So let’s talk about slavery. It’s that thing no one actually wants to discuss, teach, learn from, or admit exists. It’s not nearly as caught up in skin color or religion as people might think. And in every form, it’s wrong.

They taught our kids about slavery in school. They discussed how horrible slave owners were, how the inevitably white people owned the poor, uneducated blacks and abused them. They went over how Lincoln freed the slaves, without ever actually explaining how that could have happened (largely because it didn’t, but whatever… that’s outside the scope of this article). There was a lot of information about the bad treatment of slaves in America. All of the this is very clear, black and white, with no wiggle room.

When they were going through that lesson, I talked to our kids about it. I asked them a lot of questions, like…

• Were all slave owners bad?
• Did all slave owners want to be slave owners (and/or bad)?
• Were all slave owners white?
• Were all slaves black?

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I make no bones about not liking Trump. I have many reasons for disliking him, and while many are “feeling based,” they’re concrete enough to be discussed. I can tell you WHY I don’t like him, and why I don’t think he’s the right President for this country, at least right now. My dislike doesn’t descend into hatred or vitriol, though.

I don’t like Biden, either. I have many diverse and concrete reasons for not liking him. I believe that another four years of Biden would cause irreparable harm to America, both as a country and as a people. My dislike, as with Trump, doesn’t mean that I hate him or that I spew nonsense about him.

The problem I have with the current political climate is that there doesn’t seem to be any middle ground. On one side, we have Trump, defender of the American Way, making America Great Again, looking to please the Republican voter base. Along the way, Trump is alienating undecided voters, pissing off a lot of Democrats, and pissing off a number of Republican ones, too. On the other, we have Biden, who is just plain incompetent. He’s not capable of deciding what to eat, never mind the direction a failing country should be going in. He’s just signing whatever people put in front of him, and that’s leading to a ridiculous level of decay. IMO, of course.

When I talk to people who support Trump, I often hear about how awesome he is, how great he is with money, and how he understands the downtrodden. I also hear about how Biden is a pervert, a traitor to the country, and that he’s invested in seeing that abortion is available up to and after birth. When I talk to Biden supporters, I hear about how “at least he’s better than Trump,” and that things haven’t been “too bad” with him. And then I hear about how Trump is a horrible person, how he’s a rapist, how he wants women to be caged like animals in the home, and that he wants to get rid of all the gay and trans people and put them in concentration camps.

What I hear, in the random flow of words that surround me on social media, is untruth. It’s rumors and lies. I hear as many about Biden as I do about Trump. If we could prove Biden was a pervert, he’d have been impeached by now and we’d be rid of  him. If he was a traitor and it could be proven, same. I haven’t seen any proof that Trump wants to push women back into the stone age, or that he wants to ban gay people, or round them up. This hysterical anger, these flashy words, aren’t truth. They’re nothing but rumors and lies.

I still don’t like Trump. I still don’t like Biden. I don’t think either of them are going to take my country in the right direction right now. They and their voter bases are too polarized, too opposite. Anything that includes the two of them is going to be another toss of the coin. I don’t think America should have to deal with yet another toss of the coin. That’s not how our government is meant to be chosen.

I am terrified that Biden’s people are going to successfully get rid of the Electoral College. I’m afraid that Trump’s people will be able to get abortion banned in all states, for all reasons, with no exceptions. I’m worried that Biden’s Democrats are going to allow innocent children to do surgical and hormonal changes to their bodies before they are old enough to make decisions about themselves. I’m concerned that Trumps Republicans are going to make birth control (and other women’s medical concerns) harder to get, or impossible to get. I’m scared that both sides are more interested in lashing out at one another, that they aren’t going to actually work on making things better for the country, as a whole.

There is no one else who’s even remotely likely to get onto the ballot at this late date. We’re looking at another toss of the coin. And it’s wrong. This is not freedom to choose, nor is it freedom to live. This is a sham that offers no real choice. I wish it were different. I want it to be different. I don’t know how to help make it different. And frankly, I’m aware that attempting to make it different means that pretty much everyone will hate me.

This is very truly a “behind enemy lines” post, though not from the Democrat side. Not from the Republican one, either. I’m in No Man’s Land, watching the war go on, knowing that the people fueling it aren’t the ones who’ll TRULY pay for the outcome of this next battle. The People, WE the People, will pay… and the price is too steep.

Hagar the depressed

On May 22nd, I made the trip to The Fort at No. 4 in Charlestown NH to be a part of the Rendezvous being held there. I was lucky enough to be one of the people inside the fort, and so was afforded the luxury of a rope bed, a roof, and a hearth. I spent an entire week there, with minimal electricity and running water, no showers, and only the food I brought with me. It was a very educational experience, one which I will cherish for a long time coming.

Ostensibly, my reason for going was to do some research about the 18th century in New England. I wanted to learn how to bake in a beehive oven, and many of the buildings in the fort have small beehive ovens in the side or back of their fireplaces, and so I knew I could practice as much as I wanted. I ended up teaching several classes of fourth and fifth graders, and a few homeschoolers, as well as the public who came to visit the fort over the weekend.

On Monday, Memorial Day, I made the trek down to the Rendezvous camp in the morning, to be a part of the Memorial Day celebration that was done. There were prayers said, both Christian and Native, and somber words were spoken. Names were called out, family members who had lost their lives fighting for this country. One of the women, the camp crier, reminded us all of the women who were left behind when their men died… something that is bit less of a problem today, but was horrific during the 18th and 19th centuries. We had a few minutes of silence, and then everyone quietly wended their way back to their own camps. 

Later in the evening, people were back to being joyous and rambunctious, but I appreciated that pause.

The pause had a different effect on me, being there, than it does when I am at home. It was somehow more personal. I gained a sense of what the men and women of the French and Indian war, the Revolutionary war, and the Civil war might have experienced. It was sobering. 

By that Monday, I had been on site and living “the old way” for five days, and I found that I was in a comfortable routine that allowed me to get everything done without rushing. It’s amazing how much time our phones and computers and daily electronic devices take up. Cutting them out of my day left me with much time for sewing, conversing with friends, writing, and just thinking. 

I ate well. I ate almost everything I had with me, too, because I brought a very specific amount of food that would force me to use my leftovers. I made myself think like a colonial, to really immerse myself in that way of life, that change of mindset. There was no junk food, no soda, no frappes or sub sandwiches. I ate two to three meals a day, as much as I needed to keep me moving and energized.

One thing I did not give up was coffee. While it is not likely that someone of my station (a woman in the 1750s whose husband was a woodsman and trapper) would have had access to coffee, I figured that since I was in the fort, I could have traded with some of the soldiers garrisoned there. 

I did bake all the bread for the fort that week, a total of 10 loaves over seven days. I baked two pies, one pork and apple pie, and one minced meat and horseradish green pie. I made a pot of baked beans. All of those were made in the beehive oven, a task that heated up the (already sweltering) building. I didn’t mind. I was learning! Only my first two loaves of bread were burned. After that, they came out beautiful and brown, and full of flavor that simply can’t be gained from a modern stove.

I ate a lot of eggs, because it’s the time of year when a lot of eggs are produced. Had I lived in the fort at that time, I’d have been making butter and cheese every day as well, but since I’m not able to tolerate dairy and the fort doesn’t have any animals, I simply made one batch of butter with a school group. I had beef and chicken, and salted fish, and a big pot of pea soup which I shared with the rest of the Rendezvous during our communal dinner on Saturday evening. Oh, and I made noodles for the first time, and they turned out beautifully!

There being no showers, I was not able to clean myself as a modern person would. I heated up water each evening, and wiped myself down from head to toe. I went to the trouble of washing my hair with a bit of soap on Saturday night after I was in for the evening, as I felt it was the right thing to do, to be presentable and clean on Sunday. I admit to using a modern toothbrush and toothpaste twice a day, however, because I had no wish to have modern tooth issues.

As I puttered about, cleaning up the cabin I was in, I discovered many tools that I had never seen before. I found a pot lifter, a spit for turning meat, and a nutmeg grater (I have a modern one but this was an extant one). I got to play with a small cast iron “oil lamp” (a reservoir in the bottom for any kind of oil, with a holder up high for a cotton wick). I used the butter churn (I’ve made butter before, but never in an “old fashioned churn”). I discovered that a small, two candle tin holder with a reflective back was better at illuminating a specific area than the six candle candelabra that I had originally been using. 

I think perhaps the thing that touched me the most, though, was baking the bread. It’s been many years since I baked bread from scratch, without any modern conveniences. I used a wooden bowl for mixing, a hand-carved wooden spoon for measuring out my yeast, sugar, and salt, my favorite brown coffee mug for adding in the water, and a china tea cup for measuring out flour. I stirred with a big wooden spoon until the ingredients had coalesced into the beginnings of dough, all shaggy and sticky, and then I kneaded. I started out kneading in the bowl, until most of the bits of dough clinging to the sides were caught up and incorporated into the ball I was working with. Then I turned it out onto the table, and kneaded the dough for about 30 minutes, until it was soft and elastic, and had the texture of a powdered baby’s bottom. I set the dough to rest in another bowl with a bit of oil, to keep it from sticking. 

When it doubled in size I punched it down and divided into two. Each piece was kneaded briefly, and then turned into a nice, even round. I placed the two rounds onto a floured cloth inside a dough trough, and covered it up and let it rise again. Then it got sprinkled with cornmeal and the tops were slashed. Off into the beehive oven they went, to bake for 30 to 45 minutes (it does vary depending on the heat of your initial fire and your length of firing time). 

When they came out, they were steaming and beautiful, smelling incredibly delicious. I always found someone arriving about the time the bread came out. The scent wafted out my open front door, filling the central courtyard of the fort, and people followed their noses. There’s something infinitely satisfying about pulling out your bread, and putting it to cool in the window of your cabin, as people cluster around to see what it looks like. 

I like writing. It’s good work, and I do it well. But the “honest work” of this past week really left me with a change in mindset. I’m trying to hold onto that peace of mind, even as I return to the bustle and fuss of the internet and television and teenagers clamoring for my attention. I learned that I can quiet my own mind, and that was a priceless gift. 

Now that I’ve finished communing with my ancestors’ past, and I’ve returned to the “real” world, I’m looking around me with new eyes. There are too many THINGS in my house. The cabin had lots of cast iron, and quite a few cooking tools that were much needed, but it wasn’t cluttered with “use once” items. I kept it very clean, so clean that when I went to pack up, it took almost no time at all. I found a great pride in keeping it clean and neat, and leaving it better than I found it. I need to find a way to do that with my own home, especially as the children become adults and fly off to their own adventures. 

I hope your Memorial Day weekend (or week) was as thought provoking and peacefully contemplative as mine. 

Hagar,
who is quietly thoughtful.

Cooking on a hearth can be a lot of fun, even while being a lot of work. A couple of weekends ago we had a clean up day at our local historical fort museum, and as a volunteer there, I was tasked with feeding the troops. They had pizza for early in the day, and in the evening I made a decent sized feast. It was well received. Some of the volunteers are new this year (and I should note, so am I; I’m just already experienced with reenacting and organizing volunteers), and they were amazed at how much food I cooked over the course of the three days we were there.

That Friday, I was lucky enough to be presenting for a local wildcrafting school’s instructor, which was a lot of fun. I was dressed all in 18th century kit, using appropriate cooking pots and tools, as well as the right vegetables and meats for the era. I made squirrel stew, fresh bread, and added some beet and leek salad and some pickles to the table. The food was appreciated, and I managed to turn the wife of the instructor into a squirrel lover. She’d had his cooked before, but wasn’t pleased with the flavor, but found mine to be incredibly tasty. High praise indeed!

Friday evening, I caught a lovely image of the fort as the sun went down behind it. The night was clear and mild, and I was happy. I went to bed (for the first time!) on a rope bed topped with a down feather ticking mattress. I slept incredibly well, and I look forward to spending many days and nights there this summer. The moon was ridiculously bright on both Friday and Saturday nights, and you didn’t even need a lantern to make your way to the privy. It was much nicer than when we stayed there in February. The temperature on Friday night was about 45F, considerably more comfortable than February’s 11F. All in all, it was glorious! There was wine, song, camaraderie, and a lot of relaxing in the dim light of the fire. The cabin itself was very dark once we closed the shutters for the night, and there’s no electricity or running water there, so we had candles and the fire for lighting. I did have my solar lantern with me for privy runs, but really didn’t need it.

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I had an interesting talk with AWA the other day about dressmaking. Why, you ask, were we talking about dressmaking? Well, I was discussing the process of making my 18th century kit for the upcoming season at a local living history museum, which I am a part of. I had to order a pattern for a short gown that I’m making, because my skill level isn’t high enough to fake it for this type of garment. The pattern is somewhat complex, and based off an extant short gown that was disassembled a number of years ago and resides in a museum (in Boston, if I remember correctly, but I’m guessing).

AWA wanted to know why the pattern was considered so complex. After all, garments at the time really weren’t all that fancy, at least for working class women like myself. I explained that, in the 18th century in America (and likely in Europe, though I haven’t looked into it), there were no patterns. Women would simply sew their own clothing. Most women, even of the poorer sort, would have hired a mantua-maker, or dressmaker, to make an outfit for them, from which other items might be sized. A mantua-maker was a traveling dressmaker, who specialized in working with your body in particular. If you’re interested in seeing the process in action, there’s a great video on YouTube. Basically, she would drape your fabric over you, sketch out the pattern pieces for your body, cut them, and then sew them. Sometimes the customer would help with the sewing, and sometimes she’d just pay for the mantua-maker to do it.

The skill level required to draft a dress for someone with nothing more than draping fabric and chalk is huge. This goes back to my article on words, and how the meaning of them changes over time. At one time, someone who could make a dress, a mantua-maker, was considered a highly skilled, sought after person. They were well paid, well trained, and knowledgeable. Today, we say “dressmaker” as if the person is doing something quaint. People don’t make their own clothing, and those of us who do are looked at oddly. We’re just dressmakers, or seamstresses. We’re not considered skilled workmen.

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BLUF: Words have meaning, and while that meaning can change over time, we need to take the time to understand. This means looking at words in context, at the time they were written, while still using a modern eye to examine them.

A number of years ago, I was attending a local church service, and the pastor alluded to the idea that shepherds were dirty social outcasts who everyone thought poorly of. His proof for this was that, when Samuel called David in from the sheepfold, he was filthy when he arrived, that David was, “just a shepherd.” I was a bit taken aback by this, because that’s not what history (or Biblical literature, btw) teaches us. I first learned about this from a Jewish scholar named Joel Hoffman, author of And God Said: How Translations Conceal the Bible’s Original Meaning. I went to a talk he was having at a local synagogue, and the history of shepherds was the first thing he talked about.

Shepherds were tasked with protecting their flocks of sheep, out in the wilderness at the edge of the farmland surrounding their cities and towns. So you had a social center, a city or town, and outside that was farmland, and outside that was grazing for the sheep. Out there, shepherds had to contend with wolves, panthers, hyenas, feral pigs, foxes, jackals, and lions. Today, when we face up to those kinds of odds, we go armed with an AR-15 or other firearm. They had, and I kid you not, a stick (shepherd’s staff) and a sling with whatever rocks they could find (and the shepherd’s staff became the king’s scepter, and the rocks became the orb, later in history). That was it. Shepherds were, to say the least, bad ass.

In Biblical times, shepherds were seen as a form of superhero. They were the combat veterans, the first line of defense in case of an attack (by animal or human enemy). They had to defend their sheep with their lives, because those sheep were literally their livelihood. They were, indeed, dirty fellows because they lived out in the fields with greasy and filthy sheep. They slept in the open. They didn’t bathe often. So yes, when Samuel called David in to proclaim him the new leader of Israel, he was probably stinky and dirty. When the High Priest of your people summons you, you don’t stop long enough to grab a shower and a change of clothes; you hightail it to his presence, at all speed. No one thought David was stupid or idiotic. He was just young, the youngest of all his brothers, with a lot less life experience.

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https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTLDDUjwq/

I understand if you can’t watch the whole video. I had problems doing so. However… I just sat like I was watching a train wreck.

In the video (which is from October 2022, btw), below the cut:

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