I’m not even sure what her real name is. We just call her cuteness.
I think she looks like a cherub and fully expect to see wings peeking out of her dress at any moment.
(I’m sure her parents would find that highly entertaining.)
Another autumn weekend. Another living history event.
The men are drilling.
In addition to making a lot of noise.
This, it seems, is all that is necessary to make them happy.
I, on the other hand, have spent the entire chilly day doing the laundry in between rain showers.
I’m currently writing this from a comfortable hotel room where I am planning to take a nice, hot shower and fall blissfully asleep in a cushy warm bed. This makes ME happy.
It’s all good. The men can all make fun of me if they wish. I’ll be a much more pleasant person to deal with when we do it all again tomorrow.
He gave her this.
I start my new part-time job on Monday.
Oh, and he comes with a bonus.
I’m not old enough to be a grandmother.
This can’t be right.
I may need to start therapy on Monday, too. I feel a mid-life crisis coming on.
Why do it? Why spend hours in preparation, drive half way across the state, sleep outside in 45 degree weather and not shower for days?
I suppose all reenactors have their own reasons for doing it, but for me it is all about the kids. What better way to learn history? Not just the kids doing the reeacting but those visiting. Every kid that walks by my laundress setup wants to try their hand at using the washboard. They are drawn to it like bugs to a zapper. They WANT to do laundry.
Did you hear that mothers? We’re doing it wrong! Give those kids a bucket and a scrub board and let them do their own laundry! Sure they’ll get tired of it, but what will they have learned in the process?
One of the most important things I learned when homeschooling was that not all children learn the same way. Sometimes you have to throw everything at them and see what sticks. If they can see, smell, hear, touch and taste history they’ll be more inclined to appreciate it. Which do you think the kid below will remember tomorrow, the date the Civil War started or what a fox’s foot feels like and how and why the furs were processed?
If you told a kid to go outside and beat two rocks together they would think you were crazy. Show them how to make arrowheads, however, and suddenly you’re elevated to hero status.
Any art, any craft has the potential of sparking that interest they never knew they had.
“You mean cheese doesn’t always come in individually wrapped slices?”
Live history and you teach history. That’s why I do it.
My son had the honor of guarding President Lincoln during his speech. I doubt there will be any questions about how that is done on the ISTEP test. I wonder if I send this to his U.S. History teacher if he could get some extra credit? Or do they even bother with extra credit in the schools anymore? Probably not, it doesn’t fit neatly on a computer graded form.
The kid and I are bugging out to Old Settlers Days in Salem, Indiana for the weekend. Other than the food and clothing, we’re packed and ready to go. There’s barely enough room left for us. I think I might need a bigger covered wagon.
(Yes, that is a vintage army cot and modern sleeping bags. It’s going to be in the 40’s at night. I draw the line in authenticity at freezing to death. We’ll just cover them with civil war era quilts so no one can see them.)
Which reminds me that I forgot to show you my finished quilt. Uh, it is crammed in there somewhere. I’ll have to wait to get a shot of it once we get our camp set up.
I’ll be working on hand piecing another quilt while I’m there.
One of the gals in my quilt guild started working on the Civil War Tribute block of the month pattern. She finished six months worth of blocks, by hand even, then threw in the towel and donated the kit to our annual auction.
I nearly had to break a woman’s arm to get her to stop bidding against me.
Hey, no judging. It belonged to ME. When the flag barer goes down in the battlefield, men fight for the honor of carrying it on. I saw a quilter going down. I had to do something.
I totally get why she chose to pass the torch, though. Month seven is a humdinger of a block set. It was time to bring in the reinforcements. It will take me a while to finish this one (it’s humungous). I figured the Civil War spanned four years and my progress on this quilt will do the same.
I ventured out yesterday to visit, Lisa, of Llama Reserve. She and her crew were able to rescue 58 llamas from the Nebraska liquidation.
The herd is remarkably healthy, just homeless. They’ve not had any bad experiences with humans but they lived on a 7000 acre ranch and didn’t received a whole lot of training either. So they don’t walk up to you to whisper sweet nothings in your ear but they don’t run away screaming either. They just look at you.
They are the ideal candidates to adopt. I would have given my left arm to bring these three girls home, but It STILL has not rained here. I have nothing to feed them.
Do you have enough room and and green pasture for a few llamas?
They’re awfully cute don’t you think? Some would make good livestock guardians, others have beautiful fiber for spinning. Then there are even mother/daughter combos that just want to stay together as lovely pasture ornaments.
Give Lisa at Llama Reserve a call. Tell her I sent you.
And reflecting back on the profound effect it has had on our lives. I was living in the city working a fast-pace, high-tech job. My husband was packing his suitcase in preparation for his flight to New York. He had a meeting scheduled at the trade center that afternoon. Our lives completely changed in an instant. Things that were once important no longer mattered.
May we all find the peace we are still searching for.
I just want to touch you, Louise. Why won’t you let me touch you?
You watched me with Thelma. I didn’t hurt her. She even likes it when I scratch behind her ears.
I’m getting tired of running in circles in the round pen and, frankly, getting a little dizzy in the process.
Wait a minute. You’re doing that on purpose aren’t you?
Wipe that smirk off your face. I’m not giving up that easily.