maps – Coffee Spoons

My Irish Heritage

This week began with Saint Patrick’s Day, a day that here in the States celebrates Ireland and Irish heritage. And I have an abundance of that. As we saw in a post earlier this year about some new genetic ancestry results, Ireland accounts for approximately 2/3 of my ancestry. But as many of my readers know, actual records-based genealogy is one of my big hobbies and so for this Saint Patrick’s Day, I decided to create a few graphics to capture all my current research on my family’s Irish heritage.

In the current political climate wherein we hyperfixate on immigration, I started with my ancestors’ immigration to North America.

My graphic features a timeline marking when certain ancestors arrived, with the massive caveat I do not know when all my Irish ancestors arrived. I separate the ancestors into paternal and maternal lines. My maternal lines are only half Irish, and unfortunately most of them offer little in terms of early records or origins and so the bulk of the graphic lands on my paternal lines.

I did sort out that two–four lines began in Canada and included them with orange dots. (The one couple married in Ireland shortly before setting sail for Canada. The other two lines married in Canada.) I also added a grey bar representing the length of the Great Famine. I suspect a number of my ancestors arrived during the famine based on the fact they begin to appear in the records around 1850, but sadly none of those records state when they arrived specifically instead they just appear in the United States.

I also used filled vs. open dots to indicate whether or not I had primary source documents for arrivals. I.e., a passenger manifest, naturalisation papers, &c. that specifically details immigration information weighs more heavily as evidence than, say, a census record wherein a respondent can say he or she arrived in such a year. (Spoiler, census records are not infallible.)

The overall takeaway, most of my Irish immigrants, for whom I have information, arrived in the middle of the 19th century within a decade of the Great Famine.

The second graphic features even more difficult data to find. Whence did my ancestors come?

For those unfamiliar with Irish genealogy, finding the town or parish from which your ancestors hailed can be nigh impossible. To start, you need some kind of American-based record that gives you a clue as to where in Ireland to look—a county or city. From my experience, most records simply state places of birth as “Ireland”—not very helpful.

Then if you can get back to Ireland, the typical resource you might use in the United States, United Kingdom, and other countries is the census. And Ireland did record a census every ten years, beginning in 1821. Unfortunately 1861 and 1871 were destroyed shortly after the data was recorded. Then during World War I, the 1881 and 1891 censuses were pulped due to a paper shortage. Then in 1921, there was no census because of the whole Irish Civil War thing. Finally in 1922, during the Battle of Dublin in the whole Irish Civil War thing, the Public Records Office at the Four Courts, which held government records dating back hundreds of years as well as guns and ammunition, was blown up. And with the ammunition, so too was blown up the census records for 1821, 1831, 1841, and 1851. In short, genealogists only have access to census records for 1901 and 1911. (The 1926 census organised post-Civil War, does not become public until 2027.)

Then you have the whole unavailability of Catholic Church records, which is another long discussion about the conflict between Protestants and Catholics in Ireland. (Just a minor thing in Irish history.)

There are some civil public records available and they begin in the mid-19th century, which in many cases is just a bit too late for genealogical purposes.

Suffice it to say, Irish genealogy can be tricky and in 15 years of researching it myself, I have only been able to find the origins of 10 Irish immigrant ancestors. For context, to the best of my knowledge I have 18 Irish immigrant ancestors. Thus that map is very empty.

The second map of the United States and United Kingdom is more complete because more complete records. It maps the residences of my Irish and Irish-American ancestors. Initially I attempted to link all the towns and cities with arrows to show the migration patterns, alas it quickly became a mess at such a small scale. That remains a project for another day.

My Irish heritage is a thing of which I am proud, and I am glad to say my genealogy hobby has allowed me to explore it much more deeply and richly than a green-dyed pint would allow.

Credit for the pieces is mine.

I Need My Sharpie. Where’s My Sharpie?

Because who does not recall the great Sharpie forecast track by the National Hurricane Center (NHC)?

Earlier this summer, in the middle of the hurricane season, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s (NOAA’s) NHC released a new, experimental warning cone map. For those unfamiliar, these are the maps that have a white and white-shaded forecast for where the centre of the storm will track. Importantly, it is not a forecast of where the storm will impact. If you have ever been through a hurricane—would not recommend—you know you need not be near the centre to feel the storm’s impact.

I have been waiting for a significant storm to threaten the United States before taking a look at these. (It is also important to note, these new maps apply only to the United States.) But this is the current map for Hurricane Helene as of Wednesday morning.

For those of you who, like me, are familiar with these, you will see the red lines along the coast that indicate hurricane warnings. Blue lines indicate current tropical storm warnings. Not on this map are pink lines for hurricane watches and yellow lines for tropical storm watches. But all these lines only represent watches and warnings along the coast. Little dots indicate the storm’s forecast position at certain times and through letter indicators its strength. The full white areas are the forecast track for the centre of the storm through the first three days. The shaded area is for days 4–5.

Contrast that with the new, experimental version.

The background of the map remains the same. In my perfect world, I would probably drop the grey and blue back a little bit, but that is not the end of the world. Instead, the biggest change is that the tropical storm and hurricane watches and warnings, which have always been declared for full counties inland, are now shown on the map.

You can see the red hurricane warnings are now forecast to move through the eastern Florida panhandle and southern Georgia with tropical storm watches forecast for the inland counties north and east of those. And then the three- and five-day forecasts have blended into a single white cone track. Subtly, the stroke or outline for that has changed from black to solid white. That helps reduce the distracting visuals on the map and emphasise the forecast track and watches and warnings.

Overall, I think is a really strong and important and potentially life-saving improvement to the graphics. Could things be improved more? Absolutely. But sometimes the only way to make improvements is through slow and steady incremental changes. This update does that in spades.

Credit for the piece goes to the NHC graphics team.

The Dawn of a New Nuclear Age?

I grew up less than 15 miles away from the Limerick Nuclear Generating Station, located on the banks of the Schuylkill River northwest of the city of Philadelphia. Our house sat on the north-facing slope of the Great Valley and the cooling towers of Limerick were a ridge line and river valley away from view. But on a clear day, you can see the puffy, billowy clouds of steam rising over the distant horizon—Limerick is splitting the atom.

We all know—or should by now—burning coal, oil, and gas are not terribly great for the planet. They emit carbon dioxide and other gasses that warm the Earth. But the white columns rising over the Schuylkill are water. Fissile uranium is more dense than coal, oil, or gas. And not just by a wee bit. But by orders of magnitude. Splitting the atom provides mankind with enormous amount of energy.

And we need energy. This summer was hot. And I don’t like it hot. Consequently, my air con ran almost nonstop. And I am not the only one. But whence comes all the electricity to power those units? Yes, we can get electricity from the sun, the wind, and the water. But what about when the clouds block the sun? Or the hot, sticky summer air refuses to stir? Or the parched earth has sucked the water from the reservoir?

The uranium atom can still be split, and at a reliable rate. That makes it great to provide a high amount of electricity that can be augmented by the sun, the wind, and the water when conditions permit.

However, in recent years, the cost of oil and gas declined thanks to fracking, and the business cost to run coal plants lowered as environmental standards disappeared. The economics of running nuclear power plants made them less viable than carbon-spewing options. Electricity providers started shutting nuclear plants down.

Things have changed, though. As we run more air con, we need more electricity. As we run more electric busses and trains, we need more electricity. As we charge more electric cars, we need more electricity. As we run more servers for bitcoin mining or AI farms, we need more electricity.

We need more electricity. A lot more.

And so the economics of electricity is changing. The Wall Street Journal had a great article about the re-opening of nuclear plant in Michigan. It included some really nice photographs of the control room and the turbine room. But, the reason we are talking about it here today because the article includes a few diagrams and illustrations. This one caught my attention.

First, I really enjoy how the United States is reduced to a grey outline. Perhaps a very faint grey could have been used to infill the states, but here I think white works best because of the use of the light and medium greys for active plants.

The active plants—not the focus of the article—are in those greys, whilst the decommissioned and -ing plants are in tints of red. What I struggled with a long time ago when I made an infographic about southeastern Pennsylvania’s electricity generation was how to show the different plants at a single facility.

Ultimately, I listed each plant by name then an icon representing the type of fuel, because not every plant uses all the same type of fuel. Eddystone Generating Station just south of Philadelphia used both natural gas/oil plants and two coal plants, though those were retired in the 2010s.

Here the designer, not needing to label each plant and aided by the fact each plant is nuclear, simply encloses the dots within a container. Palisades, the plant in question, receives a thicker, black stroke to call it out against the rest of the plants.

Credit for the piece goes to, I think Adrienne Tong. She is credited for a different graphic in the article, but not the one I highlighted, so I’ll give her the credit unless and until someone else gets the credit.

I Didn’t Predict a Riot

Yesterday I wrote about a BBC graphics locator map that was perhaps not as helpful as possible. Well today I want to talk about another BBC map, though not in as critical a fashion.

I landed upon this map whilst reading a series of updates about last month’s anti-immigrant riots throughout the United Kingdom—principally England.

The graphic uses small multiples of a cropping of the United Kingdom, excluding most of Northern Ireland and a good bit of Scotland. Red dots highlight where, on a particular date, far-right riots erupted. As the reader moves further into time, the red dots become a dark grey.

In general, I think this graphic works really well. The designer does not label every city and town as it’s not necessary so long as you hit the big and most notable ones. Nonetheless I have two peccadilloes with the graphic.

First, and the minor of the two, is the grey dots could perhaps be toned down a wee bit. Or fade as tints as they recede into the past.

Secondly, the note at the bottom of the graphic indicates “[t]here were no recorded incidents of unrest on Thursday 1 August”. Correspondingly, the graphic lacks a map for 1 August. If I had designed the graphic, I would have included a blank map for that date, because its emptiness could tell part of the story as sometimes nothing is something.

A blank map on Thursday could show that a brief flare up after the incident in Southport had, at best, burned out or, at worst, cooled to a simmer. Something then happened likely Friday night—after a day with only two reported incidents—or Saturday morning, which prompted a weekend of riots and destruction across the United Kingdom.

What could that be? Social media. Surprise, surprise. The BBC had a good article about the potential inflammatory aspect of social media posts on the reignition of the hatred the weekend of 3–4 August. Imagine a blank map for 1 August and a caption that notes a series of posts on, say, 2 or 3 August, followed by the red dots all across northern England.

As I said at the outset, however, I like the piece overall. Just a few small tweaks and the piece really could have hit home on just how bad things were in parts of the United Kingdom at the end of July and early August.

Credit for the piece goes to the BBC graphics department.

Where in the World Is Carmen Santiagova?

In the grand scheme of things, this graphic is not the end of the world. On the other hand, it is probably more than half of the world. In particular, I am talking about this graphic from a BBC article about a recent helicopter crash on the Kamchatka Peninsula in Russia’s Far East.

As you can see, Kamchatka extends from the eastern tip of Sibera at the Bering Strait southward towards Hokkaido, the northern-most large island of Japan.

But the thing is…this map is supposed to locate Kamchatka and the crash site of Vachkazhets, but if you look closely at the inset map of the world in the lower left, you can see that the audience is being zoomed into…more than half the world.

I am left to wonder about the efficacy of the map in clarifying the precise location of the crash site. To be fair, Kamchatka is very, very far away from Moscow, probably the city of reference most readers would recognise. But what if instead of a map including India and the Sahara Desert—not at all close to Russia—the map simply cropped in tighter on Russia? Yes, you lose the Kaliningrad Oblast, the little bit of Russia cut off from the rest of the country by the Baltic states, but contextually I think that acceptable.

Or, what if the map took a different approach and omitted Moscow as the point of reference and instead highlighted another global city, like Tokyo, Seoul, or Beijing? After all, those are also all far closer than Moscow.

Ultimately, however, the map irked me because of a glaring error. No, the map does not colour the Crimean Peninsula yellow despite its annexation by Russia. I am perfectly fine with that given the illegality of said annexation, however, after a decade of administration I think there is an argument to be made that Crimea is now administratively more Russian than Ukrainian.

No, all the way in the east, the very edge of the Eurasian continent is grey. But that is also part of Russia. I crudely coloured it—along with part of a larger island—in for you to help you see. There may be some smaller islands that are also grey—most certainly are—but the resolution of the map makes it too difficult to tell for certain.

All in all this just seems like a sloppy locator map. So sloppy I am not sure it even adds value to the article.

Credit for the piece goes to the BBC graphics team.

Crossing a State Off the List

Back in autumn 2023 I shared a map with which I keep track of where I’ve visited (and driven/ridden through). In the months since I’ve visited a few new places and decided to update the map.

Most importantly, last autumn I visited Keane, New Hampshire for a day and so crossed the state off the list—not that visiting all 50 states has been or is today a goal of mine. Additionally, I came upon a photograph of me as a young lad in Wilmington, North Carolina. Can I recall being there? No. But I definitely was. So I added that county to the map.

Finally, in terms of new counties visited, I travelled out to Erie, Pennsylvania this past spring to witness the solar eclipse. I had never been to the far opposite corner of the Commonwealth and so coloured that eponymous county purple.

Of course on the day of the eclipse, the sky opened up and rain fell throughout breakfast. Consequently I got into my car and drove west like any proper young man until I found blue skies overhead and Ohio underneath. The eclipse was fantastic and those long-term readers should know that I have a card waiting to go to press, but am waiting for the funding of employment before going into production.

Finally, on my return from Erie, I purchased tickets to enjoy some Red Sox minor league baseball in Reading, Pennsylvania. I opted to enjoy a scenic drive instead of taking the interstates with which I am very familiar. And with that I coloured a number of western Pennsylvania counties in light purple.

Credit for the piece is mine.

The Sun’s Over the Yardarm Somewhere

It’s been a little while since my last post, and more on that will follow at a later date, but this weekend I glanced through the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board’s annual report. For those unfamiliar with the Commonwealth’s…peculiar…alcohol laws, residents must purchase (with some exceptions) their wine and spirits at government-owned and -operated shops.

It’s as awful as it sounds. Compare that to my eight years in Chicago, where I could pick up a bottle of wine at a cheese shop at the end of the block for a quiet night in or a bottle of fine Scotch a few blocks from the office on Whisky Friday for that evening’s festivities. Here all your wine and spirits come from the state store.

And whilst it’s awful from a consumer/consumption standpoint, it makes for some interesting data, because we can largely use that one source to get a sense of the market for wine and spirits in the Commonwealth. That is to say, you don’t need to (really) worry about collecting data from hundreds of other large vendors. Consequently, at the end of the fiscal year you can get a glimpse into the wine and spirit landscape in Pennsylvania.

So what do we see this year?

A choropleth map of per 21+ capita sales of wine and spirits in Pennsylvania.

To start I chose to revisit a choropleth map I made in 2020, just before the pandemic kicked off in the United States. Broadly speaking, not much has changed. You can find the highest per 21+ year old capita value sales—henceforth I’ll simply refer to this as per capita—outside Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and up in the northeast corner of the Commonwealth.

The great thing about per capita sales are that, by definition, it accounts for population. So this isn’t just that because Philadelphia and Pittsburgh are the largest two metropolitan areas they have the largest value sales—though they do in the aggregate as well. In fact, if we look at the northeast of the Commonwealth in places like Wayne County we see the second highest per capita sales, just under the top-ranked in Montgomery County.

Wayne County’s population, at least of the legal drinking age, is flat comparing 2018 to 2022: 0.0% or just six people. However, sales over that same period are up 20.2% per person. That’s the 15th greatest increase out of 67 counties. What happened?

A little thing called Covid-19. During the pandemic, significant numbers of higher-income people from New York and Philadelphia bought second properties in Wayne County and, surely, they brought some of that income and are now spending it on wine and high-priced spirits.

Wayne County stands out starkly on the map, but it does not look like a total outlier. Indeed, if you look at the highest growth rates for per capita sales from 2018 to 2022, you will find them all in the more rural parts of the Commonwealth. Furthermore, almost every county that has seen greater than 15% growth is in a county whose drinking-age population has shrunk in the last five years.

Overall, however, the map looks broadly similar to how it did at the beginning of 2020. The top and centre of the Commonwealth have relatively low per capita sales, and this is Appalachia or Pennsyltucky as some call it. Broadly speaking, these are more rural counties and counties of lower income.

I spend a little bit of time out in Appalachia each year and have family roots out in the mountains. And my experience casts one shadow on the data. Personally, I prefer my cocktails, whiskies, and gins. But when I go out for a drink or two out west, I often settle for a pint or two. That part of the Commonwealth strikes me as more fond of beer than wine or spirits. And this dataset does not include beer. I have to wonder how the data would look if we included beer sales—though lower price-point session beers would still probably keep the per capita value sales on the lower end given the broad demographics of the region.

Finally, one last note on that second call out, Potter County having the lowest per capita sales at just under $42 per person. The number struck me as odd. The next lowest county, Fulton, sits nearly $30 more per person. Did I copy and paste the data incorrectly? Was there a glitch in the machine? Is the underlying data incorrect? I can’t say for certain about the third possibility, but I did some digging to try and hit the bottom of this curiosity.

First, you need to understand that Potter County is, by population, the 5th smallest with just over 16,000 total people living there. And as far as I can tell, it had just three stores at the beginning of 2022. But then, before the beginning of the new fiscal year, one of the three stores closed when an adjoining building collapsed. It was never rebuilt. And so perhaps 1/3 of the local population was forced to head out-of-county for wine and spirits. Compared to 2018, per capita sales in Potter County declined by 62%, and most of that is within the last year as the annual report lists the year-on-year decline as just under 54%.

In coming days and weeks I’ll be looking at the data a bit more to see what else it tells us. Stay tuned.

Credit for the piece is mine.

Cavalcante Captured

Well, I’ve had to update this since I first wrote, but had not yet published, this article. Because this morning police captured Danelo Cavalcante, the murderer on the lam after escaping from Chester County Prison, with details to follow later today.

This story fascinates me because it understandably made headlines in Philadelphia, from which the prison is only perhaps 30–40 miles, but the national and even international coverage astonished me. Maybe not the initial article, but the days-long coverage certainly seemed excessive when we had much larger problems or notable events occurring throughout the world.

That brings me to this quick comparison of these two maps. The first is from the local paper, the Philadelphia Inquirer. It is a screenshot in two parts, the first the actual map and the second the accompanying timeline.

Then we have the BBC and their map of the story:

Both maps use light greys and neutral colours to ground the reader’s experience, his or her welcome to the world of southeastern Pennsylvania. The Inquirer uses a beige and a white focus for Chester County and the BBC omits county distinctions and uses white for rural and grey for built-up areas around Philadelphia.

Both maps use red numbers in their timeline sections to sequence the events, though the Inquirer’s is more extensive in its details and links the red events to red map markers.

The Inquirer leans heavily on local roads and highways with lines of varying width in white with thin outlines. Whereas the BBC marks only significant roads as thin blue lines.

The Inquirer’s map adds a lot of geographical context, especially for an audience fastidiously following the situation. And the following makes sense given all the local closures and anxiety—though I’m of the opinion a significant bit of those closures and anxiety were unwarranted. But for a reader in London, Toronto, or Melbourne, does anyone really need to see Boot Road? Strasburg Road? Even Route 30? Or the Route 30 Bypass (at Route 100, hi, Mum)? Not really, and so the omission of many of the local roads makes sense.

I would keep the roads relevant to the story of the search or the capture, for example Routes 23 and 1, and places relevant, for example Longwood Gardens and South Coventry. Here the BBC perhaps goes too far in omitting any place labels aside from Philadelphia, which is itself borderline out of place.

What I like about the BBC’s map, however, is the use of the white vs. grey to denote rural vs. built-up areas, a contextual element the Inquirer lacks. Over the last two weeks I have heard from city folks here in Philadelphia, why can’t the cops capture Cavalcante in Chester County? Well, if you’ve ever driven around the area where he initially roamed, it’s an area replete with wooded hills and creeks and lots of not-so-dense rich people homes. We don’t yet know where he was finally captured, but in Phoenixville he was spotted on camera because it’s an actual borough (I’m pretty certain it’s incorporated) with a walkable downtown. It’s dense with people. And not surprisingly the number of spottings increased as he moved into a denser area.

The Inquirer’s map, however, doesn’t really capture that. It’s just some lines moving around a map with some labels. The BBC’s map, though imperfect because the giant red box obscures a lot of the initial search area, at least shows us how Cavalcante evaded capture in a white thus rural, less-dense area before being seen in a grey thus built-up dense area.

All-in-all, both are good enough. But I wish somebody had managed to combine both into one. Less road map than the Inquirer’s, but more context and grounding than the BBC.

Credit for the Inquirer piece goes to John Duchneskie.

Credit for the BBC piece goes to the BBC graphics department.

It’s Been a Little While, But I Haven’t Gone Very Far

I last posted to Coffeespoons a year ago. Well, I’m back. Sort of.

Over the last year, there has been a lot going on in my family and personal life. Suffice it to say that all’s now relatively well. But the last 12 months forced me to prioritise some things over other things, and a daily(ish) blog about information design and data visualisation did not quite make the cut. And over all that time I also picked up a few new interests and hobbies, the most significant being photography.

Nevertheless I still enjoy information design. So I’m back. Though I doubt I will be posting every workday. After all, that’s when I have to go through my photographs and the other things I work upon nowadays. But, I don’t want to completely neglect this blog.

To ease back into the process, I updated a county map of the United States I last updated at the end of 2019, before the pandemic struck.

Where I’ve been in dark purple and counties through which I’ve driven or taken the train in light purple.

But I can’t really say I’ve travelled that far away from Philadelphia over the last year. The only work trip was to Chicago and for holidays I’ve travelled north to the Berkshires and New England several times. I’ve also added Providence and crossed off Rhode Island from the states I’ve visited. Finally, I’ve spent some time working remote from hotel rooms allowing me to watch baseball in nearby Minor League ballparks, Salisbury, Maryland’s Arthur Perdue Stadium, among others.

What remains abundantly clear are the two major phases of my life to date. I was born and raised in the greater Delaware Valley (Philadelphia, southeastern Pennsylvania, and southern New Jersey) and lived eight years in the Midwest (Chicago). And what connects all the journeys I’ve made from those home bases, if you will, is the tenuous county-wide tether stretching along I-80 across Indiana and Ohio into I-76 in Pennsylvania.

Unfortunately I still haven’t made it beyond the United States yet post-pandemic—hopefully that will begin changing in 2024—and so I have no updates for that map.

I cannot quite say when the next post will be. I don’t think it will be 12 months. But will it be monthly? Weekly? I can’t quite say. I doubt I will return to daily posting, because as those who know me well know, that was an enormous amount of time I spent every week preparing, writing, and posting content. But I also know well that a regular update frequency is critical to a blog, so that’s a thing I will be thinking about as 2023 begins to fade into autumn and winter.

Stay tuned.

Credit for the piece is mine.

Fort Pitt

Yesterday I discussed some of the work at the Fort Pitt Museum in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Specifically we looked at Fort Duquesne, the French fortification that guarded the linchpin of their colonies along the Saint Lawrence Seaway and the Mississippi and Ohio River valleys.

In 1753, the royal governor of Virginia dispatched a British colonial military officer, a lieutenant colonel, to demand the French withdraw from the chain of forts along the Allegheny River. The French politely refused. Undeterred, the lieutenant colonel, after returning the refusal, was sent with several dozen soldiers to push the British claim.

The lieutenant colonel discovered a French force south of present-day Pittsburgh. After largely surrounding the French force, the lieutenant colonel ordered his soldiers to open fire and in the ensuing battle the French force was destroyed by killing or capturing the vast majority of the force. That was the opening battle of the Seven Years War, a global conflict that stretched across North America, South America, Africa, India, and Asia.

The lieutenant colonel who started it all? George Washington.

At the war’s outset, Washington was involved—but did not lead—in another operation to oust the French from Fort Duquesne. This operation failed spectacularly with the death of its commander, Major General Edward Braddock. Three years later, British forces had sufficiently regrouped that they again attempted to take Fort Duquesne. After some tactical losses, the British continued to press the French. The French, seeing the vastly superior numbers of British soldiers, decided to withdraw and in blowing up their ammunition stores, destroyed Fort Duquesne.

The British, operationally commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Henry Bouquet, a Swiss-born veteran British officer, occupied the smoldering ruins. There they proceeded to build an even larger fortification named after the British prime minister who ordered the site taken. The prime minister? William Pitt the Elder. The fort? Fort Pitt. The town that would develop around the fort? Pittsburgh.

When completed, Fort Pitt was the largest and most sophisticated British fortification west of the Appalachian Mountains. It guarded British colonial interests from both French and native forces who would have gladly retaken control of the area.

Today the Fort Pitt Museum has several diagrams and dioramas detailing what was at its completion. The photograph below is a reproduction of a diagram made in 1761 just prior to the fort’s completion of the fort and its immediate environs. Even the reproduction is itself a reproduction in that the creators used the same materials and methods as would have been used in the 18th century, lending it some of that aged quality.

To be clear, this is large at least maybe six feet wide.

And here we have a closer view of the fort itself. If you look closely to the left, nearer the forks of the Ohio, you can see the outline of the far smaller Fort Duquesne.

You can see more of the details in this shot.

But for me the amazing part was walking into the museum where you are greeted with an amazing diorama of the Fort as it appeared in 1765. You can already see the emerging town of Pittsburgh outside the fortifications.

Credit for the original diagram goes to British military engineer Bernard Ratzer, its recreation was made by artists from the Carnegie Museum.

Credit for the diorama goes to Holiday Displays.