The journey continues . . . but after the day commenced in the Town of Fishkill, New York with a glorious Hudson Valley summer morning.

Fishkill is not named after some particularly memorable toxic event in a nearby creek, but is actually the Dutch name for that nearby creek ("kill")  Founded in 1788, the town was originally settled by the Dutch, who called it Vis Kill, or "Fish Creek."

The high, rocky, precipitous Fishkill Mountains guard the southern part of the town.  Their twin peaks are known as Old Beacon (elev. 1471) and Grand Sachem (elev. 1685), and the gap between them as Wiccopee Pass, which was carefully guarded during the Revolution to prevent British forces from invading the nearby west point on the Hudson. A considerable American force was stationed along the pass during the campaign of 1777. 

The first settlement was established here before 1690; the earliest historical documents are land deeds dated 1697.  The first mill was erected at the mouth of the Fishkill Creek some time before 1709 in what became Fishkill Landing.

By 1870, the Village of Fishkill contained a bank, a savings bank, two hotels, a number of stores, and four churches.  The Reformed Protestant Dutch, the oldest church, has records dating back to September 30, 1727; it has been estimated that the church was formed as early as 1716.  A new edifice was built in 1786 to replace the one built in 1731.  During the Revolution, the old church was used for barracks by the American Army.

Meanwhile, back in the 21st Century, I backtracked out of Fishkill and the State of New York, passing through the State of Connecticut, including the Towns of Danbury and Southington near allegedly god-forsaken Bristol, past Hartford with its lack of street signs, and on across the Massachusetts border to where Interstate 84 joins the Turnpike near Stockbridge, and on down the Mass Pike to Boston, where I got to enjoy dinner and spend the evening at my Mom's house.

All that, of course, was yesterday.  Today, on a glorious New England August afternoon, Mom and I played a few rousing games of Scrabble on the front porch before I concluded my working tour of the Northeast by returning my rental car, a trustworthy and dependable Ford Fusion equipped with Sirius satellite radio (which kept me thoroughly entertained over the many miles driven), at Boston's Logan Airport and boarding a Delta flight back home to Atlanta.