On “Skaneateles”

William Martin Beauchamp, in his Aboriginal Place Names of New York (1907), wrote on the origin and pronunciation of Skaneateles as follows:

“Skan-e-at’-e-les, long lake, is one form of this frequent name. Morgan gives this as Ska-ne-a’-dice in Onondaga and Seneca, Ska-ne-a’-dice in Cayuga, Skon-yat-e’-les in Tuscarora, Ska’-ne-a’-dal-lis in Mohawk, the last being nearest the usual local pronounciation. The Moravians wrote it Sganiatarees in 1750, having a Cayuga guide.

“Clark gave the Onondaga form as Skehneahties, or very long lake, and I received it as Skaneaties. It is Lac Scaniatores on the map of Charlevoix. Spafford made a note on this name: ‘Skaneateles, in the dialect of the Onondaga Indians, signifies long, and the lake has its name from them… The inhabitants say I must write this Skaneateles, but why they do not tell me.

“It will be observed, however, that the present name has the Mohawk form. There is a groundless but persistent belief that this means beautiful squaw, but all good authorities, including the Onondagas, assert that it means merely long lake. So strenuous was the local opposition to this prosaic definition, that Mr. Clark put on record the testimony of two principle chiefs of the Onondagas on this point in 1862. Among other things they said:

‘We would here distinctly state that we have never known among the Indians the interpretation of Skaneateles to be “beautiful squaw,” nor do we know of any tradition among the Onondagas, connected with Skaneateles, that has any allusion to a “beautiful squaw,” or “tall virgin,” or any “female of graceful form.” The Onondagas know the lake by the name Skeh-nae-a-ties, which, literally rendered, is “long water.” Nothing more or less. We have inquired of several of our chief men and women, who say that it is the first time they have ever heard that Skaneateles meant “beautiful squaw.” They, as well as ourselves, believe such interpretation to be a fiction.’”

One such fictional account, contemporary with Beauchamp’s book, was “Ode to Skaneateles Lake,” in Indian Legends of Early Days (1905) by Nettie Parrish Martin. In her poem, Martin ascribes the name to a beautiful maiden named Skaneateles who is struck by lightning whilst in her canoe, and her grieving father, the chief, names the lake for her. My money rides with Beauchamp.

Skaneateles, 1829

“Rose at 7, and looked out our window for the first time upon Skaneateles, the lake of which we had heard so much. It is indeed a beautiful sheet of water, extending up for the distance of sixteen miles, through a charming country, well cultivated and variegated by farm houses, woodlands, orchards, country seats, etc. The village is very pretty, and many houses in that, and at a distance on the borders of the lake, are built with taste and environed by shrubbery, as houses in the country always should be.

“But there was one grand mistake made in building this village, which has marred its beauty exceedingly. The main street was laid out so as to sweep round the margin of the lake, at its foot. On the northern side of the street and fronting on the lake, the houses of the citizens were erected; and one would have supposed even the Goths & Vandals would have had good taste enough to have preserved an open view to the lake, by having a smooth lawn of green-sward, planted with locusts and the willow, between the road and the lake.

“But contrary to every principle of taste or beauty, one of the churches and several blocks of stores and artisans’ workshops, have been erected upon the shore which in most cases entirely intercept the water-prospect! So that but for the privilege of taking now a sail, and now a mess of fish, the good people might as well have no lake at all. The stores should be burnt by the common hangman, and the church taken quietly down and reared in a more suitable place.”

From New York to Niagara: Journal of a Tour, in Part by the Erie Canal, in the Year 1829 by Col. William Leete Stone

On the Voyage of Self-Discovery

“To tell you the truth, it’s my sixth marriage. And I’m starting to think it’s me.”

– Gregg Allman in “The Lost Brother” by Mark Binelli, Rolling Stone, July 2009

Skaneateles, 1876

“Skaneateles Lake is a beautiful body of water some sixteen miles in length, narrow and deep, clear and pure, situated in Onondaga county, New York, southwest of Syracuse some eighteen miles, and is resorted to, during the heat of summer, by the rich, the gay and the sick, from every part of the Union. The sloping shores are noted for their American rural character and pleasant scenery, and in the future must become the ‘Como’ or ‘Windermere’ of America. The country is well improved around it, and on its banks are many fine mansions, and its waters are used for mechanical purposes.

“Skaneateles is a flourishing little town of some fifteen hundred inhabitants, situated at the foot of the lake, and known, far and wide, for its conservative element.”

– From The Truths of Spiritualism: Immortality Proved Beyond a Doubt by Living Witnesses (1876) by E.V. Wilson, The Seer

Skaneateles, 1832

“At sunset, we reached the beautiful little village of Skaneateles, situated at the head of a romantic lake, sixteen miles long and nearly two wide, of the same name. While delayed here for some time, to shift horses and for the mail to undergo another examination, the passengers stood on the margin of the lake admiring its clear and unruffled surface, save here and there where a slight ripple was caused by the slow movement of one or two small scullers as they changed their fishing berth for some spot which would appear more favourable for their diversion.

“Gardens and cultivated fields extended to the water’s edge and numerous neat white houses, scattered about upon the range of low hills, ornamented either bank. While gazing on its beauties, a thunder storm suddenly burst over us with a heavy squall of wind, and ere we could regain the coach the whole scene was changed. The lake was now perfectly black and its disturbed surface, with a small and troubled ripple occasioned by the violent gust, formed a strong and somewhat unpleasing contrast to its late placid and mild appearance.

“At half past eight, we arrived at the American hotel in Auburn, rejoiced that the fatigues of the day were over, having had scarcely 200 yards of level ground during the last twenty miles.”

– From A Subaltern’s Furlough, descriptive of scenes in various parts of the United States, Upper and Lower Canada, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, during the summer and autumn of 1832 by E.T. Coke, Lieutenant of the 45th Regiment

For My Part

“For my part, even at my then early age (and ever since), I preferred those of any church or creed that could be religious without becoming professional or doing a lockstep.”

– William S. Hart in My Life East and West (1903)

More Book Art

One of those rare marriages of literary and artistic talent creating a book I will never be able to afford.

Thank You

“I’m learning to love and appreciate each thing for what it is. In the end, be careful to do what you are best at doing and wait for the wheel to turn to you.”

– Kim Parent

Dogs & Sleep

“Here is some of what I have found in my bed: mulch, grass, leaves, tiny little black things that seem (thank God) inanimate, brownish streaks I don’t want to examine, feathers, twigs, gravel, muddy paw prints, and plain dirt. I never look closely anymore; I assume the worst…

“I used to feel about king-size beds the way I do about Hummers and private jets and granite countertops, but over the past seven years I gained three dogs and thirty pounds, and my old bed, a humble queen, just didn’t cut it anymore. It was either lose the the weight, lose the dogs, or buy something bigger. King-size is what I needed, and king-size is what I got.”

– Abigail Thomas in “Sleeping with Dogs on a King-Size Bed” in Woof!: Writers on Dogs (2008), edited by Lee Montgomery

Taking Notes

“The impulse to write things down is a peculiarly compulsive one, inexplicable to those who do not share it, useful only accidentally, only secondarily, in a way that any compulsion tries to justify itself. I suppose that it begins or does not begin in the cradle. Although I have felt compelled to write things down since I was five years old, I doubt that my daughter ever will, for she is a singularly blessed and accepting child, delighted with life exactly as life presents itself to her, unafraid to go to sleep and unafraid to wake up. Keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss.”

– Joan Didion in “On Keeping a Notebook” in Slouching Towards Bethlehem (1966)