an unmarked grave, possibly on the site of his log cabin.

Economic and Commercial Hub

As traffic along the Great Wagon Road intensified, Salisbury rapidly developed into a thriving commercial center. Taverns, inns, and ordinaries sprang up to accommodate weary travelers who needed rest, provisions, and their wagons repaired before continuing their journeys. Blacksmith shops, general stores, and trading posts proliferated, creating a bustling economy centered on serving the migration corridor.

The town became a crucial resupply point where settlers could purchase essential goods, livestock, and seeds before pushing farther into the frontier. Merchants in Salisbury established trade networks that connected the Atlantic seaboard with the developing backcountry, facilitating the flow of manufactured goods westward and agricultural products eastward. This commercial vitality attracted skilled craftsmen, professionals, and entrepreneurs, further diversifying the local economy.

Administrative and Political Significance

Beyond commerce, Salisbury served as an important administrative center for the sprawling North Carolina backcountry. As the county seat, it housed courts, government offices, and facilities that brought order to the frontier. The courthouse became a symbol of British authority and, later, American governance. Legal proceedings, land transactions, and official business conducted in Salisbury affected settlement patterns across a vast territory.

During the Revolutionary War, Salisbury’s strategic location made it militarily significant. The town served as a supply depot and recruiting center for Continental forces. Lord Cornwallis occupied Salisbury briefly in 1781 during his southern campaign, recognizing its importance as a logistics hub. The town’s prominence in the war effort underscored its role as a regional center of gravity.

Cultural Melting Pot

The constant flow of diverse settlers through Salisbury created a unique cultural environment. Scots-Irish Presbyterians, German Lutherans, English Anglicans, and others brought their distinct traditions, crafts, and worldviews. This diversity fostered a pragmatic, cosmopolitan atmosphere unusual for frontier settlements. Religious institutions, schools, and cultural organizations established in Salisbury served not just the town but the wider region, making it a center for learning and cultural development.

Lasting Legacy

While the Great Wagon Road’s importance diminished with the rise of railroads in the 19th century, Salisbury’s foundational role in regional development left an indelible mark. The town’s early prosperity enabled investment in infrastructure, education, and civic institutions that sustained its growth through subsequent eras. Today, Salisbury preserves numerous historic buildings and sites that tell the story of its wagon road heritage, including preserved sections of the Trading Path and 18th-century structures.

The city’s historic downtown reflects the layers of its past, from colonial-era foundations to antebellum architecture. Museums and heritage sites interpret the wagon road story for modern visitors, connecting present residents to this crucial chapter in American westward expansion.

Salisbury’s development along the Great Wagon Road exemplifies how geography and timing intersect to create places of outsized historical importance. As a crossroads of migration, commerce, and culture, this North Carolina town facilitated the settlement of the American South and helped write the story of a nation pushing westward toward its continental destiny.

And Now – A Twist!

All this month of October, I have been on a journey – physically and digitally – tracing the Adams family’s coming to North America before the founding of the United States of America. As I referenced in the introductory post, it has been a double-barreled journey of discovery: one focused on the Great Wagon Road’s strategic historical significance, and the other on solving the enduring mystery of my 2nd great-grandfather, John Washington Adams. The path beyond him is currently fractured into two intriguing, yet conflicting, ancestral branches. 

This month has been the German branch, tracing a path from arrival in Philadelphia in 1727 to Lancaster and down the Great Wagon Road, arriving in Salisbury in the early 1750s. At this point, I’m going to have to find new resources and possibly take more physical trips to continue this journey.

However, during my research, I’ve come up on the possibility of another branch with English roots, and coming to North America in 1621!

While sharing all this with my brother, he made an interesting comment: I wonder if there are ever any conclusive genealogies that go back hundreds of years?  I guess with “royalty” there is, but I’m guessing few lines among the peons have 100% certainty.

With that as a teaser, stay tuned for more in the future!

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

Salem: The Enduring Heart of the Great Wagon Road in North Carolina

Posted on by

Part Three of October on the Road.

The Great Wagon Road carved its way through the colonial American backcountry, drawing settlers southward in an endless tide. Most towns along this vital artery served merely as brief stopping points, but the settlements of North Carolina’s Wachovia Tract – particularly Salem – stood apart as centers of stability, industry, and spiritual purpose. More than a waypoint, Salem became an economic and cultural powerhouse that demonstrated what organized community and skilled craftsmanship could achieve along one of North America’s most important migration routes.

Moravian Vision and the Birth of Wachovia

Salem’s story begins with the Moravian Church, a Protestant denomination rooted in Bohemia and Moravia. Seeking religious freedom and the chance to build self-sufficient communal societies, the Moravians established successful settlements in North America during the mid-18th century. Their colony in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania thrived, and as German-speaking immigrants pushed southward, Moravian leaders recognized an opportunity to expand their mission.

In 1753, after careful exploration, the Moravians purchased nearly 100,000 acres in North Carolina’s backcountry from John Carteret, Earl Granville. They named this fertile land “Wachovia” – a Latinized form of “Wachau,” Count Zinzendorf’s ancestral estate. Zinzendorf served as the Moravian Church’s patron, and this naming choice reflected the deep connection between the church and its benefactor.

The first settlers arrived in November 1753, establishing Bethabara, or “House of Passage.” Though humble in its beginnings, this settlement marked the start of a meticulously planned venture that would transform the region.

Bethabara: Proving the Concept

Bethabara quickly embodied the Moravian commitment to industry and self-reliance. Within years, the settlement operated a gristmill, sawmill, pottery, tannery, and various craft shops. Its location directly on the well-traveled Great Wagon Road proved immediately advantageous. Weary wagoners, farmers needing grain milled, and families requiring repairs or provisions discovered a welcoming and capable community. This early success validated the Moravian vision for Wachovia as a network of interconnected towns, each serving a specific purpose.

Salem: A Planned Community

The Moravians always intended to establish a central town that would serve as the administrative, spiritual, and commercial heart of Wachovia. That vision became reality in 1766 with Salem’s founding. Unlike the haphazard sprawl typical of frontier settlements, Salem emerged from careful planning. Surveyors laid out streets, public squares, and building plots according to a precise master plan. Even the name – derived from the Hebrew word for “peace” – reflected the community’s aspirations.

An Economic Model Unlike Any Other

Salem’s importance to the Great Wagon Road stemmed from its distinctive economic structure. While most frontier towns depended on subsistence farming and basic trade, Salem operated as a “congregation town” where the church oversaw all aspects of life, including economic activity. This central authority enabled a highly specialized, quality-driven economy. Master craftsmen – silversmiths, potters, cabinetmakers, coopers, bakers, and shoemakers – trained to exacting standards and produced goods renowned for their durability and artistry. Travelers on the Wagon Road sought out these products eagerly.

Picture a family traveling for weeks, their wagon axles groaning and supplies running low. 

Approaching Salem, they would encounter orderly brick and timber-frame buildings – a striking contrast to the rough log cabins common elsewhere on the frontier. Here they could purchase finely crafted tools, durable textiles, and fresh bread from the bakery, or have their wagons expertly repaired by skilled wheelwrights. The tavern offered not just lodging but a glimpse into a different way of life, characterized by order, cleanliness, and quiet purpose.

Salem’s economic influence extended beyond immediate transactions. Its robust internal economy created demand for raw materials, fostering trade relationships throughout the region. Its mills processed grain from local farms, while artisans worked with timber, clay, and metals sourced nearby. This interconnectedness made Wachovia a significant economic engine, providing stability and opportunity in an ever-shifting frontier landscape.

A Cultural and Intellectual Beacon

Salem’s role as a cultural center proved equally important. The Moravians valued education highly, establishing schools for boys and girls, including Salem Academy, founded in 1772 and still operating today. Music formed an integral part of Moravian life, and Salem became celebrated for its rich musical tradition – choirs, instrumental ensembles, and regular performances enriched community life. These cultural offerings provided vital counterbalance to frontier hardships and attracted visitors and settlers seeking more than economic opportunity alone.

A Network of Communities

Other Moravian settlements within Wachovia complemented Salem’s role. Bethania, established in 1759, functioned primarily as an agricultural village, supplying Salem with essential foodstuffs. Friedberg, founded in 1770, also focused on farming, with settlers owning their own farms while remaining connected to central Moravian governance. This network of interdependent communities strengthened the entire tract, creating a cohesive and resilient society.

Legacy and Transformation

As the Great Wagon Road continued channeling migration south and west, Salem and the Wachovia Tract evolved. Even after the communal economic system transitioned to private ownership in the 19th century, the legacy of Moravian craftsmanship, education, and community planning endured. The quality of Salem’s goods, the discipline of its people, and the beauty of its architecture left an indelible mark on the region.

A Living Testament

Today, Historic Old Salem stands as a living museum, preserving this unique colonial settlement’s remarkable story. Walking its cobblestone streets, entering its preserved workshops, and admiring its meticulously restored buildings, visitors can almost hear the rumble of wagon wheels and sense the bustling activity that once characterized this vital hub. Salem was never merely a stopping point. It was a testament to vision, skill, and community – the true enduring heart along a path of relentless progress.

Salem’s Part in My #OctoberOnTheRoad Journey

As introduced here, part of my journey is to research my family’s history. One potential branch, of German ancestry, traveled the Great Wagon Road south from Philadelphia, PA to Salisbury, NC. Johannes Nicholas Adam arrived in the colonies in 1727; his son Johannes (John) Adams left Lancaster PA in the early 1750s. His name pops up in various historical records in Salisbury beginning in 1755; among other findings, he was the first European potter in Salisbury. He died in 1762. A son of his soon departed the area, to Kentucky.

Since John Adams was of Lutheran descent, with a German family, he would have been received well in Salem by the Moravians. Though not of the same religion, they had the same language in common. I would like to imagine that Adams and his family were able to rest, restock, and move on down the Great Wagon Road after spending some time in Salem.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

The Sweet Convergence: How Culture, Cows, and Capital Built Hershey

Posted on by

Part Two of October on the Road.

In 1903, Milton S. Hershey made a decision that baffled his peers. Against all conventional business wisdom, he chose to build the world’s largest chocolate factory not in a bustling city with ready access to labor and markets, but on a rural patch of Pennsylvania farmland. His contemporaries saw isolation and risk. Hershey saw something else entirely: a centuries-old convergence of cultural values, agricultural resources, and human capital that would transform his audacious gamble into one of America’s most enduring industrial success stories.

The Land That Time Prepared

The story of Hershey, Pennsylvania begins long before Milton Hershey was born. It starts in the 17th and 18th centuries, when waves of German-speaking immigrants – fleeing religious persecution and economic hardship in the war-ravaged Rhineland – arrived in William Penn’s colony seeking religious freedom and fertile land. Between 1727 and 1775, approximately 65,000 Germans landed in Philadelphia, eventually spreading across southeastern Pennsylvania. By 1790, these “Pennsylvania Dutch” (a corruption of “Deutsch,” meaning German) constituted 40 percent of the region’s population.

These weren’t ordinary settlers. Many were religious dissenters – Mennonites, Anabaptists, Lutherans, and Reformed Christians – who brought with them not just their faith but a distinctive approach to life and labor. They had fled regions devastated by the Thirty Years War, where up to 40 percent of the population had perished, and they had escaped inheritance laws that divided family farms into ever-smaller, unsustainable parcels. In America, they found what they had been denied in Europe: abundant land and the opportunity to secure it permanently.

This history shaped everything that followed. The Pennsylvania Germans developed an almost sacred commitment to land stewardship and permanent settlement. Unlike colonists who might exhaust soil and move westward, these farmers painstakingly improved their holdings. Mennonite farmers, in particular, distinguished themselves through relentless soil amendment, meticulously collecting and applying manure when other farmers would simply purchase new land. Their pacifist beliefs meant they relied on intensive family labor rather than hired hands or enslaved workers, fostering self-sufficiency and agricultural innovation.

The result was remarkable. Southeastern Pennsylvania earned the title “breadbasket of America,” its fertile fields yielding abundance through advanced farming techniques and tireless diligence. More importantly for Hershey’s future, these communities were stable, rooted, and deeply resistant to the transient lifestyle common in industrial America. The Pennsylvania Germans had found their promised land, and they weren’t leaving.

From Grain Fields to Dairy Dominance

By the mid-19th century, the region’s agricultural economy was transforming. Lancaster County, initially known for grain and livestock, began specializing in commercial dairy production. This shift was driven by technological advances: improved animal husbandry, factory processing of butter and cheese, condensed milk production, and crucially, refrigerated railroad transportation. The region’s established network of hardworking farmers, combined with historically productive farmland, made it ideal for this emerging dairy industry.

Enter Milton Hershey, born in nearby Derry Township in 1857. After early business failures in Philadelphia and New York, he found success in Lancaster with his caramel company, founded in 1886. The key to his caramels’ popularity was fresh milk – a technique he’d learned while working in Denver. The Lancaster Caramel Company thrived, employing over 1,300 workers and achieving annual revenues exceeding $1 million by the early 1890s.

In 1900, Hershey sold his caramel empire for $1 million – equivalent to tens of millions today. This capital was essential for what came next: his obsession with transforming milk chocolate from an expensive European luxury into an affordable American treat. But this required something unprecedented: a massive, reliable supply of fresh milk, a notoriously perishable commodity.

Hershey developed a proprietary process, slowly boiling milk at low heat in a vacuum with concentrated sugar to create a condensed milk base that blended smoothly with cocoa. This innovation was brilliant, but it demanded proximity to dairy farms. Transportation costs and spoilage could destroy his cost-leadership strategy before it began. He needed to build his factory where the milk was – and where the milk was, in southeastern Pennsylvania, there happened to be something even more valuable: the perfect workforce.

Building Chocolatetown: Infrastructure Meets Ideology

Derry Township in 1903 was hardly an obvious choice for industrial development, but Hershey saw past the surface. The location had a critical advantage: a station on the Philadelphia and Reading Railway, enabling the importation of cocoa beans and sugar from global markets and the distribution of finished products nationwide. To handle local logistics – particularly milk delivery and worker transportation – Hershey sponsored the Hummelstown & Campbellstown Street Railway, which began trolley service in 1904.

But Hershey’s vision extended far beyond a factory. He purchased 200 acres and planned an “ideal twentieth century town,” establishing the Hershey Improvement Company to create a complete community from scratch. His philosophy, which he summarized as “Business Is a Matter of Human Service,” manifested in remarkable ways. The company laid out roads, sidewalks, water, sewer, electric, and gas lines – state-of-the-art infrastructure for the era.

Most strategically, Hershey built attractive, modern homes featuring indoor plumbing and electricity and offered them for purchase to workers. This was genius. By appealing directly to the Pennsylvania German population’s deep cultural commitment to land ownership and permanence, he effectively locked in his workforce for generations. He wasn’t just offering jobs; he was validating centuries-old values.

The town included free public schools, libraries, playgrounds, gymnasiums, and Hersheypark amusement area, opened in 1906. These weren’t mere amenities – they were calculated tools for labor retention, offering a quality of life that typical industrial centers couldn’t match. The approach worked because it aligned perfectly with the cultural environment. Hershey’s emphasis on family values, stability, and education resonated with the traditional, settled population in ways that similar paternalistic ventures elsewhere – like Hershey’s own failed attempt in Cuba – could not replicate.

The company’s control over infrastructure created total economic integration. The factory furnished power for the trolley system; the Improvement Company controlled all utilities. During sales downturns, rather than lay off workers, Hershey paid employees to work on town improvements, reinforcing the stability that attracted the rooted population in the first place.

The Perpetual Machine

In 1909, Milton and his wife Catherine established the Hershey Industrial School for orphaned boys, funded through a trust. Following Catherine’s death in 1915, Milton transferred his entire fortune and company ownership to this trust in 1918. Today, the Hershey Trust Company owns a controlling stake in The Hershey Company and Hershey Entertainment and Resorts, with the Milton Hershey School serving as the economic anchor of the entire ecosystem.

This structure ensures perpetual survival – a fitting legacy for a venture built on the Pennsylvania German value of permanence. Even the school served the paternalistic framework, training students who often entered the factories or related businesses, creating a company-aligned labor stream.

The Lesson of Convergence

The story of Hershey is often told as one man’s visionary achievement, and Milton Hershey certainly possessed extraordinary foresight. But his success came from recognizing and leveraging forces set in motion centuries before his birth. The Pennsylvania Germans had spent generations creating exactly what he needed: a stable, diligent workforce committed to place, and an agricultural infrastructure capable of delivering massive quantities of fresh milk.

Hershey’s $1 million in capital, his technical innovation in milk processing, and his carefully calibrated welfare capitalism were the catalysts, but the fuel had been accumulating since 1683. His peers saw empty farmland; he saw cultural capital that no amount of money could replicate elsewhere. To this day, the vast majority of milk used by The Hershey Company comes from within a 100-mile radius of the original factory.

The transformation of rural Derry Township into “Chocolatetown, U.S.A.” wasn’t just a business decision. It was a masterpiece of historical convergence – a demonstration that industrial success sometimes requires not innovation alone, but the wisdom to recognize where innovation will find the richest soil in which to grow.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

The Journey of My Adams Family: Three Early Generations on the Path to American Identity

Posted on by

Life on the road allows you to separate yourself from the comforts of the familiar, meet people you might never encounter otherwise, embrace the process of self-discovery, and return home transformed. Invariably, the rejuvenated sense of life purpose that flows out of the journey comes with the realization that creating purpose is itself a lifelong endeavor.

Rolf Potts, The Vagabond’s Way

Part One of October on the Road.

In the first half of the 18th century, the city of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, stood as the primary entry point for a monumental demographic shift – the mass emigration of German-speaking peoples from the beleaguered territories of the Holy Roman Empire. This was not a trickle, but a flood of humanity, seeking refuge and opportunity under William Penn’s promise of religious liberty and fertile land. The generational journey of the Adam family, originating in the German state of Baden, serves as a powerful microcosm of this vast, complex movement that would ultimately shape the cultural and geographic contours of colonial America, from the Quaker city to the Carolina frontier.

The forces driving this exodus were profound: the incessant warfare and economic devastation plaguing regions like the Palatinate, coupled with religious tensions. For families like that of Johannes Nicholas Adam, born in Eichtersheim, Cannstatt, Baden, in 1695, the New World offered the only viable hope for the future. After marrying Juliana Bernadina Schweikhardt in 1719, Johannes made the life-altering decision to emigrate. Their specific journey illustrates the mid-stream pace of this migration: they arrived in Philadelphia on the ship William and Sarah on September 18, 1727. This single date marks their transition from subjects of the German Empire to newcomers in British Colonial America.

From Philadelphia’s Docks to Lancaster’s Fields

While Philadelphia’s docks offered the initial welcome, the city itself was merely a temporary staging ground. The true goal for the majority of German immigrants was land, a resource that had become increasingly scarce in their homeland. The journey inland from the Delaware River port was arduous, but the reward was the deep, rich topsoil of the rolling countryside to the west. This territory would coalesce into Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

The “Palatines,” as the immigrants were generically known, quickly established themselves as meticulous and industrious farmers, introducing techniques like crop rotation and the construction of sturdy, stone barns that became the signature of the Pennsylvania German landscape. Johannes Adam’s successful transition from immigrant to landowner is documented in the colonial records: he received a substantial 200-acre land grant in Lancaster County on February 28, 1734. This acquisition was the culmination of the original journey, securing a foundation for the family’s immediate future in agriculture and community building. For the second generation, Lancaster became their homeland, characterized by the use of the Pennsylvania German dialect and the strong social structure centered around Lutheran and German Reformed churches.

The Great Wagon Road and the Southern Push

Within a few short generations, the success and burgeoning population of the Pennsylvania German communities created a new challenge: land saturation. As land prices rose in Lancaster, the younger generations began to look southward, hearing reports of cheaper, equally fertile territory in the interior of the southern colonies. This second, internal migration followed a pivotal colonial thoroughfare known as the Great Wagon Road. This rough-hewn path, also called the Carolina Road or the Philadelphia Wagon Road, originated in Pennsylvania, followed the path of the Great Valley of Virginia, and descended into the backcountry of North and South Carolina.

One of the primary sources to help prepare for my October On the Road has been The Great Wagon Road: From Philadelphia to the South by Parke S. Rouse, Jr. – a historical chronicle of one of the most important and heavily traveled migration routes in colonial America.

The book details the history of the Great Wagon Road, the more than 800-mile artery that began in Philadelphia, passed through Pennsylvania towns like Lancaster and York, and stretched southwest through the Shenandoah Valley into the backcountry of Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, and ultimately Augusta, Georgia.

Rouse emphasizes that the road, which often followed ancient Native American trails, was the primary pathway for the mass settlement of the Southern backcountry in the 18th century. Tens of thousands of European immigrants – most notably Scots-Irish and German (Palatine) settlers noted above – traveled this rugged route from the congested areas of Pennsylvania to find inexpensive farmland and economic opportunity in the South.

The book showcases how this colonial “superhighway” was instrumental in promoting trade, aiding military movements during the French and Indian War and the American Revolution, and establishing the unique culture and communities of the inland Southern colonies. It frames the Great Wagon Road as an essential part of the nation’s formative years and its original immigrant highway.

The Great Wagon Road was the conduit for the (now) Adams family’s next crucial move. In the 1750s, John Adams (son of Johannes Nicholas Adam) left the established prosperity of Lancaster County and made the weeks-long trek south. His destination was the emerging settlement of Salisbury in Rowan County, North Carolina. This region, far from the coastal elite, offered the space and opportunity John sought.

The Conestoga Wagon: Engine of the Southward Migration

The very mechanism that made the multi-generational journey of the German immigrants possible was the Conestoga wagon (see image above), a heavy, durable freight vehicle developed specifically in Lancaster County. Named for the Conestoga Valley where it originated, this “ship of the inland commerce” was perfectly adapted to the rugged colonial roads. Its distinctive curved bed prevented the cargo – the families’ entire worldly possessions, tools, and provisions – from shifting or falling out on steep grades. Pulled by a team of four to six strong horses, the Conestoga wagon became the essential engine of migration, carrying thousands of Pennsylvania German families, including those like the Adams family, down the treacherous, rutted path of the Great Wagon Road. Its development was a crucial innovation that tied the prosperous Pennsylvania German settlements to the newly opening lands of the South.

A Legacy of Skill: From Farm to Pottery Kiln

Upon arriving in Rowan County, John Adams and his son did not merely replicate the agricultural existence of their Lancaster forebears. They carried with them, or quickly established, a vital trade that catered to the nascent frontier economy: pottery. John Adams, who purchased a lot in 1755, is recognized as the first documented potter of European descent in Salisbury. Most pottery was lead-glazed earthenware, and reflects the German earthenware traditions of Central Europe. Salisbury’s pottery tradition is part of North Carolina’s rich ceramic history, influenced by the Quaker community in the Piedmont region, as well as the Moravian settlement in Salem.

This occupational shift highlights the diverse skills German immigrants contributed to the American frontier. While farming provided sustenance, skilled trades like pottery provided essential goods and economic diversification. They utilized the local clays and the knowledge of European glazing and firing techniques to produce necessary stoneware and earthenware, establishing a lineage of artisans. 

My Adams family’s journey – from the Baden homeland to the Philadelphia port, to the agricultural heartland of Lancaster, and finally, to the pioneering industrial craft of Rowan County – perfectly encapsulates a three-part epic of early German immigration. Their story is a powerful testament to the resilience and enduring impact of a people whose search for freedom and better fortune indelibly marked the cultural landscape of the American South.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

Photo Credits: Philadelphia Water Department, Explore Pennsylvania History

Following the Tracks of History: October on the Road

Posted on by

As an amateur historian researching the pivotal role of Charlotte and Mecklenburg County, NC, in the American Revolution (see series here), a single historical thread kept pulling me away from all the activities and toward the migration route that made that history possible: The Great Wagon Road. This discovery, with its echoes of countless family journeys, has launched me into an October on the Road – a deeply personal historical pilgrimage that traces the dusty path of colonial pioneers from Pennsylvania south into the Carolinas.

While in reality it was a rough, difficult-to-travel dirt path, it was an 18th-century “superhighway,” a lifeline for tens of thousands of colonial pioneers – predominantly Scots-Irish and German immigrants – who fled the crowded, expensive lands around Philadelphia. In search of cheaper land and new opportunities, they packed their lives into sturdy Conestoga wagons and headed south, opening up the backcountry of Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia to permanent settlement. The Great Wagon Road didn’t just move people; it transplanted cultures, languages, and political ideals, directly setting the stage for the Revolutionary fervor I’ve been researching in North Carolina.

Appropriately, it was a book that inspired my final decision to hit the road!

The Road That Made America: A Modern Pilgrim’s Journey on the Great Wagon Road, is a modern, first-person account following the original path of the Great Wagon Road. James Dodson, whose own ancestors took the road, blends personal narrative with historical research to explore the road’s enduring legacy. The book highlights the strategic importance of the route during major conflicts like the French and Indian War and the American Revolution, and it discusses how the towns along the way became incubators of early American industry. It is a poignant and well-written narrative, and I highly recommend it for readers interested in the early years of America as populations moved away from the east coast into the interior of the country.

From History to Heritage: An Adams Family Mystery

The historical context of the Great Wagon Road has, by sheer coincidence, merged seamlessly with a recently renewed focus on my own Adams family genealogy. Building upon the dedicated work of my niece Amanda, I’ve been pursuing the timeless questions we often ask when thinking of our ancestors: Who were they? Where did they come from? How did they get here?

My “October on the Road” is now a double-barreled journey of discovery: one focused on the road’s strategic historical significance, and the other on solving the enduring mystery of my 2nd great-grandfather, John Washington Adams. The path beyond him is currently fractured into two intriguing, yet conflicting, ancestral branches:

  1. The German Branch: Historical records suggest one line of my ancestors arrived in Philadelphia in the early 1700s from Germany. They spent several generations building a life in Pennsylvania before joining the southern flow on the Great Wagon Road, eventually settling around Salisbury, NC, before finally heading over the mountains into Tennessee. This is the line most directly tied to the wagon road’s main migratory period.
  2. The Puritan Branch: Another set of historical records points to an arrival of Adams ancestors nearly a century earlier, placing my American lineage beginning in 1621 at Plymouth, MA. This branch remained in New England for six generations before a later move to Maryland, and then continuing the westward/southward push toward Tennessee.

This road trip is my chance to travel the ground these families would have walked, to breathe the air of the places they named, and perhaps, to find the subtle geographic clues that can reconcile or confirm one of these diverging family narratives.

The Journey: Following the Faint Tracks

An already-planned fall road trip with Anita now has a consciously revised itinerary, transforming a week in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley into a dedicated pursuit of the Great Wagon Road. Our journey begins where the pioneers did – in the former colonial heartland of Pennsylvania – and will trace the route through West Virginia, Virginia, and into North Carolina.

Northbound Starting Points and Key Stops:

The road’s path is marked by the towns that sprang up to service the steady stream of travelers, and our itinerary will hit the major historical anchors:

  • Pennsylvania: The journey begins at the source, near Philadelphia, before entering major hubs like Lancaster and York, where wagons were outfitted and supplies purchased.
  • Maryland: The route continues through Hagerstown, a key trading hub settled by German immigrants like my potential ancestors.
  • Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley: This days-long segment will immerse us in the heart of the journey. We’ll travel through historic towns like Winchester, Staunton, and Lexington, observing how the fertile land drew in settlers and sustained the immense movement. This region is critical, as it’s where the road begins to fan out – the point where the Wilderness Road branched off towards the Cumberland Gap, and where the main track continued south towards the Carolinas.

The Southern Destination: Old Salem, Salisbury and Charlotte

After the week-long segment depicted above, my “October on the Road” will continue with multiple day trips throughout North Carolina – the destination of one of my Adams family branches.

  • Salisbury: This town is a primary destination, as it was a major terminus for settlers from Pennsylvania and the likely settling point for my German ancestors before they made their final move west to Tennessee. Its growth was directly tied to the lifeblood of the Great Wagon Road.
  • Winston-Salem: We will visit the Moravian Settlements (focusing on Old Salem), which served as a critical, well-organized cultural and economic hub along the road, demonstrating the German religious influence on the southern backcountry.
  • Charlotte: Finally, I’ll arrive home in the region that initiated this journey. Charlotte, and by extension Mecklenburg County, benefited immensely from the road, which facilitated the explosive growth that made it a significant political and economic force by the time of the Revolution – the very history I set out to document.

This October, I won’t just be reading maps and records; I’ll be experiencing the figurative road itself. I’m seeking the resonance between the grand scale of colonial migration and the intimate story of my own family, hoping to see evidence of the Adams name not just on a ledger, but on the very land they crossed. This trip promises to transform the Great Wagon Road from a historical reference into a living, ancestral pathway.

Part of a series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

Celebrating National Peach Day: A Sweet Summer Send-Off

Posted on by

August 27 marks National Peach Day, a fitting tribute to one of summer’s most beloved fruits as the season begins its graceful descent toward autumn. 

There’s something almost magical about the way a perfectly ripe peach can transport you with its first bite – the way the fuzzy skin gives way to reveal that sunset-colored flesh, dripping with nectar-sweet juice that runs down your chin and demands immediate attention from your napkin or, more likely, your sleeve.

The peach, with its intoxicating fragrance and velvet texture, represents everything we cherish about summer’s fleeting abundance. It’s a fruit that refuses to be rushed, demanding patience as it ripens to that perfect moment of yielding softness, when the gentlest pressure reveals whether it’s ready to deliver its full symphony of flavors. Miss that window, and you’re left with either a hard, disappointing bite or an overripe mess that’s better suited for cobbler than eating out of hand.

A Spectrum of Summer Sweetness

The world of peaches offers an delightful diversity that extends far beyond the classic fuzzy orb most people envision. Freestone peaches, with their easily removable pits, are the darlings of home cooks and snackers alike, while clingstone varieties hold their fruit close to the stone, making them perfect for commercial processing into jams, preserves, and canned goods that let us taste summer long after the frost arrives.

White peaches, with their more delicate, floral notes and lower acidity, offer a refined sweetness that seems almost exotic compared to their more common yellow cousins. Then there are the donut peaches – those flat, saturn-shaped curiosities that pack concentrated peach flavor into their compact form, perfect for lunch boxes and picnic baskets. Nectarines, technically the smooth-skinned siblings of traditional peaches, bring their own intense flavor profile to the party, proving that sometimes less fuzz means more bite.

Each variety tells its own story through color, texture, and taste. From the deep crimson blush of a Red Haven to the pale yellow glow of a Belle of Georgia, peaches paint summer in shades that would make any sunset jealous. The names alone evoke romance and regional pride: Elberta, Carolina Belle, Georgia Jet, Summer Lady – each cultivar carrying the hopes and heritage of the orchards that nurture them.

Georgia: The Peach State Legacy

When most Americans think of peaches, their minds inevitably wander to Georgia, the self-proclaimed “Peach State.” This association runs so deep that Georgia’s license plates proudly display a peach, and the state quarter features the fruit prominently. But the story of how Georgia earned this sweet reputation is more complex and fascinating than many realize.

Georgia’s peach industry actually began in the mid-1800s when farmers discovered that the state’s climate and soil conditions were ideal for growing high-quality peaches. The industry truly flourished after the Civil War, when innovative farmers like Samuel H. Rumph began developing new varieties better suited to the Southern climate. Rumph’s Elberta peach, named after his wife Clara Elberta Moore, became one of the most successful commercial varieties ever developed and helped establish Georgia’s reputation as peach paradise.

The railroad’s expansion in the late 19th century proved crucial to Georgia’s peach dominance, allowing farmers to ship their delicate cargo to Northern markets before it spoiled. Special refrigerated cars carried Georgia peaches to eager customers in New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, where the fruit commanded premium prices and developed a devoted following.

The industry reached its peak in the 1920s when Georgia was indeed the nation’s top peach producer. Towns like Fort Valley became known as the “Peach Capital of Georgia,” with entire communities revolving around the seasonal rhythms of peach cultivation. The sight of endless rows of peach trees in full bloom each spring became an iconic image of the American South, drawing tourists and photographers from across the nation.

Interestingly, while Georgia maintains its peach state identity, California now produces about 75% of America’s peaches, with South Carolina, Georgia, and New Jersey following as distant runners-up. But Georgia’s peaches maintain a reputation for exceptional quality, with many connoisseurs insisting that the state’s traditional varieties and time-honored growing methods produce fruit with superior flavor and texture.

The Fleeting Season’s Sweet Urgency

Part of what makes peaches so precious is their tantalizingly short season. Unlike apples that can be stored for months or oranges available year-round, fresh peaches demand our attention for just a few precious months each summer. This scarcity creates an urgency that makes every peach moment feel special – the rushed trips to farmers markets, the careful selection process of choosing fruit that will ripen just right, the disappointed sighs when the season’s last peaches disappear from market stands.

This brief window of availability has shaped how we think about and consume peaches. They’re intrinsically linked to summer memories: roadside stands with hand-painted signs, the ritual of eating peach cobbler at family reunions, the simple pleasure of biting into a perfectly ripe peach over the kitchen sink while juice runs everywhere. These moments feel so ephemeral precisely because we know they can’t last.

Farewell to the Peach Milkshake

As we celebrate National Peach Day, we must also acknowledge one of summer’s most beloved peach casualties: the seasonal departure of Chick-fil-A’s Peach Milkshake (August 16th this year). For millions of fans, this creamy, peachy confection represents the absolute pinnacle of peach-flavored indulgence. Made with real peaches and the chain’s signature Icedream, the Peach Milkshake manages to capture the essence of summer in a cup, delivering that perfect balance of fruit and cream that makes you want to savor every sip while simultaneously gulping it down before it melts.

The annual ritual of the Peach Milkshake’s arrival and departure has become a cultural touchstone for many Americans. Its late spring debut signals that summer has truly arrived, while its eventual disappearance from menu boards serves as a melancholy reminder that the season is winding down. Social media fills with both celebration posts when it returns and mournful farewells when it goes, creating a nationwide conversation about seasonal treats and the bittersweet nature of limited-time offerings.

The genius of Chick-fil-A’s Peach Milkshake lies in its ability to concentrate the best aspects of fresh peaches – the sweetness, the aroma, the summery satisfaction – into a form that feels both familiar and special. It’s comfort food that tastes like celebration, a treat that manages to be both nostalgic and thoroughly modern.

An interesting fact I learned while on a Backstage Tour at Chick-fil-A’s headquarters: the peaches used in their milkshakes come from Greece. According to a CFA representative, the temperate, sunny summers, avid autumn rains, and cool winters in Northern Greece make the climate perfect for peaches canned at peak freshness by state-of-the-art processors and packaged as diced pieces in syrup, ready for your favorite summer treat next season.

Even after Chick-fil-A’s beloved Peach Milkshake disappears from menus at the end of summer, you don’t have to wait until next year to satisfy your craving. The internet has responded to fans’ devotion with a proliferation of copycat recipes, particularly on Pinterest, where home cooks share their perfected versions that capture that signature peachy sweetness and creamy texture. These recipes typically call for simple, readily available ingredients that you can find at most grocery stores: vanilla ice cream, frozen or canned peaches (with many swearing by the premium Greek peaches available at Costco for their superior flavor), whole milk, and a touch of vanilla extract. Some recipes suggest adding a hint of honey or peach syrup to intensify the fruit flavor, while others incorporate Greek yogurt for extra creaminess. With just a blender and these accessible ingredients, you can recreate this seasonal favorite in your own kitchen year-round, customizing the thickness and sweetness to your personal preference while enjoying the same peachy indulgence that makes the original so special.

Looking Ahead to Next Summer’s Promise

As National Peach Day arrives and summer begins its gradual retreat, we’re already looking ahead to next year’s peach season with eager anticipation. Across Georgia, California, South Carolina, and beyond, peach trees are already setting next year’s fruit, promising another cycle of blossoming hope and summer sweetness. And there is a way to have fresh, you’ve-got-to-eat-them-right-now peaches delivered to your door!

The Peach Truck has revolutionized how fresh, tree-ripened peaches reach consumers across the country, delivering the authentic taste of Georgia and South Carolina orchards directly to neighborhoods nationwide. Founded by a couple who wanted to share the exceptional quality of truly ripe peaches – the kind that are picked at peak ripeness rather than shipped green and hard like most grocery store varieties – the Peach Truck operates on a seasonal schedule that follows the natural peach harvest from May through August. Customers can pre-order online and then pick up their boxes of peaches at designated stops in cities and towns across multiple states, where the distinctive truck arrives loaded with fruit that’s so perfectly ripe it needs to be handled with care and consumed within days of purchase. These peaches arrive with their fuzzy skin intact and flesh so juicy that eating one requires strategic planning to avoid dripping, offering a stark contrast to the firm, often flavorless peaches typically found in supermarkets. The Peach Truck’s delivery model has created a devoted following of customers who eagerly await the annual announcements of delivery schedules, knowing that these premium peaches – with their intense sweetness and aromatic fragrance – represent the gold standard for what a peach should actually taste like.

Whether you source from a local orchard or delivery via The Peach Truck, the beauty of the peach lies not just in its flavor, but in its ability to mark time and create anticipation. Each year’s crop is unique, shaped by weather patterns, rainfall, and countless variables that make every peach season a new adventure. Next summer’s peaches will be growing soon, quietly developing the sweetness that will define another season of farmers market visits, roadside stand discoveries, and perfect peach moments yet to be savored.

Until then, we celebrate today’s peaches and the memories they’ve created, knowing that the promise of next summer’s bounty makes the wait worthwhile. After all, the best things in life – like perfectly ripe peaches – are worth waiting for.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

Photos: Chick-fil-A, The Peach Truck

The Fiery Legacy: A History of Tabasco Brand Pepper Sauce

Posted on by

In the sultry marshlands of Louisiana’s Avery Island, a culinary empire was born from a handful of pepper seeds and one man’s relentless pursuit of the perfect hot sauce. The story of Tabasco brand pepper sauce is not merely a tale of commercial success, but a fascinating chronicle of American entrepreneurship, family tradition, and the transformation of a regional condiment into a global phenomenon that has graced tables from New Orleans to Tokyo for more than 150 years.

The Tabasco story begins in the aftermath of the Civil War with Edmund McIlhenny, a Maryland-born banker who had married into the Avery family of Louisiana. When the war devastated the South’s economy, McIlhenny found himself seeking new ways to support his family on Avery Island, the family’s salt-mining property in the Louisiana bayou country. Around 1868, he received a gift that would change culinary history: a handful of capsicum pepper seeds, believed to have originated in Mexico or Central America.

McIlhenny’s background in banking had taught him precision and attention to detail – qualities that would prove invaluable in perfecting his pepper sauce recipe. He began experimenting with the fiery red peppers, crushing them with Avery Island salt, adding vinegar, and aging the mixture in wooden barrels. The humid Louisiana climate provided ideal conditions for fermentation, and after months of patient waiting, McIlhenny had created something extraordinary: a smooth, vinegar-based sauce with a complex heat that built gradually on the palate.

The Birth of a Brand

What set McIlhenny’s creation apart from other pepper sauces of the era was not just its distinctive flavor profile, but his approach to branding and quality control. In 1870, he began selling his sauce commercially, initially calling it “Tabasco” after the Mexican state where he believed the peppers originated. The name itself carried exotic appeal, evoking the mysterious and spicy flavors of distant lands.

McIlhenny’s genius lay in understanding that consistency was key to building customer loyalty. Unlike many condiment makers of his time who varied their recipes based on available ingredients, he insisted on maintaining exact standards. Every bottle had to meet his precise specifications for color, texture, and heat level. This obsession with quality would become the cornerstone of the brand’s enduring success.

The distinctive diamond-shaped label, featuring the word “TABASCO” in bold letters, became one of America’s first recognizable brand identities. McIlhenny even patented his process and trademarked the name, demonstrating remarkable foresight about the importance of intellectual property protection in the emerging industrial economy.

Expansion and Innovation

Following Edmund McIlhenny’s death in 1890, the company passed to his eldest son, John Avery McIlhenny, who proved equally committed to quality while being more ambitious about expansion. Under his leadership, Tabasco sauce began appearing on dining tables across America and beyond. The younger McIlhenny recognized that the sauce’s appeal transcended regional boundaries – its ability to enhance flavors rather than overwhelm them made it versatile enough for diverse culinary traditions.

The company’s growth during the late 19th and early 20th centuries reflected broader changes in American food culture. As the nation became more connected through railroads and telegraph systems, regional specialties could reach national markets. Tabasco rode this wave, establishing distribution networks that would eventually span the globe.

World War I proved a pivotal moment for the brand. American soldiers deployed overseas carried small bottles of Tabasco in their rations, introducing the sauce to European and Asian palates. This military connection would continue through subsequent conflicts, with Tabasco becoming an unofficial ambassador of American flavor around the world.

The Science of Heat

The McIlhenny family’s commitment to their original process has remained remarkably consistent over the decades. The peppers are still grown from seeds descended from Edmund’s original stock, carefully cultivated on Avery Island and selected farms in Central and South America. The three-year aging process in white oak barrels has never been shortened despite modern pressure for faster production methods.

This dedication to traditional methods extends to the company’s approach to pepper selection. Workers still hand-pick peppers at peak ripeness, using a small wooden stick painted the exact shade of red that indicates optimal maturity – a quality control method that dates back to the founder’s era. The peppers are ground with Avery Island salt within hours of harvesting, beginning the fermentation process that creates Tabasco’s distinctive tangy heat.

Cultural Impact and Global Reach

By the mid-20th century, Tabasco had transcended its origins as a regional condiment to become a cultural icon. The sauce appeared in literature, films, and advertisements, often serving as shorthand for American boldness and flavor. Its presence in upscale restaurants alongside humble diners demonstrated its unique ability to cross class and cultural boundaries.

The brand’s international expansion accelerated after World War II, with Tabasco establishing production facilities and distribution networks on multiple continents. Today, the sauce is sold in more than 195 countries and territories, with labels printed in over 20 languages. Yet remarkably, every bottle still contains peppers that can trace their lineage back to Edmund McIlhenny’s original seeds.

Legacy of Family Stewardship

Perhaps most remarkable about the Tabasco story is its continuity of family ownership and management. The McIlhenny Company remains privately held, with leadership passing from generation to generation of the founding family. This continuity has allowed the company to maintain its long-term perspective on quality and brand integrity, resisting pressures that might tempt publicly traded companies to compromise their standards.

The family’s stewardship extends beyond the business to environmental conservation. Avery Island serves as both production facility and wildlife sanctuary, with the company actively protecting the delicate ecosystem of the Louisiana marshlands. This commitment reflects values that extend back to the founder’s respect for the land that made his success possible.

Today, as global food culture continues to evolve and consumers seek ever more intense flavor experiences, Tabasco stands as proof that authenticity and consistency can create enduring value. From Edmund McIlhenny’s first experimental batch to the millions of bottles produced annually today, the brand represents more than just hot sauce – it embodies the American entrepreneurial spirit and the power of staying true to one’s original vision while adapting to a changing world.

McIlhenny’s Gold: A Family’s Pursuit of Excellence

Jeffrey Rothfeder’s McIlhenny’s Gold chronicles how the McIlhenny Company remained a family-run enterprise, preserving Edmund’s original process through generations. Rothfeder highlights the role of Edward Avery McIlhenny, Edmund’s grandson, who expanded pepper cultivation and increased output while preserving the sauce’s artisanal roots.

The company’s leadership – always family – navigated challenges like hurricanes, fluctuating pepper harvests, and the temperamental economics of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Yet the commitment to slow-aging in wooden barrels, precise salinity, and a consistent pepper-to-vinegar ratio remained unwavering. Edward also pioneered packaging innovations, ensuring Tabasco reached national markets – an early sign of global ambitions.

Illustrated History: Visual Context and Marketing

Shane Bernard’s Tabasco: The Illustrated History richly supplements the narrative through visuals: vintage labels, bottle designs, and advertising ephemera that chart the evolution of the brand’s image and identity. Early labels emphasized the McIlhenny name and Louisiana origins, closely tying the product to place and heritage.

Bernard brings to life the shift from bulk wooden containers and cork-sealed bottles to today’s glued, branded bottles with iconic diamond-shaped labels. These visual artifacts underscore how consumers came to recognize and trust the distinct flavor and presentation of Tabasco – a hallmark of domestic and international marketing acumen.

Speculation and Legacy — What Comes Next?

While both works conclude before the present day, they seed future-oriented questions:

  1. Innovation within Tradition: Will the McIlhenny Company introduce new aging vessels (e.g., barrel finishes inspired by spirits) without compromising core flavor?
  2. Sustainability of Peppers: With climate change and agricultural volatility, how will Avery Island pepper cultivation adapt?
  3. Digital-Age Storytelling: Could immersive augmented-reality labels show mash-and-age timelines or vintage postcards?
  4. Retail Disruption: As artisanal hot sauces proliferate online, how does the heritage brand maintain preeminence?

These speculations are grounded in the meticulously documented past – innovative stewardship alongside consistency – that both Bernard and Rothfeder chronicle.

The story of Tabasco is a classic American tale of entrepreneurship and ingenuity. It’s a testament to the power of a simple, high-quality product and the importance of preserving a brand’s heritage. The fiery, tangy sauce that started in a post-war Louisiana kitchen has become a beloved fixture on dinner tables around the world, and its history, like its flavor, is truly unforgettable.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

The Power of Synoptical Reading: How to Read for Mastery Across Books

Posted on by

In a world brimming with information, one of the most powerful yet underused reading strategies is synoptical reading. More than a technique, synoptical reading is a discipline of synthesis – of drawing together multiple perspectives on a subject to cultivate depth, clarity, and wisdom. Whether you’re a student, scholar, leader, or lifelong learner, this approach can transform the way you learn, think, and engage with complex ideas.

What Is Synoptical Reading?

Think of synoptical reading as the ultimate book conversation – it’s what happens when you gather multiple authors around the same topic and let them hash it out. Mortimer Adler and Charles Van Doren called this the highest form of reading* in their classic How to Read a Book, and for good reason. Instead of just absorbing what one author tells you, synoptical reading involves collecting different books on the same subject and playing intellectual detective, looking for patterns, contradictions, and those “aha!” moments when seemingly unrelated ideas suddenly click together. It’s like being a moderator at a debate where the participants wrote their arguments decades or even centuries apart. 

You’re not just reading – you’re orchestrating a dialogue between minds, asking tough questions, and building something new from the collision of different perspectives. 

This approach becomes incredibly powerful because it reveals how ideas evolve over time, exposes the blind spots that individual authors might miss, and often leads to insights that none of the original writers could have reached alone. In our current world of endless information streams, synoptical reading is less about consuming more content and more about becoming a thoughtful curator who can weave together the best thinking on complex topics into something genuinely illuminating.

How It Works: An Example from the Guest Experience Field

Let’s say you’re exploring the topic of guest experience – a concept that blends hospitality, emotional connection, intentional design, and cultural insight. A traditional approach might involve reading one well-known book, such as Horst Schulze’s Excellence Wins. But synoptical reading invites a broader, more layered view.

Drawing from the curated titles in The Essential Guest Experience Library, here’s how you might construct a synoptical reading list to explore guest experience from multiple vantage points:

  1. Legacy + Leadership
    Excellence Wins by Horst Schulze (co-founder of The Ritz-Carlton) offers both operational philosophy and personal leadership wisdom. His insistence that “ladies and gentlemen serve ladies and gentlemen” reframes guest experience as a matter of dignity and culture-building.
  2. Disney + Storytelling
    Be Our Guest by the Disney Institute and Theodore Kinni introduces the power of intentional systems, story-driven environments, and on-stage/off-stage discipline in delivering consistent, magical experiences. Disney’s approach models scalability without sacrificing soul.
  3. Design + Empathy
    The Power of Moments by Chip and Dan Heath provides insight into why certain interactions are remembered, shared, and treasured. Their framework – elevation, insight, pride, and connection – shifts guest experience from process to emotionally charged encounter.
  4. Culture + Soul
    Unreasonable Hospitality by Will Guidara tells the story of transforming Eleven Madison Park into the world’s best restaurant – not through food alone, but by making every guest feel seen. Guidara shows how irrational generosity creates unforgettable moments of belonging.
  5. Framework + Execution
    The Experience by Bruce Loeffler (former Disney leader) and Brian Church translates guest experience into a practical framework for leadership teams. It’s ideal for organizations that want to operationalize hospitality while keeping the heart intact.

With this synoptical approach, you start to see how different disciplines – luxury hotels, theme parks, fine dining, and organizational strategy – converge around a shared mission: to create experiences that delight, transform, and endure.

But you’ll also uncover key distinctions. Schulze emphasizes honor and systems; Guidara focuses on emotional generosity and improvisation. The Heath brothers bring psychological insight, while Loeffler provides templates for execution. Disney stands alone in institutionalizing storytelling at scale. Synthesizing these voices allows you to not only appreciate their individual brilliance but also build your own blueprint tailored to your context – whether that’s a nonprofit, church, café, or global brand.

Why Synoptical Reading Matters

In our age of information overload, it’s easy to get lost in isolated data points or become trapped in ideological echo chambers. Synoptical reading offers a structured antidote. Here’s why it’s so powerful:

  • It Develops Intellectual Humility

By reading widely and across viewpoints, you’re less likely to idolize a single author or framework. It teaches you that no one has the full picture – and that’s a good thing. True wisdom lies in nuance.

  • It Cultivates Critical Thinking

Synthesizing multiple arguments requires you to detect assumptions, biases, logical fallacies, and philosophical underpinnings. It sharpens your ability to ask, “Compared to what?” and “Why does this matter?”

  • It Deepens Retention and Understanding

Rather than passively reading and forgetting, synoptical reading demands active comparison. This act of mental wrestling increases comprehension and memory, much like cross-training enhances athletic performance.

  • It Encourages Independent Thought

By creating your own terms of discussion and evaluating authors from a higher level, you stop parroting others and begin forming your own reasoned judgments. You become not just a reader, but a thinker.

  • It Enhances Application and Problem-Solving

Most real-world challenges are not solved by one theory alone. Whether you’re addressing generational shifts in leadership, reimagining guest experiences, or tackling ethical dilemmas, synoptical readers draw from multiple wells.

How to Practice Synoptical Reading

This kind of reading is less about volume and more about intentionality. Here’s a simple framework to start:

  1. Define the Question
    What are you trying to understand? The best synoptical reading starts with a real-life tension or curiosity.
  2. Build a Bibliography
    Choose 3–5 books from different traditions, disciplines, or ideological standpoints. Don’t just read what confirms your bias – include thoughtful dissenters.
  3. Skim First, Then Dive
    Begin by skimming each book for structure, terminology, and core claims. This survey will help you create a shared vocabulary across books.
  4. Take Comparative Notes
    Use a matrix or chart to track how each author defines key terms, frames the problem, and suggests solutions. Note contradictions, insights, and shared themes.
  5. Write a Synthesis
    Summarize your findings. Where do the books align or diverge? What do they miss? What’s your take, and how has it changed?

Final Thought: Reading as Dialogue, Not Consumption

Synoptical reading reimagines books not as static containers of information but as conversation partners. Each author speaks from their vantage point, but you – the reader – host the dialogue, ask the questions, and ultimately offer the conclusion.

In a time when complexity is often flattened into soundbites and certainty is prized over curiosity, synoptical reading revives the art of intellectual hospitality. It invites divergent voices to the table, listens carefully, and offers back something wiser than any single book could contain.

If reading is a feast, synoptical reading is the banquet.

* A NOTE ABOUT WORD USEAGE: Syntopical and synoptical reading are often used interchangeably, but there’s a subtle distinction between the two, though both represent the highest and most demanding level of reading. Both methods involve reading multiple books on the same subject to gain a deep understanding of a topic. However, syntopical reading, as defined by Mortimer Adler is about creating a new perspective on a topic by putting authors in conversation with each other. While synoptical reading is also about comparing texts, it’s a broader term and not as systematic as the syntopical method described by Adler. Both approaches go beyond merely understanding a single book, pushing the reader to create new knowledge and a comprehensive understanding of a topic through rigorous comparison and analysis.

My bias has been to use the “synoptical” as that was the term I was introduced to while in graduate school (syntopical was not in the dictionary, and thus not useable in graduate work), and it has stuck with me since. That being said, the process defined by Adler is closer to what I refer to in this article.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.