They Knew They Were Pilgrims

The 17th Century Adventures of Plimoth Plantation's Colonial Interpreters

Wedding Bell Blues.

June 16th, 2013 by Alexandra


May 12 was the first marriage in this place which, according to the laudable custom of the Low Countries, in which they had lived, was thought most requisite to be performed by a magistrate, as being a civil thing, upon which many questions about inheritances do depend, with other things most proper to their cognizance and most consonant to the Scriptures (Ruth iv) and nowhere found in the Gospel to be laid on the ministers as a part of their office.  This decree or law about marriage was published by the States of the Low Countries Anno 1590.  That those of any religion (after lawful and open publication) coming before the magistrates in the Town, or State House, were to be orderly (by them) married one to another…And this practice hath continued amongst not only them, but hath been followed by all the famous churches of Christ in these parts to this time…

-William Bradford, Of Plimoth Plantation

First things first: technically, I’m a minister. I’m an ordained member of the Universal Life Church, a church which had the supreme honor of being first on my list of results when I Googled “How do I get ordained online?” a few months ago.  I had earlier joked with my two recently engaged friends Sara and Jason, who had wanted to forgo a more traditional church-based wedding, that someone they knew should officiate their wedding, and they returned the favor by later asking if I could be just that person.  Ironically, I soon discovered that the easiest way to give my friends the secular ceremony they wanted was to get ordained online, as becoming a real life civil official involved annoying stuff like actually getting elected mayor or going to law school and becoming a judge.

So for all intents and purposes I had to become a minister to act as a magistrate – a dilemma which, like a lot of things do in my life nowadays, reminded me of William Bradford.  The May 12, 1621 wedding Bradford writes of is the marriage of Edward Winslow and Susanna White, two Mayflower passengers who each lost their respective spouses during the first winter in New England (The fact that I’m playing Susanna this year? Coincidence!).  Like Bradford, Winslow had been living in Leiden, Holland (That’s the “Low Countries!”) as part of a reformed church led by pastor John Robinson, a church which according to Bradford “laboured to have the right worship of God and discipline of Christ established in the church, according to the simplicity of the gospel, without the mixture of men’s inventions.”  Therefore, “all those courts, cannons and ceremonies” like a wedding performed by a minister were thought to be “after the popish manner” and against “the purity of the gospel.”

And while today yes, a civil official might be a mayor, judge or justice of the peace, what constituted a magistrate in New Plimoth?  According to Edward Winslow in Mourt’s Relation, during the signing of what is now called the Mayflower Compact, “it was thought good there should be an association and agreement, that we should combine together in one body, and to submit to such government and governors, as we should by common consent agree to make and choose.”  While there was a royally appointed governor for the whole of New England, New Plimoth also had its own governor for the day to day running of local affairs, as well as assistants to help share the burden – first just one, and starting in 1624 as the town grew, five assistants (it would eventually become seven). The governor and his assistants were elected every year (That’s the non-fancy way of saying “by common consent agree to make and choose”), and according to Bradford, the purpose of these assistants was to share the burden of town governance with “help and counsel, and the better carrying on of affairs.”  The governor or any of these assistants could have performed a marriage then in New Plimoth – probably quite a change for other New Plimoth residents more accustomed to marriage solemnized by a minister of the Church of England.

So because I am a professional Pilgrim, on my long train ride back to Massachusetts after Sara and Jason’s wedding I of course got to thinking about the differences between magistrate-ing (Or I guess technically minister-ing? Ministrate-ing?) a wedding in the 17th century and one in the 21st century.  For starters, the actual ceremony of a wedding in 17th century New Plimoth would be a far cry from the modern one I officiated, as I am pretty certain Governor Bradford or one of his assistants didn’t make last minute tweaks to the vows in a hair salon the morning of the wedding:

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They also probably weren’t drinking lattes from the coffee shop next door or using a Macbook. Details, details.

Rather, one of New Plimoth’s magistrates would have begun by reminding those gathered that this was the third “lawful and open publication” of the marriage banns (the other two times would have been on the two weeks leading up to the wedding), giving a last chance for anyone who opposed the marriage to voice their reasons.  I began Sara and Jason’s ceremony just you know, a little differently:

400 years of weddings.

My boss Bill hand wrote that top part with a quill and ink. The bottom part? Written on Google Drive.

And what about that important little thing, called the vows?  The passage of four hundred years means that the vows I asked Sara to repeat didn’t have her acknowledge Jason as her “lord and lawful husband”:

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Remember the ladies.

But still the more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe a 17th century wedding and 21st century one weren’t all that different.  After all, the true job of any good wedding officiant is just to get the bride and groom to repeat a bunch of stuff:

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And they say history never repeats itself.

And no matter the century the bride still needs to be fussed over:

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That’s me on the left getting my hair did before I got fake married in the Village last year, and that’s Sara getting a last minute touch up before she really really REALLY gets married.

What’s a wedding except an excuse for a good time to be had by all?:

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Dancing to pipe music and to Macklemore are basically the same thing, right?

And the best part? Seeing two awesome people decide to be awesome together for life:

Magistrates across the centuries.

That’s Governor Bradford on the left, marrying Jane Cook and Experience Mitchell in the English Village. And that’s me on the right, doing my best magistrate-ing for Sara and Jason. Congrats!

Oh and hey – consider this your Save-The-Date: Jane Cooke and Experience Mitchell are getting married in the 1627 English Village on September 21 and you’re invited.  I can guarantee I won’t be the magistrate (Alas!) but I can also guarantee a good time! Hope to see you there!

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Posted in Weddings | 4 Comments

And seest thou my Cow today…?

May 22nd, 2013 by Sally

And seest thou my Cow today Fowler, the Bells ring in to Mattens, Bim Bome, Bim Bome a Bome Bome

- Thomas Ravenscroft, Melismata, Musicall Phansies. London, 1611

 

At publique Court, help the 22th of May it was concluded by the whole Companie, that the cattell wch were the Companies, to wit, the Cowe, & the Goates should be equally divided to all the psonts of the same company & soe kept untill the expiration of ten yeares after the date above written.

- Plymouth Colony Records, 12:9

 

Today is an exciting day here in New Plimoth. IT’S CATTLE DIVISION DAY!

oooo but we don't like being divided!

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One of the reasons that we usually represent the year 1627 in our Village is that it is one of the better documented years, particularly in regards to who is residing in the town. The Plymouth Colony Records contain the full list, dividing all the townsfolk into twelve groups, or lots, of thirteen. Each lot is then allocated specific cattle, which in this case refers to both cows and goats. (In the seventeenth-century, the term cattle tends to more generally refer to any sort of livestock of the four-legged variety.) In 1627 there are also pigs in Plymouth that we assume were so plentiful in their number that they didn’t see the need to so accurately describe their division. Then there are the sheep that Captain Standish is looking to sell in 1628, but they are his in-his-own-particular-thank-you-very-much! Anyway, back to the cows and the goats…in 1627, there are not quite enough for families to be owning and increasing their own cattle, but there are too many for the care of these animals to be shared in a straightforward way. So the decision is made to divide them up, as our Governor says:

…a cow to 6 persons or shares, and 2 goats to the same, which were first equalized for age, and goodness and then lotted for; single persons consorting with others, as they thought good, and smaller families likewise; and swine though more in number, yet by the same rule.

As interpreters of this, especially because we tend to change characters from year to year, we all need prompts in order to remember exactly what our lot was given. And trust me, this is a HUGE deal to our seventeenth-century-selves. The day the cattle was divided in 1627, the town must have been a-buzzing with news, who got what, my-cow-is-bigger-than-your-cow comparisons, when shall we send my bull and your heifer off on a merry junket, etc…..This was exactly what was going on in our staff lounge this morning. William Bradford was frantically trying to remember what he wrote in his journal about this day, Master Alden was wondering why his division is the only one to get *just* a heifer, and there was much rejoicing from me, Fear Allerton, when I realised that one of our newest interpreters, who is playing John Crackstone comes under my lot too! Amidst all the excitement, and certainly adding to it, there was this:

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The wonderful, foodilicious Kathy Devlin spent her weekend baking Cattle Division Cookies for us all! What a delight – thanks Kathy! As I dug through this delectable pile of treats, I realised that they were not just treats for our taste buds, but also treats for our interpretation. Here’s what I found on the back of my name tag:

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Yup. The Great Black cow, the lesser of the two steers, and two she goats. A quick lesson in seventeenth-century cow nomenclature might be needed in order for you all to fully understand the greatness of this news. A cow is a mature female who has birthed at least one calf, as opposed to a heifer who is an adult female which has not yet calved. Therefore, my Great Black cow is a proven reproducer. This is good. A steer is a gelded male…or as I explain to school children often, he’s not a bull, but a male that will never father any children. A steer is on its way (via extensive training) to becoming an ox, and therefore a PLOWING MACHINE. This is also good. Excellent good, in fact.

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This was the second lot, of Mr. Isaac Allerton & his Companie, joined to him his wife, Ffeare Allerton, the four Allerton children, the Godbertson family (Sarah Godbertson being the sister of Master Allerton), Edward Bumpasse and John Crackstone. That’s my division, and what I’ll be talking about for most of the day!

 

  For he blesseth them, and they multiply exceedingly, and he diminisheth not their cattle.

- Psalm 107:38, 1599 Geneva Bible.

 

 

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Posted in Family Life, Pilgrim, Plimoth Plantation, Primary Sources, Seasons, William Bradford | 3 Comments

They Knew We’d Be Pilgrims: Part One

May 12th, 2013 by Sally

Greetings, dear readers! 

If you are reading this post (which I assume you are), then you are in for a treat! Not only because Alex (in the orange) and I (in the green) are writing it together, but it’s also a TWO-PART-ER. That’s right folks, this post is only half the story! 

You see, we thought what all our dear readers would want to know is exactly how a Pilgrim becomes a Pilgrim – what makes a seemingly ordinary, well adjusted adult decide to dress up in funny clothes all day and spew out obscure historical facts? But that’s the rub – for most of us our descent into Pilgrimhood started well before we ever could drive cars, drink legally, or had even graduated high school for that matter. Some people were just born to do what they do, and we Pilgrims are no exception.

All of us Interpreters have experienced our fair share of history nerd-dom in our respective childhoods. And, if you ask me, the blame for this should be squarely placed on the shoulders of the ones who raised us: Our parents.

It’s true Sally – I don’t think I would be the Pilgrim I am today if my family’s idea of “vacation” didn’t include so many trips to Civil War battlefields, or if they had had the good sense to not take me so many weekends to visit Henry Ford Museum & Greenfield Village.  If only they had done normal, less educational stuff! Then they might have ended up with a daughter who doesn’t play historical dress up for a living! 

My family spent many happy hours exploring historic castles, manor houses and museums on days out too! Being the intrepid reporters that we are, in the writing of this post and the discovery that Mother’s Day is approaching too quickly for us to have time to mail cards (sorry Mum!)(yeah sorry!), Alex and I made the ground-breaking decision that we should interview our Mothers! Yes, it is the cutting edge of journalism. Yes, it has the potential to be incredibly embarrassing for both of us. But for you, our distinguished readers, we are willing to make this sacrifice. In order to prepare ourselves sufficiently for the writing of this article, we became friends with each others mothers through the medium of Facebook. Being friends with Alex’s Mom has been enlightening in more ways than one, but this blog is not an appropriate forum for such disclosures…

Well, don’t you worry Sally, I have learned plenty of delightful anecdotes from your Mother as well (which will definitely be discussed later in this post).  But interviewing our Mothers is certainly to best way to get to the bottom of the age old What-Exactly-Makes-A-Pilgrim-Become-A-Pilgrim Mystery, seeing as no one has known us longer.  This means no one has more incriminating evidence about our highly nerdy pasts, and when it comes to warning signs at even a young age that one might grow up to eventually work at Plimoth Plantation, there is one which stands out above all others. And that, according to Sally’s Mom, is that “She learnt to talk very early and never shut up after that.” Thanks Mum! – Sally. 

But Sally’s Mother says she loved other Pilgrim things too, long before she ever had to worry about keeping a 17th century kitchen garden:

Sally has always loved carrots – it was her favourite food (even more than sweets!) and when she was 2 if you asked her what her name was she would say ‘Lally Carrot’. She still loves carrots. And her brothers still call her Carrot sometimes. In fact her Uncle gave her a bunch of carrots on her wedding day:

sally carrots

Yup, that’s me. In fact, I did plant carrots in my Pilgrim garden just last week. Speaking of digging in the dirt, Alex’s Mom says that when Alex was five, she wanted to be an archaeologist.  When she was FIVE, people. Her Mom, quite wisely, didn’t hold out much hope for that happening, because once Alex got older, “she realized that meant working in hot, dirty conditions. But wait, that’s what she does now. Only she gets to wear a costume!” Alex’s Mom then went on to say that she wanted her (only) daughter to grow up to do something that she truly loved…can I get an “aaaaaaaaawwwwww”?

Now, going back to the costumes…here’s what Alex’s Mom had to say on that matter:

I may have been her enabler in that regard.

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She always had whatever Halloween costume she wanted. Mostly Disney princesses. However, her favorites were her Felicity dresses. Which she wore all around Colonial Williamsburg (are we allowed to mention them? – Yes, we like them! I’ll even hyperlink it – Sally). I credit the American Girl dolls and books for her particular blend of loving history combined with playing dress up. I can still get her to play dress up when she comes home to help with our local historical musuem. Have you seen her as a flapper? (For the record, I was dressing this way before Carey Mulligan made it cool – Alex)

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We have now. (It should be noted as well that my Mom is an excellent seamstress and she’s the one who made me all those Halloween costumes and American Girl outfits. Thanks for being an enabler Mom!)

Now lest you think you’re getting off the hook easy Sally, I asked your Mom too what you were like when you were five, and she had this to say:

She learnt piano from 5 years old and was very unusual because she enjoyed the theory as much as the playing. When she was 9 she announced she wanted to play the saxophone. As soon as her fingers were long enough she started to play and she loved it. When she was 15 the neighbours came round and asked if it was her playing. I thought they were complaining and said I would ask her to stop…but they said no, they wanted her to open her bedroom window as they were having a party in the garden and wanted to hear her music!

sally pipe

Luckily for us, all of Sally’s playing for the neighbors has paid off – today if you come to the Plantation, you might get the treat of hearing Sally play the pipe! Pretty sure that’s what your Mom had in mind Sally when she said that “To be honest I wanted her to be happy” when I asked her what her hopes for your future were when you little.  Because who isn’t happy listening to a merry tune?

According to her Mother, Alex received a lot of her Pilgrim Housewife training through the Girl Scouts. There, she learnt how to start a fire and cook over it (and she’s one of the best Pilgrim chefs I know!) (aww thanks Sally!) and plenty of other “things she never thought would be useful in everyday life. However she wasn’t good with the knife safety. You must have heard about the time she sliced her finger…” I have heard this story. She cut herself badly making macaroni and cheese FROM A BOX! It’s amazing that nothing worse has happened since she has been working with knives AND the public. The more I questioned Alex’s Mom, the more it seemed to me that her upbringing was perfectly designed, through both nature and nurture, to create an excellent seventeenth-century housewife in a twenty-first century living history museum. Alex always loved Thanksgiving, “except for the year my [Alex's Mom's] cousin let her put black olives on all her fingertips and keep eating them till she got sick” and in her middle school days she was a junior docent at the Detroit Historical Museum. When she won every science fair project in elementary school (total nerd), “the teachers always thought that her parents did them for her, which we did not. Except for the year she broke her toe and I had to do some of the physical labor for her project. And the year she erased her entire paper on that new-fangled word processor and had to stay up all night retyping it.” That sounds like the Alex we all know and love!

Hey Sally, did you know you were interpreting from the tender age of 3? According to your Mom, you were:

When Sally was small we lived on the Isle of Wight (just off the south coast of England) and a tourist destination. It was Queen Victoria’s favourite place and she had a holiday home there called Osborne House to which we could walk from our house. Sally loved it there and would amaze visitors as she pointed out things of interest. Her saying ‘This large urn was given to Victoria and Albert as a wedding present from Tsar Nicholas II’ was the one that always had the most effect! Little did we know then that this was a foretaste of her life in the future! 

The island often held Victorian markets and fairs – I will give you a (grainy) photo of Sally with her two brothers in Victorian costume:

sally victorian

Mwuahahahaha! You’re welcome Sally!

I think I was rather cute, actually. There was one final question I asked Alex’s mother: 

What did you (really) think when Alex told you she was going to be a full time 17th century housewife? 

That she would love it, but hoped she could afford to live on that salary. And that she would hate being the subservient housewife. But it’s only dress up, not real life.

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Oh, and Sally, your Mom thinks you’ll be great no matter what you do (well, except for one thing!):

Sally did everything well-so long as she wanted to do it. There was just one thing she never achieved – she couldn’t or wouldn’t ride a bike.

(Psssst! Sally! Don’t worry! I can’t ride a bike either! (We few, we happy few…)) 

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So there we have it, directly from the mouths of the women who made us who we are. 

Thanks Moms, for letting your little weirdos grow up into the big weirdos we are today, and loving and encouraging us all the same! The least we can do is return the favor, and make you super famous on our humble blog!

And if you want something cuter for your Mother’s Day than just some pictures of Baby Alex and Baby Sally, we’ve got your fix. In the animal world, spring is a great time for mothering – prepare yourselves for some incredible adorableness!

We have a baby kid goat in the Village. In the twenty-first century, we call her Anna. 

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Some eagle-eyed interpreters spotted a nest of Marsh Wrens snugly tucked in between the timbers in the saw pit. 

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Down at the Mill, not only are the herring running to increase their population, and four little cygnets being well protected by their parents, there’s a family of Canada Geese with their goslings. I would have taken a better picture, but the big ones started to hiss at me, and once when I was about 7, I got bitten by a goose. It hurt. 

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I think that just leaves us to say “Happy Mother‘s Day” to you all! If you are a Mother (or a Mother figure) we hope you are spoiled today, and if you have a Mother (or a Mother figure), we hope you’re showing her how wonderful you think she is! 

And to our own Mothers…THANK YOU! Thanks for bringing us into the world, loving us, supporting us and encouraging us to be ourselves and do what we love, no matter how crazy it might seem. 

Oh, and remember how we said this post was a two-parter?!! Hold on to your (buckle) hats, because more stories and pictures chronicling the rise of Plimoth Plantation’s Interpreters from kid nerds to fully formed adult nerds are on the way. You didn’t think we’d be the only ones to post embarrassing photos on the Internet, did you?

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Posted in Family Life, Pilgrim, Plimoth Plantation, William Bradford | 4 Comments

‘Twas In The Merry Month Of May

May 4th, 2013 by Alexandra

 

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Posted in Seasons, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

This Old Hat

April 13th, 2013 by Sally

Last week, as part of my weekly grind at The Mill, I was going through some newspaper articles that had been written around the time of the completion of the building that now stands on Jenney Pond. This was mainly so that we can give an accurate account of the history of our reconstructed mill alongside the history of milling and water power in Plymouth Colony. But, as I am wont to do, I got distracted. These days, anything with the word “Pilgrim” in it catches my eye. Here’s what I found while reading the July 3rd, 1970 edition of New England Real Estate Journal:

It’s an advert extolling the economic virtues of the Town of Plymouth. Apparently, “the school community has computer math at grade 6″! This got me thinking about two things that I will address right here in this post.

How exactly does something become (or avoid becoming) “Old Hat”?

and

Actual Old Hats.

As it turns out, the saying “old hat” as we use it today is, in fact, not very old hat. Our good friend The OED cites its first use in 1911. This means you won’t be hearing it in the 1627 Village any time soon. Like many things, when a hat gets old it starts to sag. Its once bold colour fades to a grey-ish tinge of its former glory. But it’s not all bad. That well-worn piece of headgear takes on the shape of your head. It starts to smell like you. It is comfort in a head covering. Moreover, you know what to expect from an old hat and it doesn’t disappoint. Anyway, going back to the dictionary, if you are described as being old hat, you are “considered to be old-fashioned, out of date, unoriginal, or hackneyed”. Conveniently, this brings me on to my next interesting find; from the Town of Plymouth’s 350th Anniversary brochure, 1970:

It could easily have been written yesterday. Wait a minute. Am I trying to say that Plimoth Plantation is old hat? Well, do I think it is old-fashioned? Innately. Is it out of date? By about four hundred years. Unoriginal? We try to re-create the past as accurately as possible through the use of primary sources, so while we certainly do not lack in creativity, I suppose unoriginality is our end-game, yes. Are we hackneyed? This one requires a closer look…

hack·neyed

/ˈhaknēd/
Adjective
(of a phrase or idea) Lacking significance through having been overused.
 
Synonyms
trite – banal – commonplace – threadbare – platitudinous

Absolutely not! Just looking at those synonyms makes me want to curl up in a corner and die of boredom. Take another look at that advertisement. By smelling the woodsmoke, we’re providing a multi-sensory experience of the past. Walking down the street allows  a 21st-century mind to be wholly absorbed into a seventeenth-century mindset. Seeing the animals brings home the reality of the desperate struggle to survive in a hostile and strange New World. Visiting the (small, simple) houses opens up a discussion on the virtues of a pre-consumerist lifestyle. And in talking to the people, a piece of history is being kept alive. In short, I think that Plimoth Plantation and the history we interpret is far too interesting, too significant, too compelling to ever be described as old hat. Frequently, we talk with our visitors about issues concerning sustainable living, property ownership, race, religion, immigration, healthcare, gun ownership and debt management. If that’s not relevant, I don’t know what is. It’s like being in our own individual presidential debate every day. I suppose the paradox for us is that we who pretend to be these seventeenth-century people are always trying to make our seventeenth-century way of life seem like old hat. “Why yes”, I hear myself saying, “of course I grind all of my corn in a mortar and pestle, and sift it all with a bolting cloth and then bake all my own bread”. I’ll give visitors a quizzical look when they ask me where the bathroom is, I’ll think they are outright crazy when they try to convince me that women should have the right to vote – this is all part of my (un-hackneyed) early modern period world view. In my humble opinion, this is exactly what makes our exhibit the opposite of old hat (new hat? Perhaps not…).

Now, onto Actual Old Hats.

A common question we get from out visitors is “How do you make a profit here in the colony?” You may remember from my last post, that just last year in 1626 Plymouth began using a convenient and wholesome pinnace (a good size boat) in trading with the natives. (They had already been trading in this way prior to 1626, but the pinnace enabled them to trade more goods in one journey than ever before. Ingenious.) What were they trading? Mostly maize grown in Plymouth for furs trapped in The Maine. These fur pelts were in turn sold in England which in turn gave our Pilgrims money to begin to pay off their debt and to buy their all-essential supplies. There are diverse and sundry kinds of pelts, otter, mink, marten, but the one that was in highest demand in England was beaver. “Why?” I hear you ask. Well, my friends, beaver fur makes good hats.

I guess it would go a long way in keeping your head dry…

That’s Stacy modelling exactly what I think goes through the heads of 95% of all school children when they hear the phrase “beaver fur hat”. It’s really rather more suited to Davy Crockett and the wild frontier than anything else. In actuality, the fur is removed from the pelt, and felted just like wool. Here’s a legit four hundred year old hat to show you what I mean:

C. Hopkins beaver hat

Now THAT’S what I call old hat!

This hat is attributed to Constance Hopkins of Mayflower fame and you can see it for yourself, right here in Plymouth at Pilgrim Hall Museum. The fantastic and endlessly talented Johanna Tower in our Historic Clothing and Textiles Department has been making felt hats for us to wear for a couple of years now, and I’m told you’ll be seeing a hat like this in the Village very soon! I think it’s fascinating to see just how similar a hat felted from beaver fur is to a common or garden woollen felt hat. However, hat experts tell me that a beaver hat will last much, much longer.

Recently, it seems there have been an overplus of videos here on They Knew They Were Pilgrims. I think it’s partly because I take far too many pictures than I know what to do with, and a video is an excellent way to show them all to you without it growing too tedious.  That being said, I hope you don’t mind another one, one which I think is a fitting tribute to the hats and caps we wear every day.

WARNING: This video contains a serious ear worm. I’ve been singing it all week, and don’t my fellow Pilgrims know it – sorry everyone!

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Posted in Pilgrim, Plimoth Plantation, Primary Sources, William Bradford | 5 Comments

Your Interpretation Will Be Televised.

March 30th, 2013 by Alexandra

I’ll just come out and say it: if you’re a Colonial Interpreter at Plimoth Plantation you probably weren’t the cool kid in high school. You probably were involved in the drama club’s production of The Sound of Music, or you were that kid who got an annoyingly perfect 5 on their AP US History test (Spoiler alert: if you were me, you were both!).

Suffice it to say, to be a Pilgrim you have to be pretty comfortable in your un-coolness. It’s not often that we see the small period details we fret about day to day crop up in the pop culture zeitgeist, and even stranger when some piece of popular entertainment makes your Pilgrim ears perk up and pay attention.

History as depicted in pop culture alternately makes me cringe (Full disclosure: I actually, literally stopped watching The Tudors on Netflix because Henry VIII used the word “picnic,” which wasn’t around until the 19th century.), makes me swoon (Colin Firth as Jan Vermeer? Yes, please.), and sometimes, in that rare gem of an occasion, makes me think Yes! They actually got that right! (Well, at least as right as my experience in living history would lead me to believe).

Luckily for us period pieces seem to be having a bit of a moment on our television screens – whether its Downton Abbey, Boardwalk Empire or Mad Men - but for many of us Pilgrims, there is one show which can fuel heated lunch time debate like none other: Game of Thrones. Set in a facsimile of the medieval world, the show has just enough reality (Knights! Funny clothes! Weird words!) to hook a bunch of history nerds, but enough fantasy (Dragons! Zombies!) to excuse it if things aren’t exactly right.

And lest you think we here on the blog are barbarians who only watch TV and don’t read books, I can assure you that a good chunk of us Interpreters find ourselves at varying points in the book series which inspired the show, George R.R. Martin’s A Song Of Ice and Fire, meaning that you have to take care to not ruin your friendships by accidentally spoiling crucial plot points.

Like any devoted fans of a particular slice of pop culture, those of us invested in Game of Thrones buy cookbooks based on the series, can hum the theme song with aplomb, and waste their Saturday nights fighting each other for control of the fictional kingdom of Westeros – well in board game form anyway:

It only took 7 hours, but my partner & I finally won the Iron Throne through a combination of luck, luck & more luck.

Here’s where it gets weird (weirder?) though:  In what can only be considered New World Problem #427, I often find myself relating  to the characters a little too much. Like most of the people who tune into HBO for the show and/or read the book series, I enjoy the plot twists, intrigue and dragons, but I also find myself taking note of how and what the characters are eating, the depiction of items of period clothing, or the use of language eerily similar to what I use to speak to museum visitors everyday.

They say life imitates art, but what happens when you see the historical life you imitate at a museum imitated in books and on TV? (Or is that just some crazy rabbit hole I’d be better off not falling down?)  But don’t take my word for it, let me show you that we Pilgrims are as hip as any House in Westeros – we really are! Promise!

1. Our houses are the same!

“…in a one-room hut of mud and straw with a thatched roof and smoke hole and a floor of hard-packed earth, (he) shivered and coughed and licked his lips…Only a grey-and-black tangle of charred wood remained, with a few embers glowing in the ashes. There’s still smoke, it just needs wood…’Catch,’ he croaked. ‘Burn.’ He blew upon the embers…Already the little hut was growing colder.” – A Dance With Dragons

Look, I’m going on the assumption here that should most people read the description of “a one-room hut of mud and straw with a thatched roof and a smoke hole and a floor of hard-packed earth” in a fantasy novel the first thing they think of isn’t their work place.  But if you’re a Pilgrim, a place like that is pretty much your office:

No climbing on Elder Brewster's thatch Brandon Stark!

No climbing on Elder Brewster’s thatch Brandon Stark!

Not only that, reading such a description might conjure up memories of Mourt’s Relation, which recounts the building of New Plimoth’s first common house  by saying that some men “should make mortar, and some gather thatch, so that in four days half of it was thatched.”  And it doesn’t take much for me to imagine what it must be like to try to start a fire on a cold, snowy night because I came into work last Tuesday and quite actually saw this:

Does Santa still come down the chimney if the hearth is full of snow?

Shoveling snow out of their hearth is a job hazard everyone has, right?

2. We eat the same stuff!

“Such food Bran had never seen; course after course after course, so much that he could not manage more than a bite or two of each dish. There were great joints of aurochs roasted with leeks, venison pies chunky with carrots, bacon and mushrooms…savory duck, peppered boar, goose, skewers of pigeon and capon…twenty casks of fish…packed in salt and seaweed; whitefish and winkles, crabs and mussels, clams, herring, cod, salmon, lobster and lampreys…there were turnips and pease and beets, beans and squash and huge red onions…” – A Clash Of Kings

If you’ve visited Plimoth Plantation there’s a good chance you’ve seen Interpreters cooking food over an open hearth – it has its dangers (I’ve singed a few petticoats), but also great rewards (as in, the resulting food is awesome).  You can’t beat cold, rainy November days when you get to sit next to a fire and turn the spit on a rack of ribs for hours like it’s your job…because well, it is.  So naturally whenever food, whether it be humble pease pottage or a feast with multiple courses, is mentioned in any Song of Ice And Fire book, the Pilgrim in me instantly thinks I know exactly how I would cook this, and it would be delicious or alternately (and like a true nerd), Is there a legit period recipe for this so I could cook it at work? And sure, we don’t necessarily have a full-fledged feast everyday like we’re lords and ladies, but I’d say we do alright:

What does your TV prop food taste like Cersei? Because the food I get to cook is excellent good belly cheer.

And even though there were times we know the Pilgrims wanted for food in New Plimoth, there were times when they did alright too – like when Governor Bradford got married in 1623 and Emmanuel Altham says there were “about twelve pasty venisons, besides others, pieces of roasted venison.” And in a 1622/23 letter, John Pory mentions herring, eels, smelt, bass, bluefish, lobster, cod, hake, mussels, and clams, as well as fowl, fruit and venison all being available to the colonists depending upon the season.  In other words, we Interpreters eat well enough daily to make any lord of Winterfell jealous:

feast1

Okay, fine. We’ve never roasted an aurochs – is a suckling pig close enough?

(P.S.: If you want some period receipts and general food talk, you should read Pilgrim Seasonings!)

 3. We have the same fashion sense!

“He filled his basin from the flagon of water beside his bed, washed his face and hands, donned a clean set of black woolens, laced up a black leather jerkin, and pulled on a pair of well-worn boots.” – A Dance With Dragons

Getting dressed in one’s Pilgrim’s clothes every morning can be an ordeal – there’s bodies to be laced into, garters to tie, hair to be braided, breeches to be hooked into doublets.  I can’t help but feel some odd kinship then with anyone who rocks the same early modern style that I do from 9-5, even if they are actors who probably have quadruple my pay grade:

This must be embarrassing for you Jon Snow, wearing the same doublet as my co-worker. Guess someone is firing their stylist.

Clothing was particularly precious to the Pilgrims because there was no one in early New Plimoth producing it – new supply would have to come from England, so one can understand why Edward Winslow would advise anyone thinking of making the journey to “bring good store of clothes.”  Likewise, even if we Interpreters might complain about wearing layers of wool in the middle of August, we appreciate the care and work that goes into making all the petticoats, doublets, stockings, jerkins, and waistcoats we sport (Thanks Wardrobe Department!).  We’re not an HBO show however, so I think we keep  our clothes on more than any given Game Of Thrones character might, but just in case you were wondering what was under all that wool:

The Elder won't like this.

The Elder won’t like this.

The answer? MORE WOOL!

 

So the Cliff Notes version? Thanks Game of Thrones for giving thatched roofs, pease pottage and leather doublets the 15 minutes of cool we Pilgrims always knew they deserved.   Of course, if you’re a fellow fan and visit us in 1627 we can’t ‘fess up to being the avowed nerds that we are, but we’d still be happy to tell you more about early modern building methods, cooking and/or clothing than you ever wanted to know.  And while we can’t talk about the Night’s Watch, or what it’s like to sail across the Narrow Sea or to feast in King’s Landing, we can certainly discuss why New Plimoth built it’s own Wall (no ice, just wood), and the voyage of the Mayflower, and exactly what happened at that most famous feast of all, The First Thanksgiving.

If you can’t leave Massachusetts, but want to go to Westeros, come visit us instead – we have pretty much everything except the dragons.

And since now of course you’re wondering What if Game Of Thrones was set in New Plimoth? I leave you with our very own version of the show’s opening title sequence, created by my intrepid coworker Doug:

In the Game of Froes, you win or you rive.

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Posted in Pilgrims in Pop Culture | 9 Comments

Jackpot!

March 27th, 2013 by Alexandra

This past week we reached a momentous occasion here on the blog – we got our 100th subscriber!  In the grand scheme of the Internet it may not seem like much, but considering we’re a blog that posts more about William Bradford and Henry Ainsworth than Justin Bieber (The kids still like him, right?), I’d say we’re doing okay.  So from all of us at They Knew They Were Pilgrims we’d like to thank everyone who has supported us in this crazy endeavor to bring the 17th Century into the 21st, and your continued interest in reading about this weird little job we do at Plimoth Plantation.

If you’d like to join this elite group and become a subscriber (that means you’ll get an email alerting you every time we post), just look to your top right and click the link that says “Get ‘They Knew They Were Pilgrims’ in your inbox!”  And if you currently subscribe, we hope you continue reading, enjoying, and sharing our blog, and all the other awesome stuff you already do. Lastly, if reading our blog has got you interested in visiting Plimoth Plantation, come on by – we’re open for the season and can’t wait to see you!

One final thought before we say farewell – there were roughly 100 passengers on the Mayflower in 1620. If there was any group of 100 people I’d like to spend 2 months with on a leaky wooden ship while we were all seasick, it’d be you guys! Thanks again!

 

Thank you!

From us, and our break room fridge.

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Posted in Plimoth Plantation, Uncategorized | 10 Comments

“…and thus passed the affairs of this year.”

March 25th, 2013 by Sally

You may remember that back in January I postponed my new year well wishes to you, our dear readers, for reasons that can only be explained by Julius Caesar himself. Well, you can’t say I don’t keep my promises.

Happy New (Old Style) Year!

Because the museum opened for the season on March 16th, and that is before the  Julian calendar year ends, we have been in 1626 for NINE DAYS! It might seem like somewhat trivial news to those of you who work in a different year every year…but when you perpetually work in 1627, this is HUGE – what a refreshing change! In 1626, Standish returns with the sad news of the deaths of John Robinson, our pastor and Robert Cushman, our ancient friend. Trading with the natives for furs began to be the primary source of profit for the colony, so much so that Master Bradford requested the “ingenious man that was a house carpenter…took one of the biggest of their shallops and sawed her in the middle, and so lengthened her some five or six foot, and strengthened her with timbers, and so built her up and laid a deck on her.” And so, we have a convenient and wholesome pinnace - very fit and comfortable for our use!

1626 in 2013 has been a fantastic week; my highlights include cooking the first cabbage pottage, dirtying my apron within the first hour of being in the village, quite literally getting back to the old (new) grind at the Grist Mill and coming home from work every day with dirt under my nails, smelling like a human bonfire (not a particular highlight for my husband, I must say). It’s not all fun and games though, and wading through ankle deep muddy slush after a snow storm was most unpleasant. Still, it’s good to be back.

Being the blogaholic that I am, I have documented the past week in order to share it with you. There are far too many photos, so I’ve made you a video round-up of the first week of the 2013 season and our last (and only!) week of 1626!

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Posted in Pilgrim, Plimoth Plantation, Primary Sources, Seasons, William Bradford | 6 Comments

Open For Business!

March 16th, 2013 by Alexandra

The signs of spring are popping up all around us: birds chirping, flowers timidly pushing through the dirt, snow (hopefully) melting for good.  Here at Plimoth Plantation, you don’t have to look very far to see the signs of the season either – the costumes have been parceled out, the artifacts have been taken out of storage, and Interpreters are panicking that they won’t remember the name of their 17th century husband/wife/child when they open their mouths to answer the first visitor question of 2013.

In other words, starting today, March 16, Plimoth Plantation has opened its doors for its 66th season!

So let me take this opportunity to shamelessly plug some of the great things we have planned for this year (that’s our prerogative, right?), like our brand new exhibit in downtown Plymouth, the Plimoth Grist Mill:

The Plimoth Grist Mill

The Grist Mill is a reconstruction of an original mill which stood on the same site, the history of which dates back to 1636 when John and Sarah Jenney received permission from the town of Plymouth to build a mill for “grinding of corn upon the brook of Plymouth.” Besides offering us Interpreters the chance to broaden our horizons and learn some new skills,  with this new exhibit we have the opportunity to not only expand the sites included in our museum, but to continue the story of New Plimoth beyond 1627.  In addition, you will be able to purchase the organic cornmeal the mill grinds at our gift shops (like I said, shameless plugs). But just in case you need some additional enticement to check it out, head on over to our newest blog, The Miller’s Tale, written by Kim Van Wormer, the Grist Mill’s new supervisor. Good luck on Opening Day to Kim and everyone else involved in getting our newest exhibit up and running – sacks to the mill!

And while we are looking forward to many future seasons with the Grist Mill, we are also taking some time this year to look back and celebrate the 40th anniversary of our Wampanoag Indigenous Program. So if you’re at the museum, don’t forget to visit the Wampanoag Homesite to speak to our Interpreters, learn how a mishoon is made, try your hand at some games or smell something delicious cooking.  My favorite part of the Homesite is the recently built nush wetu, meaning  a house containing three fire pits. But don’t just take my word for it, go visit yourself because it is AWESOME:

wetu

Last but not least, you may have heard that Mayflower II won’t be joining us for the start of the 2013 season, and that’s because she’s getting some TLC from our crew of marine artisans while at dry dock in Fairhaven, MA.  This June it will be 56 years since Mayflower II completed her crossing from England, meaning that her restoration is much needed and much deserved.  During the winter, along with numerous helping hands, our marine crew of Peter, Keith and Danny worked to get Mayflower II ready for her return to Plymouth hopefully sometime in the late spring, as well as for the upcoming 400th anniversary of the arrival of the first Mayflower in 2020.  And even if you don’t know your fo’c'sle from your mizzen-mast, you can still peruse the Save Our Ship page to see the ways you can help with the restoration, or check for updates on Peter Arenstam’s Mayflower II’s Captain’s Blog.

Sending out an SOS!

Sending out an SOS!

We’re ready for another year of history here at the Plantation, and we hope you are too. Come visit! See you soon!

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Posted in Plimoth Plantation, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Some Things Never Change

March 5th, 2013 by Sally

It’s that time of year again. Our Spring Conference is in full swing. The cast list has been distributed (Fear Allerton, for me) and effervescently discussed. Our wonderfully made clothes, period-correct down to the last button, are in the dressing room, patiently waiting to be worn. (Men, this is the one and only time you’ll be seeing this…)

And whenever I put down my computer/finish my dinner/stop driving/try to relax, I’m faced with this view:

PRIMARY SOURCES!

From top to bottom, that’s Mourt’s Relation, A Journal of the Pilgrims at Plymouth, Good Newes from New England by  Edward Winslow, and Of Plymouth Plantation written by our esteemed (but ever so slightly tedious) Governor, William Bradford.

Yes, it’s time to revisit these old friends, and while the stories and themes are oh-so-familiar, I never fail to glean something new each time I read them. As daunting as this collection of books might seem, they are our interpretive life-blood. Just as Native Corn is the “staff of life” (Winslow), we could not accuratetly interpret New Plimoth without these invaluable records. So, dear readers, next time you find yourselves in New Plimoth, listen out for someone describing Cape Cod as “wooded to the brink of the sea” (Mourt’s) or New England winters as “sharp and violent, and subject to cruel and fierce storms” (Bradford), and know that you’re hearing the words of the men that lived it.

Here’s a gratuitous primary source of a different ilk; a beautiful scene from a recent trip to Cape Cod.

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Posted in Pilgrim, Plimoth Plantation, Primary Sources, William Bradford | No Comments

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