Pilgrim’s Progress

We took the kids to Plimoth Plantation over the weekend during that wonderful spell of Indian summer we just had. (By the way, I don’t think the word “Indian” is offensive in the context of summer, do you? There were signs posted up all over the trails suggesting the use of the term “Native Peoples,” but “Native People summer” gives the impression of overwhelming numbers of native people being around during the actual summertime and so it’s confusing not to mention unwieldy, not unlike this tangent.)

If you’re not from around here and/or live under a rock that’s not Plymouth Rock, Plimoth Plantation is one of the biggest tourist attractions outside of Boston, with a full-scale replica of Plimoth colony circa 1627 complete with walking historians who act out the roles of the actual settlers, as well as a reproduction of a Wampanoag village. Maybe it’s uncool to admit it, but I was kind of excited to go back after all these years. I loved Plimoth Plantation as a kid, sneaking into other people’s homes and snooping through all their stuff. Later, as a teenager, I engaged in the fine art of Pilgrim-baiting (trying to trick the role-players into admitting knowledge of the modern world, as if no one’s ever tried that one before). Now that I’m older and oh-so-very-much-wiser, I couldn’t wait for my kids to have the same peek into 17th century life. And to tell the Pilgrims all about the Internet!

It’s a little bit awkward, though, to interact with the staff at period museums like this (Old Sturbridge Village included). You don’t want the actors to think you yourself are actually fooled by their phony accents and thatched roofs and very convincing daily chores going on around you. You know they’re just acting, and you know they know you know they’re just acting (you hope). But it’s also important to keep the magic alive for the children. What kind of a loser goes to a place like this and then refuses to participate (loud throat-clearing directed at Husband). In this vein, I was happy to aid the First Grader in his earnest quest to locate a young Pilgrim boy named Samuel Eaton he’d read about in a library book. But then maybe you might find yourself getting way too wrapped up in conversation with a possible distant relative of young Samuel to the point of cracking the eggs for her pain perdu while your children wander away.

After a while, Husband had to intervene because the other 21st century folk jammed into the one-room dwelling couldn’t get a word in edgewise:

Me: (to Pilgrim lady) So tell me again what you like to do with all these squashes.

Husband silently leads me out the door by the elbow.

Me: What?

Him: You do know they’re not real Pilgrims, right?

Me: Duh. I know that. I was just playing along.

Him: …

Me: But I was a little offended that she didn’t ask us to stay for lunch. She had three golden opportunities but kept changing the subject to the news from England. I didn’t make all those sausage patties for nothing.

That’s okay. There's always next time. I wonder what my new friends are doing two Thursdays from now?

Comments

[andrea]

I'm sure they don't have plans, yet.

And if husband hasn't had any leads by now...I'm sure he would look awesome in a three pointed hat. He should be sure to mention his hoop rolling skills. Then we'd almost be neighbors! :)

[Husband]

Yes that's right: I'm the loser.

"I dunno nuffing bout no Innernet guvnah!"

[Amy]

Fun. When we lived in Northern California, we went to the Renaissance Festival a few times, where it's the same deal. Everyone is in costume and has practiced their accent, playing their appropriate role. I used to make fun of a lot of them, though, for wearing Rolex watches and such. Don't think they quite did their homework. Ahem.

[Carice]

My co-worker from Bulgaria calls it "Gypsy summer"
She has all kinds of issues with gypsies, and is not quite as PC as those of us in the states about expressing them.
But the phrase has a nice ring to it anyway.

[Melissa]

Delurking...

I'm from Quincy but we moved to the South Shore (North Plymouth) for better schools. I am 31 now and *just* was able to return to Plimoth Plantation last year. Why? Dragged, every.single.year by some social studies teacher.

Since I live relatively near DC now, I'm waiting for my kiddo to get sick of the Smithsonian. She's only 18 months but I anticipate hearing "The National Gallery again?!? Ugh."

[Karen @ Mignardise]

Many years ago we took my the kids to Plimouth Plantation. My son was about four at the time.
He stomped around complaining "There's nothing for me here. There are NO TRUCKS."
One of my favorite memories. Ever.

[Dawn Hutchins]

Wow this post brought up some memories! I grew up in Milford, MA and we would go to PP all the time as well as tour the Mayflower. I loved it! Now, living in Florida, I'm a little far to bring my daughter but at least we have St. Augustine 20 minutes away!

[Kathy]

I believe the last time I was there, you sister decided to dye her hair in the hotel room and it turned green. Good times.

[izzy's mama]

I am terribly jealous. Have always wanted to go there and would love to take my son. Did you get to eat anything? I would love to have the Harvest Meal!

[Henrietta]

I am ridiculously addicted to your blog and now feel we are even more kindred spirits. I am coming out of lurker mode to admit that I, too, was perplexed this spring when we took the 6 year old to PP for 1st visit and not one of those pilgrim housewives offered me any of the delicous looking lunches (ummm, dinners) they were cooking up - steaming hot chicken straight from the oven with all kinds of little herb-looking things from out back of the house.
Sigh.
In any case, next time you come looking for treasures from the farm stand at Drumlin Farm, ask for me at the window. I work upstairs.
Henrietta, sometimes known as Hank

[Tammy]

Henrietta: Hi there! Thanks for commenting. Don't the Pilgrims know they'd get a LOT more repeat business if only they'd share? Perhaps I shouldn't have brought up my thoughts on gay marriage. Pilgrims. So tolerant. (P.S. I'll definitely say hi the next time I'm at Drumlin.)

Izzy's Mama: We ate at the museum cafeteria afterwards and I had the Thanksgiving turkey sandwich (turkey, stuffing, cranberries). It was really good. In the interest of diplomacy, the kids had French fries.

Kathy: Whoa, I forgot about that! The Pilgrims would say it was the work of the devil. I think, though, it was just the unfortunate combination of Sun-In and henna or whatever it was she used. Good times is right!

Dawn: St. Augustine sounds nice. Did they ever find the Fountain of Youth? If so, could you send me a vial (I'll pay shipping).

Karen: I think the truck thing came up in conversation with one of the Pilgrims when we went, too. But where would we go, was the reply. Touche. It's impossible to trick them.

Melissa: How funny. I lived outside of D.C. until we moved to the South Shore (Weymouth, then Braintree) when I was 8. I remember finding the Smithsonian a bit tedious because my mom would make us read EVERY label and plaque and then test us on it later. Don't deny it, Mom. I'm sure I'll do the same thing to my kids when we get down there someday.

Carice: I like it. Sounds carefree and spirited. I wonder why unexpectedly warm fall days seem to be named after oppressed minorities. Anyway, if it were me, I'd be in too much of a good mood about the weather to be offended.

Amy: I thought there was a guy selling Rolexes from inside his coat in every time period!

Husband: I'm glad you agree that you're the loser.

Andrea: Husband refuses to apply, but I think I just caught a glimpse of MY future career! Too bad I'm no good with accents. Also, I'm easily confused/flustered. I'm afraid my only hope would be for the role of "Retarded Pilgrim Girl." I'll keep you posted!