We are told to learn something new
every day. The other day I learned five. But that doesn’t mean that now I get to shut
down mentally for seventy-two hours.
A group of
volunteers and staff from Wethersfield Historical Society (including Mars and
I) visited Historic Deerfield – “an open-air living history museum dedicated to
the heritage and preservation of Deerfield, Massachusetts and the Connecticut
River Valley”. Studying the old is often
a way to discover something new.
We broke into four
groups, and ours strolled north along “The Street” past Deerfield Academy prep
school and various houses of the 18th and 19th century to
the “Williams House” – originally built in 1730 by Hinsdale and Anna Williams,
then extensively renovated to its present appearance in 1816 by Ebenezer
Hinsdale Williams (the son), a landowner and farmer. A major goal of the refurbishment, according
to our guide, was to create an appearance of great wealth by only revamping those
portions of the structure that the public would either see from the outside or
visit in the interior – for example the house was raised eighteen inches in
order to create a sun fan over the front door, and the room in which guests
were entertained got a large-scale makeover, while the family’s private sitting
room was basically unchanged. It was a nouveau
riche quest for “curb appeal” – both exterior and inside. Some of the people that Ebenezer Williams was
trying to impress lived at our next stop on the tour.
“Built in 1799, the Asa Stebbins House
features Federal period architecture, wall treatments, and decorative
arts. It was the first brick house in
Deerfield, and the interior of the house features neoclassical furnishings
dating from 1790 to 1830. Inspired by
ancient Greek and Roman design, this style was popular in the years following
the American Revolution. One of Deerfield’s wealthiest and most highly
respected citizens, Stebbins’ selection of brick construction and linear
neoclassical design was a stylish departure from earlier Deerfield houses with
their wooden clapboards and bold pedimented doorways. Of special note are French scenic wallpaper
panels by Joseph Dufour depicting the voyages of Captain Cook, freehand wall
painting that may have been executed by itinerant artist Jared Jessup in 1812,
and several portraits by Erastus Salisbury Field of nearby Sunderland,
Massachusetts.”
The Stebbins House
also contained the first orrery I had ever seen. It was sitting on a table in a darkened room
at the top of the stairway and looked like a small sculpture of five leather
balls of various sizes – the largest of which sat at one end next to a round,
horizontal circular metal disc, while the rest were grouped around each other
at the other extremity. The device
looked capable of movement, although the lack of light made it difficult to see
how such activity could be achieved.
When we went
downstairs I asked the housesitting docent who happened to be reading “Fifty
Shades of Gray” in between visitors, what the contraption was.
“It’s an called an
orrery and it was used to teach about the solar system. You move the planets around by manipulating
pulleys.”
“Kind of an
educational toy?”
“Exactly.”
“And how is orrery
spelled?”
She reached under
her table and brought out a large, wire bound, notebook within which lay the answer. I pondered the etymology of my newest word
discovery intermittently throughout the day.
Later at home I learned from Wikipedia that the first such planetary
gadget of the modern era was built in 1704 and presented to the Earl of Orrery. It was
a disappointing word history but an interesting new piece of knowledge
nonetheless.
Next we moved further
down “The Street” to the site’s Silver Collection comprised of an exceptional
assortment of the usual suspects (tankards, tea pots, bowls, etc. Paul Revere,
etc.) – and (something completely new to me) “Apostle Spoons”. These utensils look exactly like what their
name implies – Christ or one of his twelve original followers shown at the top
of each handle with, or represented by, his own symbol: Christ: cross and orb, Saint
Peter: a sword or a key, sometimes a fish, Saint Andrew: a cross, Saint James
the Greater: a pilgrim's staff, St. John: the cup of sorrow, Saint Philip: a
staff, Saint Bartholomew: a knife, Saint Thomas: a spar, Saint Matthew: an axe
or halbert, Saint James the Lesser: a fuller's bat, Saint Jude: a carpenter's
set square, Saint Simon Zealotes: a long saw, and Judas Iscariot: a bag of
money.
“Apostle spoons were particularly popular in
Pre-Reformation times when belief in the services of a patron saint was still
strong.” This seems akin to the Spanish
settlers of early New Mexico who, in the absence of money or old world skills
and technology, painted and carved their own rustic wooden “santos” as objects
of devotion and favor seeking. And, I
suspect, just as these southwestern icons have become modern cultural
collectibles, so were the Apostle Spoons accumulated and displayed by the status
conscious citizens of early Deerfield.
Our final stop of
the day was the Wells-Thorn House – clearly visible by its bright blue
exterior.
“Built in 1747, the Wells-Thorn House
presents period rooms depicting the lifestyle of Deerfield residents in a
progression from the early days of 1725 all the way up to the high-style of the
1850s. It is furnished to illustrate the
development of the agricultural economy, domestic life, and refinement in the
Connecticut Valley. The earliest rooms of the Wells-Thorn House show life in Deerfield
during the frontier period. As consumer goods became more plentiful, craftsmen
expanded their skills, and gentility and modernity replaced security as a
concern. Later period rooms in the house
reflect the increased availability of consumer goods and the growing prosperity
and sophistication of Deerfield’s residents.”
One indicator of
that growing prosperity and sophistication was a framed piece of artwork
hanging on a wall that our docent told us was an example of “schoolgirl art” – a phrase that I later input
to my favorite Internet search engine with a lot of apprehension and a little illicit
curiosity. Some of the results – “Shocking
Schoolgirl Art - Macabre Manifestations of the 'Lolita ...” – were not a
surprise.
As defined by our
Deerfield docent however “schoolgirl art” is what they call the artwork created
by the female students of educational institutions such as Deerfield Academy,
et al. The medium here was needlework
and, unlike orreries and Apostle Spoons, which I had never seen before this
outing, I was visually familiar with this type of craft – we do watch Antiques Roadshow – but not its
label.
At home that
evening Mars and I watched a DVD of a PBS program on British royal weddings
that we had copied the night before. I
was tired and paying half-attention when I sort of saw something that made me
stop and back up the narrative in order to watch it again more closely. The speaker was talking about the floral
arrangements for one of the ceremonies, and the subtitle identifying the talker
said he was a member of the “Worshipful Company of Gardeners”.
“The Worshipful Company of Gardeners is one
of the Livery Companies of the City of London. An organisation of Gardeners
existed in the middle of the fourteenth century; it received a Royal Charter in
1605. The Company no longer exists as a regulatory authority for the sale of
produce in London; instead serving as a charitable institution. The Company
also performs a ceremonial role; it formally presents bouquets to the Queen and
to Princesses upon their wedding, anniversary, or other similar occasion.
The Gardeners' Company ranks sixty-sixth in
the order of precedence for Livery Companies. Its motto is In The Sweat Of Thy
Brows Shalt Thow Eate Thy Bread.”
The Men’s Garden
Club of Wethersfield, to which I belong, pales in literary comparison to this
nobly named gang of jardinières.
“Orrery”, “Apostle
Spoons”, “Schoolgirl Art”, and the “Worshipful Company of Gardeners” all in one
day. It is almost enough to put even the
most ardent logophile – especially one who utilizes ostentatious verbiage to embellish
his own curb appeal – at a complete loss for words.
Almost!
(B.T.W. – a
logophile is a lover of words. And that would be
the fifth new thing.)
Photos by Mars - http://www.viewmars.blogspot.com/
Photos by Mars - http://www.viewmars.blogspot.com/
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