In the Flag-Maker’s Shop

19 Friday Apr 2019

Posted by kittycalash in Events, Living History, Making Things, material culture, Museums, Reenacting

Tags

experimental archaeology, Flower's Artificers, interpretation, Museum of the American Revolution, Philadelphia, Rebecca Flower Young, sewing

Saturday’s arrangement. Image courtesy of the Museum of the American Revolution

The biggest challenge in interpreting Rebecca Young and the shop she ran was not how flags were made (an appointment at the Cultural Resource Center of the National Museum of the American Indian answered that question*), but rather how to make sewing interesting, and how to create a more interactive experience for ourselves and for visitors. Some of my favorite living history experiences involve playing off other interpreters and the public, especially when trying to convince visitors to pick a side, carry a message, or share a secret. Saturday’s set up made that harder, with Rebecca’s shop of women behind a table (we wanted to be sure to be open to visitors, and not make the dreaded reenactor circle), and with Drunk Tailor rolling cartridges in a niche.

Nobody puts Drunk Tailor in a niche.

But what we saw on Saturday– a day with 800 visitors–was that boys between roughly six and 16 skipped from Drunk Tailor to the tailors, bypassing a table of women altogether. Older men (say, 45+) visiting alone also skipped our table, while the majority of our visitors were girls and women. This was not a surprise. Children begin to develop gender segregation around ages five to six, and sewing is often dismissed as “women’s work,” as the table of tailors experienced. These cultural biases were somewhat compounded by the nature of our work.

Tailor’s Art: Containing the men’s suits tailor, the skin breeches, the women & children’s body suit, the seamstress & the fashion merchant / by M. de Garsault, National Library of France

Sunday’s set up. Image courtesy of the Museum of the American Revolution

Sewing is one of those tasks that is downward-facing, internal, and meditative (until the thread tangles or snaps). It’s dull to watch, really; the exciting parts of sewing and making are draping, fitting, and cutting. Cutting. There’s something to that.

Combining the desire to interact more with our co-interpreters and the need to disrupt expectations of sewing, we rearranged the tables on Sunday, moving Drunk Tailor to our end of the atrium, postulating that his tea table and powder keg were in the yard of the townhouse, while we pushed our table closer to the tailors and against the railing, pulling our chairs to the side. We also draped shirts and fabric over the railing to display shirts and their component parts, along with bunting. While this “messed up” the atrium, it helped create a context for our work.

Sunday, workshops in a row (house). Image courtesy of the Museum of the American Revolution

But the best, most participatory change was Mistress V cutting flag strips on the floor, with the help of two young boys. This literally disruptive activity (you had to walk around her) changed perceptions of what we were doing, and helped people imagine assembling a large item (a Continental Standard) in a small rowhouse room.

If we take the Betsy Ross house** as an example of a Philadelphia rowhouse, , its exterior dimensions, roughly 16 x 25, yield an interior per-floor area of not more than 400 square feet. The Star-Spangled Banner was 30 x 42 feet; a second “storm” flag was 17 x 25 feet, large enough to cover the floor of a room in Betsy Ross house.

dark wooden drop leaf table with trifid feet

Dining Table (drop-leaf, gateleg table), probably Pennsylvania, 1750-1770. Walnut, oak. Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1994-20-60

While we do not know the exact dimensions of the flags Rebecca Young and her shop produced, it seems likely that any flag would have exceeded the size of a domestic table, since even drop-leaf dining tables of the period are not usually more than 52” x 41” or about 15 square feet (4.3 x 3.5 feet). The limited size of the table, and the need for multiple feet of cutting space makes it likely that flags larger than 3 x 5 feet were cut and pieced on the floor.

This combination of thought experiment and interpretive change up was reasonably successful, giving us greater understanding as we talked about assembling goods in pieces and working in a small shop while interrupting the visitor’s expectations.

*More on this another time.

**You have to start somewhere– and while I’m on #TeamYoung when it comes to flag making, Rebecca’s rented house has long been razed.

Research and primary source materials on Rebecca Flower Young were provided by Matthew Skic of the Museum of the American Revolution; compiled information used by gallery educators at the MoAR was compiled and provided by Katherine Becnel of the MoAR.

A Giant One-Night Stand

26 Wednesday Oct 2016

Posted by kittycalash in Events, History, Living History, Museums, Philosophy, Reenacting

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

anarchist guide to historic house museums, authenticity, experimental archaeology, first person interpretation, historic house museums, interpretation, John Brown House Museum, Rhode Island history, What Cheer Day

Drunk Tailor’s told you some of the story, and Our Girl History a little bit more, but here we specialize in confessions, so let’s begin.

One night stands: no, not that kind, this kind: the Anarchist kind. I’ve been following Mr Vagnone’s work for some time now, and while museum professionals are not all in agreement about his techniques and approaches, I find them intriguing and thought provoking. I’ve also found that the best way to accomplish anything is by baby steps, as annoying as that can be. That’s how we got to this What Cheer Day: incremental progress over a five-year period. What was so different? Well….

Jimmie and Billie, unwell and unable to dress themselves without Gideon’s aid. Photograph by J. D. Kay

To begin with, we slept in the house. Eight of us. In the period beds and on the period sofas. No harm came to anything, except the gentlemen, who seem to have contracted mild, possibly mold-based, ailments from ancient feather beds.*

We scampered around the enormous house (I swear the front hallway would contain my entire flat, both floors!) in bare feet and period night clothes. I has a regret about that, because the floors could be cleaner, and I forgot to ask for my slippers back.

Anyway:

Big house. Dark night. Flickering candles. Rain storm. Cantonware cider jug.

Mind blowing.

Why? Why do it? Why risk it? Why, when I’ve been there after dark? Why, when I’ve slept in other historic houses and historic beds? Because to really understand someone, you have to walk in their shoes– or sleep in their bed, as the case may be.

Goody Morris makes up a bed. Photograph by J. D. Kay

I lay in bed in an enormous mansion house, the first one built on the hill in Providence, completed in 1788. Almost every week, I tell the story of the house, the family moving, James complaining about the June heat as he walked up the hill from Water Street to move into the new brick edifice. I tell the story of Abby’s wedding, the longways dances on the second floor of the unfinished house, candles and dancers glittering in the enormous mirrors at either end of adjoining rooms. But I’d never seen it. I’d never heard it. I’d never really thought about service circulation and stealthy maneuverings in the house.

Now I have.

Now I have lain in the enveloping warmth of a feather bed and heard the rain pouring outside, and nothing else. I’ve heard the deep quiet of thick brick walls. I’ve seen the utter darkness of the house at night, and, padding up the stairs to bathroom, been comforted by the presence of my companions even as they failed to sleep across the hall.**

A dreadful night: almost too much to bear. Photograph by J. D. Kay.

To enter the room as a maid, I’ve used the doorway from the former service stairs, and silently carried in a jug to serve the occupants. I’ve gotten closer to the near-invisible role of servants, in a period when full invisibility hasn’t yet been established. I’ve watched someone I love sleep off a migraine in a room where we interpret illness and 18th century medicine.

Best Maid/Bad Maid. Photograph by J. D. Kay

All of that is mundane. And because I did all of that in a historic house with period furnishings, all of that is magical. My job now is take what I have learned and felt, and find new ways to use those personal experiences to connect our visitors’ personal experiences to a larger (and a smaller) story about Providence, early Federal Rhode Island, and a family.

* Most amazingly comfortable feather beds ever. Drunk Tailor’s review is unprintable on a family blog, but hilarious.

** Sorry about that… I slept pretty well, considering.

After Dark: Bedtime for Kitty

14 Thursday Apr 2016

Posted by kittycalash in Events, History, Living History, Museums, Research

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

19th century, After Dark, candles, chamber pots, experimental archaeology, hygiene, interpretation, John Brown House Museum, lighting, living history, Rhode Island history, sleep patterns

Lewis Vaslet, 1742–1808, The Spoiled Child, Scene II, ca. 1802, Watercolor with black ink and gray wash over graphite on moderately thick, slightly textured, cream wove paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection. B1977.14.4342

In just about a week, we’re running a pilot program in the historic house where I work (tickets available here). After Dark, or What Cheer Night, are programs we’ve wanted to do for a couple of years, but all good things take time.

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I’ve ~~drawn the lot~~ chosen to talk about getting ready for bed and sleeping: lighting devices, bedding, washing, chamber pots* and what people wore to bed. While already in possession of candles and candlesticks, and the proud new owner of exhibition and interpretation grant-funded LED candles, there are things I needed to make. Of course.

Print made by Guillaume Philippe Benoist, 1725–ca. 1770, French, Pamela Swooning, after having discovered Mr. B. in the closet, He (frighted) endeavouring to recover her, Mrs. Jervis wringing her hands, and screaming, 1745, Etching with stipple engraving on medium, slightly textured, cream laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Yale Art Gallery Collection, Gift of the Library Associates.

A banyan, for one thing. And you know that will (one hopes) be followed in short order by a night cap. After all, you can’t talk about Pamela if you haven’t got a banyan and a cap in the house. That’s a simple and relatively fun project to tackle when brain capacity is somewhat limited: some piecing, straight seams, setting in facings and sleeve linings can all happen before I must assault the collar.

Piecing it together, as the eventual wearer is taller than available fabric.

Collars are devilishly tricky for me sometimes– oddly, a pad-stitched collar set onto a tailored jacket seems easier to me than a bedgown collar– but I suspect the eventual recipient will manage to enjoy the garment no matter what minor construction errors a tipsy milliner or half-seas over housemaid might make (not, of course, that I am either of those things).

It’s been a fascinating exercise in having a staff-and-docent study group that has taken a decidedly feminist bent (calling Our Girl History!) as we explore what happened in Providence After Dark. Brothel riots in 1782. Warnings by the Baptist Church not to visit the “theatre, circus, or Green Cottage” on pain of punishment. No, I do not yet know what or where the Green Cottage is, but the best researchers I know are working on it. Is this the 18th century answer to the Green Door? We can but hope.

Reading The Coquette? Thomson’s The Seasons? Come experience an 18th century house on a night when people will know what you’re talking about! Or you can watch that questionable housekeeper prepare a room for the night while she talks about sleep patterns and shares tips for 18th century pest control.

*Pro tip: put it on a chair. I fully expect to run an intimate workshop some evening called “Will Humiliate Self for History, or, Everything you ever wanted to know about the 18th century, but were too well brought up to ask.”

Measure for Measure

12 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by kittycalash in Fail, Food, History, Living History, Reenacting, Research

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

10th Massachusetts, 18th century, authenticity, common people, cooking, experimental archaeology, food, living history, Research, resources, Revolutionary War

or, a boiled Flour Pudding in two tries.

Tablespoons and Cups

Alone in my Ossining ca. 1962 kitchen, I decided to tackle Amelia Simmons. The first task seemed to be to establish measurements, and then proportions, so I took stock of the tools and containers I would have in a typical camp. Spoon, mug, half-pint: these are plausible items, though we have tin cups that hold exactly 8 ounces, so the measure is unnecessary. The spoon was cast from a 1780 mold, so it seemed like a reasonable place to start for “how much is a spoon?” It will hold exactly one tablespoon if you scrape it flat across or are measuring liquid. Handy to know.

Next, I checked the recipe again.

A boiled Flour Pudding.
One quart milk, 9 eggs, 7 spoons flour, a little salt, put into a strong cloth and boiled three quarters of an hour.

This is not a popular receipt, so you won’t find it on History is Served, nor will you find this version on other popular sites; you can find a boiled pudding with suet, but that’s not what I’m after: I’m after a receipt that starts with a portion of the ration of flour soldiers received, and adds only eggs, milk, and available seasonings.

You have to remember that Simmons corrected the 7 spoons to 9 spoons of flour and increased the boiling time; you also have to remember that eggs were smaller then.

Halfsies.

I thought I’d try a half receipt first. There are no directions as we think of them– American Cookery sometimes has that “put your lips together and blow” feeling–but this is not too complex. The eggs and milk must be beaten together, and then combined with the flour. For this first attempt, I got it a bit backwards, adding the spices to the eggs, which I beat in the large wooden bowl.

That left me scooping the egg-and-milk with the measure into the flour, which I had in a smaller wooden bowl, remembering too late the method for scones.

Fuzzy photo, fuzzy logic.

And then it was really too late: I added just too much egg-and-milk, and it became more like batter than dough. This was not correct, and I knew it, but I didn’t dump it and I didn’t add more flour. Now it’s clear that 7:00 AM is not my best time for baking experiments (it was also quite early the day I made gingerbread without any eggs).

Well, it took a decent photo.

I buttered and floured a cloth anyway, and poured the mixture into it. After tying the gathered neck of the cloth with string, I boiled the whole business for 45 minutes.

I did not take a photo of the mess I found when I unwrapped the bag. It wasn’t pretty, and it was clear that while some portions of the pudding were ‘done,’ they constituted about 5% of the whole, which otherwise resembled steaming cottage cheese. Really, truly, awful.

But from time to time I am undeterred by my failures, and instead of consigning the mess to the trash and sticking with store-bought bread*, I rinsed the cloth and regrouped.

This time, I went smaller: 1 cup of flour (about five spoons), two eggs, and a scant two spoons of milk. I also managed to put the flour, salt, and allspice in the regular sized wooden bowl, crack the eggs into the mug and beat them there with the milk. When I mixed the egg-and-milk into the flour, the mixture was far too stiff, so I added more milk, but kept the mixture stiff.

Patience is required for pudding

Once more into the buttered cloth, once more into the water, once more boiling for three-quarters of an hour. This time was better, though. The results actually looked and tasted much more like what I’ve had before.

A boiled Flour Pudding

So, where does this leave me? Knowing that I’m the only documented fan of this in the regiment, I’ll stick with the smaller receipt: five spoons flour; two eggs, beaten; and three or four spoons of milk.

My plan is to boil this in whatever stew or stew-like device we have for supper on Saturday, and then eat it sliced with the stew. The plain flour-egg-milk mixture will pick up some of the flavors of the stew (think dumplings), but these could also have been served with a sauce, if made at home.

I’m also going to go back to the Experienced English Housekeeper, and see what she has to say.

* Years in ceramics classes taught me to knead all the air out of plastic material, so my bread tends to be better for building than eating. Even the dog wouldn’t eat the biscuits I made while in grad school…

Kitty Calash

~ Confessions of a Known Bonnet-Wearer

Tag Archives: experimental archaeology

In the Flag-Maker’s Shop

A Giant One-Night Stand

After Dark: Bedtime for Kitty

Measure for Measure

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