Tucked away in a section of the stone wall near the 212th Street and Broadway entrance to Isham Park is an often overlooked survivor of Inwood’s past. The old Albany Post Road mile marker blends into its surroundings, but is hard to miss when you know what to look for.

Curved at the top, this rectangular stone stands upright in the shadow of the giant ginkgo tree, just below the spot where the Isham Park caretaker’s house once stood. (Shown in 1925 photo below.)

This anonymous mile marker, its number wiped clean by the ravages of time, once told travelers they were 12 miles from City Hall in downtown Manhattan. Similar markers ticked off the miles to Albany in a path now followed by Route 9.

This neighborhood treasure might have been forgotten completely; if not for Inwood historian William Calver, who put these words to paper in 1932:

“In the days of our earlier outings about Inwood there stood by the roadway two of the ancient milestones; these were the 12th and the 13th indicating the distance from “N York.” The 13th milestone which stood on the west side of the Kingsbridge Road near the extreme north end of the island has disappeared, but the 12th milestone still remains- built into the retaining wall at the Isham Park entrance. We were told that the stone originally stood at the 203rd Street corner; the present pitted appearance of the stone is attributable to a shotgun charge fired by a hunter who wished to empty his piece on the return from a hunt.”

The “modern” Post Road opened for business in 1672 under orders of England’s Charles II, but, it must be remembered that the Post Road had been used long before European discovery by Native Americans.

Initially, the road was no more than a dirt path later widened and marked for stagecoach travel. As early as 1673, riders often carrying royal dispatches through a dangerous northern wilderness, carried axes to mark the trees and thus the route for future riders. In 1753, after abandoning the old postal system, wagonloads of heavy stone markers were planted at one mile intervals along the length of the route. The work was supervised by none other than Benjamin Franklin who measured every inch with the help of an experimental coach rigged with an odometer of his own design.

The old Post Road would prove an innovation in early communication between the colonies, but was also used for more nefarious purposes. In his history of Inwood, Calver writes of the dangers of highway travel near the turn of the century: (below 1892 photo taken near present 213th Street)

“In contrast with its rustic beauty and apparently pastoral innocence by day, the Inwood district was in the 1880′s, and early 90′s, far from safe after the evening shades had fallen. The pedestrians one would meet then along the Kingsbridge Road might be a resident who was abroad on legitimate business, but the chances always were that travelers northward bound were desperados fleeing from justice, while other travelers southward bound were culprits of one sort or the another bent on hiding their identity in the big city; or were crooks journeying in from the provinces with their spoil. Frequently, perhaps, they were of the latter sort…”

And while today’s mile marker is easy to miss, its location would have been seared into the minds of early New Yorkers. In an era before grids and urban planning the markers would have been local landmarks, serving as addresses in property deeds, calling cards and wedding announcements.

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Today’s Inwood is full of green thumbs, mainly volunteers who tend to Bruce’s Garden, nurse sidewalk flower boxes, and cultivate  community landscapes enjoyed by all.  And while a lucky few have space for a tomato plant or two,  today’s edible gardening needs are fulfilled mainly by a  thriving farmer’s market which gives  Inwood residents access to  “local” produce. But there was a time when “local” meant right around the corner.

As recently as the  early 1930′s Inwood was home to one of Manhattan’s last, if not the last, working farms. Inwood resident Josephene Benedetto Bliani sat down with oral historian Jeff Kisseloff in 1987 and described  life on her family’s farm on Broadway and 214th.

“Our farm had very good soil. We had the best corn. They were small because there wasn’t a lot of room, but they were round and delicious. We raised all different kinds of vegetables. We had tomatoes, corn, lettuce and string beans. We had pear trees and peach trees, and we had chickens, rabbits and a goat. We rented a horse when we had to do the plowing. My parents earned their living selling the eggs, vegetable and fruit.
Chickens were nasty and dirty. I stayed away from them, for sure.

Farming near 214th and Broadway, 1932 Inwood, New York City.

My brothers did most of the farm work. I helped sell the vegetables from the farm stand. Everything was cheap. The eggs were fifteen cents a dozen. Corn was a dozen ears for a quarter. Tomatoes were five cents a pound-very cheap, but delicious.

It was just a farm. It wasn’t a very big farm-only a city block. From 213th to 214th and from Tenth Avenue to Broadway. For me it was just a place to live. We moved there in 1924, when I was three. My father was an ice man until the Frigidaires came in and that went kaput. That’s why they took the land.
Our house didn’t have electricity or gas or anything. We had to bring everything in.”

Note: The accompanying photos likely portray the Benedetto farm.  They were all taken in the same area she describes between 1927 and 1933.

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Buried in the archives of the New York Historical Society, amid wills, deeds and other mundane paperwork produced over the course of hundreds of years, hides a letter. As stories of the far off Mexican American War dominated the headlines a young man in Richmond put quill to paper and wrote to his aunt, Maria Dyckman, back in Inwood.

While I’ve read, and even written, about the Dyckman family, they always felt like what they are, figures from history. Likely never before published , this letter, written on thin, nearly translucent paper, captures the Dyckman family in an era marked by uncertainty, and ultimately, Civil War.

Richmond 27th April 1847

My dear Aunt Maria,

I have been intending for a fortnight past to write you a letter, but every day something has happened to prevent, having been closely occupied with business of various kinds, and I beg that you will now accept my apologies for the neglect. It has not arisen, I assure you, from forgetfulness, for I have thought of you many times and Ma has requested more than once, that I write to you for her. As I have seated myself to do so at last, I have but one request to make in return and that is that you will let us hear occasionally from you concerning the health of yourself and the family at
Kingsbridge.

We are all very well and the children are growing finely. Little Sarah has improved very much and is not troubled so much with her sores as she was when you left us. She walks all over the house (except up and down stairs) and is as sprightly as possible. She remembers you we think, for when we ask her sometimes “where Aunt Maria is?” she will look around the room for you. Susy is very well and Sister Susan’s children are all in excellent health.

Ms. Margaret McClellan left town this morning for New York and will no doubt reach home before you receive this letter.

She made up her mind to go very suddenly, an opportunity presenting itself for an escort, which she feared might not occur again in a short time.

Sister Susan is making preparations for accommodating several of the Presbyterian Clergy, who will be here at the session of the General Assembly next month. About 250 ministers are expected to attend and will continue in session for a fortnight or more.

The weather is mild at present but has been astonishingly cold for spring, and yesterday morning there was quite a heavy frost. Of course all the fruit is killed, peaches, cherries, apples and even early vegetables and the strawberries. This and the want of ice will be a great privation to us during our long (sic) summer.

We have just got through our State Elections and the Whig Cause has been triumphant in the election of Mr. Botts, which has occasioned great joy in Richmond. But Mr. Botts himself has little occasion for joy, for to-morrow he will have to bury his eldest son Lieut. Botts, who died in Mexico, and whose remains reached Richmond this morning by the Southern Train. The funeral will be conducted with military honors and the discourse will be delivered by the Rev. Mr. Hoge.

Daniel Webster is expected to arrive in Richmond this afternoon.

Papa and Ma write with me in affectionate regards to Uncles Isaac and Michael and James Smith and much love for yourself. Sister Susan also sends her love and the children kisses.

Very Affectionately,

Your Nephew

Maria’s nephew signs the name Thompson to the letter, but for the life of me I cannot decipher the initials before “Thompson”

If you’d like to read even more on the colorful and tragic life of Richmond politician John Minor Botts, click here to read a fascinating bio from the period.

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