Flood Gates

After meeting with John and Lois Ferguson on Kings Highway in Mickleton [see my "River Rats" post], I decided to drive down to Flood Gates.  John Ferguson had mentioned the place to me, in connection with someone named Calvin Fisler.  He said I should look Fisler up – Fisler knows all about the river, he said.  He fishes, he’s a trapper, he’s interested in local history.  But mainly he knows the river.  They get flooded out down there sometimes, down by the river, he added, but the community hangs on. When I expressed genuine interest in talking with Mr. Fisler, the Fergusons explained how to find him – drive through Gibbstown going south, then look for a road on the right that leads toward the river.  Fisler lives somewhere down there, maybe at the end of that road, they told me.  The Fergusons suggested that I look up Fisler’s sister, who works as a hairdresser outside of Paulsboro.  She’d be able to tell me exactly how to find him, they said. 

But I was interested in finding Calvin Fisler on my own.  This impulse doesn’t necessarily reflect stubbornness on my part.  It’s more a matter of allowing for serendipity.  For one thing, doing fieldwork means doing fieldwork.  Pardon the tautology.  But effective fieldwork demands that you turn aside from the routines of everyday life, get out into the community, and look around.  Once there, you try to establish some grounding, all the while working to identify and gradually enter the social networks of a given community.  In this case, I wanted to find the place and see it for myself, making my own way there.  When I do that, I invariably learn something.  Each impression, each smidgen of interaction, contributes to the cumulative learning experience. 

So I drove from Mickleton to Gibbstown, passing through that town and continuing south on Route 44.  I drove right past the “Flood Gates” street sign, doubled back, turned down Flood Gates Road, and headed for the river.  I noticed a large pump company -- Godwin Pump -- on the left hand side of the road, and a cement facility a bit further on.  Further down on the right, there’s Bridgeport Speedway, and then a propane gas tank facility.  Soon after that, the road becomes thick with woods on either side, and then what look like meadows or fields, before leading onto a small bridge with a dirt and gravel surface that crosses over Repaupo Creek.  There’s a small settlement of what appear to be winterized summer homes clustered on either side of the creek, then more woods, and then the road empties out onto a broad raised dike.  That dike is another story, to be taken up again at another time.  

Earlier, as I crossed the small bridge and passed over the creek, I noticed an arrangement of objects set out in a front yard and hung up in trees, at a house just past the bridge.  It occurred to me that I should stop to ask about the display, but I drove on, wanting to see where the road ended.  But in fact, I was also following a long-established practice of registering, and absorbing, what I see, and waiting a bit before plunging in to learn more.  Of course I wanted to find out more about the yard art, but I also wanted to see where that road ended up.  So I drove to the end of the road.  Flood Gates Road dead-ends at the Delaware River, at a large, raised dike. It's a nice spot, with views of Center City Philadelphia just upstream, and with Philadelphia International Airport also visible across the river.

Dike at Flood Gates, Delaware River

I took in that view for a while, and briefly explored the area around the dike.  Then I put my back to the river, retraced my route along the road, and stopped at the house with the yard art.  As I got out of the car, a man approached me, asking what I wanted.  I said I was looking for Calvin Fisler.  And he answered, "You found him."  I explained who I was and why I was there, and told him that I'd like to talk with him about the neighborhood.  We talked for a few minutes, and I took some photographs.  Calvin explained that the yard art, centered around a large piece he calls his "wind chimes," is constructed mainly out of of metal objects and other artifacts he's salvaged from the river and nearby areas.  As we talked, he told me that his family emigrated from Holland sometime during the second half of the 17th century.  They gradually made their way to the Repaupo area, he said, after coming ashore in North America somewhere around New York.  We agreed to talk about that some time, too.  

Mr. Fisler explained that the land between the Delaware and Route 44 in that area lies below river level.  The dike, and the flood gates that preceded them (and which were later incorporated into the modern dike), were built to protect local farmland and houses against flooding.  This flood control system was supplemented by a network of sluices and ditches that were maintained by local landowners.  The early development of this system dates back to Swedish and Dutch presence in the area.  I was intrigued, and we set a date to meet again.   

I'll provide more information about that second meeting with Calvin Fisler, and report in more detail on my experience in the Flood Gates community, in future posts.

View of Calvin Fisler's "Wind  Chimes"