Category Archives: New England
Living history in America’s most historic attraction: Plimoth Plantation brings the seventeenth century to life
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Of the living history sites I’ve visited, none capture the imagination like Plimoth Plantation. Plimoth Plantation feels real, for aside from the visitors, there are no traces of modern life. There are no signs, no artifacts behind glass cases, no areas roped off. This is truly living history, as the interpreters never leave character, and are busy going about the day to day tasks which would have occupied the time of the earliest settlers of the colony.
Plymouth has undergone many spellings throughout the years, and one of the earliest was Plimoth, hence the peculiar spelling. The idea for the museum was the brainchild of Henry Hornblower II, who began the project in 1947, on the shore of Plymouth Bay where the Mayflower II is now docked, and a part of the exhibit. Since there are no structures dating to the time of the pilgrims, Hornblower settled on the idea of recreating the village a couple miles up the road, on terrain which approximates that of the original site.
Now known as the 1627 English Village, it is the living heart of the complex. You can watch the inhabitants build and repair their homes using techniques from the period, as well as cooking, caring for their livestock, working the crops and relaxing, just as their counterparts would have nearly four hundred years ago. The re-enactors are friendly and approachable, always asking where you hail from, and acting appropriately confused when you reply with a place name which would have been unfamiliar in their day.
Noticing a young couple holding hands, one of the interpreters simply shook his head, and explained how lucky they were not to live here. Such public displays of affection were frowned upon by the governor, he explained, and would likely have resulted in a “striping,” or public lashing. Not to mention the public humiliation.
Another told of his theory on beer, and why one shouldn’t drink water. “You can’t eat earth”, he reasoned. “Instead you plant seeds in the earth, and from the earth springs food”. “Fire will kill you,” he went on, “but you can cook crops which are inedible, and it makes them edible.” He then further explained, “so it is with water. Often it’s not fit to drink, but you add the crops from the earth, and heat it with fire, and from that you get beer, which is wonderful to drink.”
Others will tell of the difficulty of life here, and the losses that the colonists went through in the early years. Many have lost husbands, wives and children. Some left loved ones back in Europe. Some are awaiting the arrival of spouses and children whom you know will never arrive. In short, those interpreting the history are more than tour guides, and more than actors. They bring the history of the plantation, and most importantly, the lives of the people to life. The sights, the sounds and the smell of the place is that of the seventeenth century, and it is rare is it that you can find that here in the twenty-first century.
The layout of the village itself is based on the historical data collected from the archeology and writings of the original settlers. Leydon Street is a dirt track leading up the hill to the fort, which gives a panoramic view of the village below and Massachusetts Bay beyond.
One phrase I heard time and again at Plimoth Plantation. When someone is asked what they did before they came here, it always ends with variations of the same statement. But I’m a farmer now. We’re all farmers here. Which was true. There was no time nor need for finer skills. At Plimoth it was all about survival, which meant getting the crops in the ground, seeing to the harvest, caring for the livestock, and keeping a roof over their heads. There was no need for printers, decorative artisans, merchants. It was all about the day-to-day survival in a harsh and unforgiving wilderness. Sewing was more utilitarian that art, and seemingly was one chore that never ended. The interpreters take part in all these tasks, including caring for the livestock, in a way which brings visitors, particularly young ones into the process. It’s not unusual to see school age children pressed into service to haul wood, hoe or help drive a cow to its pen.
The settlement of Plimoth Plantation would never have survived those first years without the help of the native Americans. The Wamanoag Homesite allows you to see what life is like in a traditional Wampanoah home, watch traditional native Amercan cooking techniques, and learn how a canoe was dug out of a tree. Unlike the English Village, the Wampanoag homesite residents aren’t in character, but are in traditional dress. They are just as willing to interact with visitors, but on a modern day person to person basis, which is a great way to find yourself back in the twentieth century after the English village, as well as learning the story of their people, and the coming of the Europeans from a native American point of view.The stories are far more effective told in a long house, sitting around the fire on a fur rug.
Plimoth Plantation also encompasses the Mayflower II, on the water in Plymouth itself, just down from the infamous rock. Plimoth Plantation worked with the builder, Warwick Charlton, in Devon England to recreate the Mayflower, the ship that brought the pilgrims to the new world. Built in Brixham, England at the at the Upham Shipyard, the ship sailed to the U.S in April of 1957. The Mayflower II is open for tours, and gives the visitor a feel for what life was like in the cramped quarters of the ship on the original 66 day journey.
And of course there’s the gift shop, one of the nicer and most complete that I’ve come across. With a full range of wares, for the kids, adults, native American products, books, cooking and things for the home, it’s easy to spend an hour or more wandering. I recommend the fudge. Rocky Road to be precise.
If you visit Plimoth Plantation, and you really should, beware the month of November. In addition to people naturally having their curiosity piqued around Thanksgiving, it’s also the time of year when school children of the area are studying the Pilgrims and the founding of the Plymouth Colony. Be sure to bring your children repellent, or avoid this month altogether. Inside the homes you’ll find fairly cramped spaces, and Plimoth begs for the opportunity to interact with the re-enactors one-on-one.
Then again, it really doesn’t matter when you go. Even with swarms of children and adults snapping pictures, Plimoth Plantation works. Perhaps it’s the commitment of the people who bring the place to life, to ignoring the twenty-first century, that allows us to as well.
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Images of Plymouth, Massachusetts from The History Trekker Shoppe
Historic attractions, shipwrecks and solitude on Cape Cod
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Many things come to mind when you mention Cape Cod – JFK walking the beach at his summer White House at Hyannisport, a getaway for the well-to-do, the arts and alternative lifestyle of Provincetown. But an incredible amount of history has washed up on Cape Cod’s shores.
One of the largest barrier islands in the world and shaped like an arm flexing its bicep, Cape Cod protects much of the Massachusetts coastline from the unforgiving waves of the north Atlantic. Between Chatham and Provincetown, a distance of around fifty miles, over 1,000 wrecks are recorded, leading to its designation as an ocean graveyard.
The Sparrowhawk was the first recorded shipwreck on Cape Cod’s shores, back in,1626. That tale had a happy ending, with all the passengers reaching safety and the ship being repaired, only to sink again before it could be relaunched. Over the next few hundred years, shipwrecks became a form of income for the locals, salvaging the cargo, and sometimes the human cargo which washed ashore. Typically ships would flounder during storms however, and it was seldom that the hapless passengers reached the beaches of Cape Cod. As lifesaving techniques improved, when possible, lifesaving crews took specially equipped boats to ships in distress. When the surf made this impossible, they would attempt to fire a small cannon called a Lyle gun with a line attached to its shell to the ship. Sailors and passengers were then brought to shore in a basket above the waves. It was a dangerous task for those charged with saving lives as well, and their motto was “you have to go, but you don’t have to come back.”
Native Americans also were known to rescue stranded mariners, whose ships piled up on Cape Cod’s shore. The Wampanoag tribe has called Cape Cod home for many years, though they only received official recognition from the U.S. government in 2007. Originally numbering around 7,000 at the time of the pilgrim’s landing in Massachusetts, it was the Wampanoag you might remember, which helped them survive their earliest years on the new continent. The arrival of white people on the Cape had devastating consequences on the native American population, as the tribe was hit hard from Eurasian diseases for which they had no natural immunity.
And forget Plymouth Rock. The pilgrims made their first landing on these shores near Provincetown on November 11, 1620. It was there that the Mayflower Compact was drawn up, and a scouting party sent ashore to look for a suitable area for their colony. They encountered Indians near Eastham, and found no spot suitable for habitation, so once again the Mayflower set off, before finally settling on Plymouth.
And it’s believed that the pilgrims weren’t the first Europeans to come ashore on Cape Cod. There is evidence that the Promontory of Vinland mentioned by the Norse voyagers of 985-1025 was Cape Cod. Some believe that in 1006, Leif Ericson and his Vikings started a colony near Dennis. Archeological evidence has been found which might support the theory that it was here that the Norsemen built a form of dry dock to repair their ships. Whether the Vikings reached as far south as Cape Cod will probably never be known for certain however.
Henry Thoreau’s incredibly dry travelogue Cape Cod paints a picture of the area in the years 1849-1857. By then the land had been denuded of trees, and firewood had to be shipped in from Maine. The sand encroached on farm land and ground available for pasture, so much so that farming was abandoned on the Cape by the late nineteenth century, it’s inhabitants concentrating instead on the whaling and fishing industries.
By the end of the nineteenth century, tourism was coming to life on the Cape. Today it’s a major form of income for the locals, with much of the island’s commerce being shut down after the summer months. Which for me is the time to visit Cape Cod.
In late October and early November, you can feel the winter blowing in from the Atlantic winds, which while I was there never seemed to lie down, The colors were changing, far later than most of the rest of the northeast, and the sunsets were truly spectacular. You have the beaches to yourself, bed and breakfasts are off-season and you can get a sense of what Cape Cod was like before it became gentrified. Colonial era houses and buildings, as well as residences built for sea captains dot the landscape, and there are fewer roads which scream New England like Route 6A, which skirts serpent-like along the coast. It’s there in the solitude that the ghosts of Cape Cod speak to the traveller, of a time long gone but still out there. Below the sands and below the waves.
Newbury and Newburyport, Massachusetts: Early American history and historical attractions from the colonial era in an enchanted New England landscape
Spencer-Peirce-Little Farm, circa 1695, Newbury, Essex county, Massachusetts
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Newbury reminds me of the west of Ireland. You come into Newbury via a roundabout. Head one direction and you’re going back in time to Newbury’s early American roots, to Newbury itself. Take off in the other and you end up in Newburyport, a town full of subtle historic attractions in a resort-type atmosphere. Or as I was told by a resident, if you’re looking for the historic attractions, just go up and down Massachusetts 1A – it’s all there.
Like Ireland, Newbury’s history blends in with the landscape. A modern day house, relatively speaking for New England, may sit next to a First Period home. The land is still farmed, small farms with stone walls. There’s enough of the past intact to slip in and out of the 21st century just by driving down the highway.
There’s very little left of the first settlement in Newbury, just a stone marker near the banks of the Parker River, where young Nicholas Noyes leapt ashore in 1634 with about a 100 pilgrims from Wiltshire, England. The original name for the river was Quascacunquen, which was an Native American term for waterfall. The falls are still there, where the river is bridged by Central street. If you head south from the bridge, you’ll find a charming, quintessential New England countryside. Head north and you’re following the path of settlement from the town’s founding
Newbury suffered the same fate of many of the early American colonial settlements. It’s roots were farming, fishing and hunting, and except for spells of industry, those roots have held throughout the centuries. Today, fishing and hunting are done recreationally, and indeed, Newbury has been a popular tourist destination since Victorian times. It’s just that it finds it hard to compete with its more glamorous neighbor, Newburyport.
As you come up Route 1, a keen eye will catch the First Burying Ground of the Settlers on the left hand side of the road. Founded in 1635, you’ll come across the names of the earliest settlers of Newbury. Graveyard travelers will find much to like about this one – some great carvings, winged effigies and other symbols, even stones to mark graves when no head stones were available. The Burying Ground was restored in 1929, and you’ll notice several stones with extremely old dates that look rather, well new actually. It’s not great conservation, they’re restorations.
Next up on the right is the Dole Little House, circa 1750, one of a handful of historical attractions administered by Historic New England. Just past that is the road the leads to the Spencer-Peirce-Little Farm, which has been a working farm since 1635, with the house dating from about 1690. The house is built of local stones, with a porch and gables of bricks, and is the only 17th century stone house to survive in New England with the outer walls intact.
Further down Massachusetts 1 is the Upper Green, where the colonial militia trained starting in 1646, and scattered around it are a number of early American homes. The John Atkinson House, a first period house circa 1664-1665, has a connection to the Salem Witch hunts of 1690. According to the testimony of Sarah Atkinson, Susannah Martin visited the house during a storm some years previously, and having had to walk so far in such bad weather, she was surprised to see her bone dry and her feet mud free. The unfortunate Susannah was hung based on Sarah’s and others’ testimony.
A short distance later finds the First Parish Church of Newbury, dating from 1869, which is the third structure to bear the name, and is one of the oldest congregations in America. Then-president Gerald Ford wrote in 1984, “The values and traditions brought to Newbury by its first settlers and handed down through the decades have withstood the test of time. They are the same qualities that have made our nation great and hopefully, with the help of the citizens of today, these gifts will be treasured and protected by the generations of tomorrow.”
Life was tough for the earliest churchgoers in Newbury. The Reverend Glen Tilley Morse wrote in his Events of the Early History, “There was no heat in the first Meeting House which was probably a rude structure built of logs with cracks and crevices filled with clay to keep out the cold…. The congregation had to sit during sermons that were two hours long. They could not doze, for they would be rudely awakened by having a fox’s tail on a long rod brushed against their faces. They would be punished if they disturbed the meeting by moving about or causing any commotion and fined if they missed a meeting or service. Parishioners attended the meetings at the perils of their lives. They were in danger of attacks from Indians and wild beasts on their way to and from worship.’
In addition, armed guards were posted at the doors during services to protect against Indian attacks.
Across the road is the First Parish Burying Ground, another venerable old cemetery. Further up the road is the Coffin House, dating from 1678.
And then it’s into Newburyport. One thing you’ll notice as you travel High street from the spot where the original settlers landed, up to Newburyport, things get tidier. By the time you reach the Upper Green, houses are restored a bit better, a bit more often. But in comparison to that even, Newburyport sparkles.
As the name implies, Newburyport is on the Atlantic Ocean, and I didn’t have a chance to get down to the water, or even more than a cursory walk around the historic area. So I can’t tell you other than what I’ve seen and heard about the town’s reputation as a beautiful resort. But based on what I saw of the rest of the town, I think that’s a fair assumption.
You ever set aside a few hours for a day trip, and just before you have to leave, you find yourself in one of the most beautiful places you’ve ever been? Newburyport is like that. I got out of the car to take a photo, and found myself drawn down the street, then around the corner and I had the distinct feeling I could have gone on and on for another day or so.
Instead I found myself parked next to Bartlet Mall, the site of the Old Gaol (jail for you newcomers), and the curiously named Frog Pond. According to legends, which according to the newspaper isn’t legend but fact, there are tunnels which run beneath the pond down to the ocean, used either by the Underground Railroad in the Civil War, or were used by bootleggers. Or both. Both the Gaol and Frog Pond are reportedly haunted. And hovering over Frog Pond is the Old Burying Ground, which in addition to holding countless curious headstones, is also home to the Pierce Mausoleum, site of some of the strangest graveyard desecrations to take place in this country.
By then the sun was hanging low and I still had Concord to go, and then home to New York later that night, and it was with a heavy heart I left Newbury and Newburytown. It was there I came to the realization which is probably apparent to anyone who lives in New England, but was quite unexpected to me. If you’re looking for early American history, historical attractions, or just like to feel the past wash over you, you could spend a lifetime in New England and never see it all.
Gloucester, Massachusetts: America’s Oldest Seaport
Fisherman's Memorial Cenotaph (Man at the Wheel Statue), Gloucester, Cape Ann, Wessex County, Massachusetts
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Before Boston and Salem, there was Gloucester. Gloucester, Massachusetts was founded in 1623 by the Dorchester Company, the first settlement in what would in time become the Massachusetts Bay Colony. The land wasn’t good for farming, and at the time, fishing wasn’t the industry it was to become, so the settlement floundered. At least in theory, the earliest settlers were fisherman however, so Gloucester can lay claim to being America’s oldest seaport.
Eventually people came back, and by 1642 the town of Gloucester, named for Gloucester Cathedral in England was officially incorporated. At the time, Cape Ann was covered in forest, and the focus of the community was inland, as the forests were cleared and the timber sold off. For a while, the main part of the village was known as The Commons, which later became Dogtown Commons, a high ground overlooking the harbor, safe from pirates and Indian attacks. But as the 18th century progressed, the harbor became the focus of the town, where fortunes could be made.
Gloucester is near the Georges Bank and other prime fishing sites off Newfoundland and Nova Scotia. In the 18th century, shipmaking and fishing began to grow in importance, eventually becoming the focus of the town’s industry. The most recognizable symbol of Gloucester was born in 1849, when John Pew & Sons opened for business, specializing in seafood. Eventually it changed its name to Gorton-Pew Fisheries in 1906, and in 1957 to Gorton’s of Gloucester. The symbol of the fisherman at the wheel, wearing his rain slicker is one of the most recognized icons in advertising.
With the sea comes tragedy, as evidenced by the names of those lost in sea inscribed on the Gloucester Fisherman’s Memorial Cenotaph, otherwise known as the Fisherman at the Wheel statue. The statue is the work of sculptor Leonard Craske (1877-1951) and is based on a 1901 painting by Gloucester artist A.W. Buhler. Over ten thousand Gloucester residents have been lost at sea, a staggering number for a community so small. This aspect of the town was documented in the film, A Perfect Storm, based upon the true story of the six men lost in the swordfishing boat, the Andrea Gail on October 28, 1991, in seas with waves approaching or exceeding 100 feet.
The statue, along with its mate, the Gloucester Fisherman’s Wives Memorial, which stands further down the harbor, looking out to sea, are stirring testimonies to this hard way of life. A quote from Psalms on the Fisherman at the Wheel memorial expresses it best: “They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; These see the works of the LORD, and his wonders in the deep.” Also inscribed on the plaque are several testaments to the dangers of this way of life. Between 1860 and 1906, a staggering 660 ships sank, with 3,880 men lost. During a single storm in 1862, 15 schooners and 120 men went down, and in 1879 another storm took the lives of 159 fishermen. The quote on the Fisherman’s Wives Memorial reads. “The wives, mothers, daughters and sisters of Gloucester fishermen honor the wives and families of fishermen and mariners everywhere for their faith, diligence, and fortitude.”
As I came into Gloucester, the harbor opened up to my right, and I found easy parking along Highway 127 (Western Avenue). It was a short walk to the Fisherman at the Wheel Statue, which I had intended to get a shot of and then drive to a few other local sites. But as is often the case, the town was so charming, and the afternoon so nice that I had to explore a bit more. I followed Western Avenue to Main Street, a quaint, narrow thoroughfare with shops, galleries and restaurants, many with a nautical bent. At the top of the hill stands the City Hall, which of course drew me up, past the Sargent House Museum (circa 1782). The City Hall itself is a grand Victorian building dating from 1873, which was also intended to be an entertainment center for the town. Among those who performed there were Buffalo Bill and P.T. Barnum.
I came back down into the city center along the aptly named Pleasant Street, past the Cape Ann Museum and adjacent Captain Elias Davis House (circa 1804). When I reached the harbor, I took a left and passed by Fitz Hugh Lane Park and House, once the residence of a prominent Gloucester artist. Many artists have found inspiration in Gloucester and Cape Ann, including Winslow Homer and Edward Hopper. There I took the harbor loop, skipped a chance to go whale watching, and watched the boats come in with their haul. Finally realizing I had spent most of the afternoon wandering the streets, I made my way back along the harbor, slipping down to Pavillion Beach, trying to fend off the tantalizing smell of the restaurants along the harbor, and back to my car. Not altogether successfully I have to add, as I found myself hiking back to main street, where I picked up a not only huge, but quite yummy stromboli from Virgilio’s Italian Bakery and Grocery.
Today, Cape Ann is once again covered with trees, the forest having returned with the decline of the logging industry in the twentieth century. Dogtown Commons now exists mainly as a memory, overlooking Gloucester. There you find a maze of trails, wending through the boulders, with occasional markers showing where the houses once stood. By the early 19th century, Dogtown contained mainly the dregs of Gloucester society, and today it’s one of the most haunting ghost towns on the east coast. The dwellings there were never large, and most contained a small cellar for storing food, and these cellar holes, along with a few stone walls are all that remains. In recent years however, Dogtown has stirred imaginations and undergone a bit of a literary revival, with the publishing of Parcy MacKaye’s narrative poem Dogtown Commons, as well as novels: Francis Bessington’s The Last Witch of Dogtown, Anita Diamant’s The Last Days of Dogtown, and Dogtown: Death and Enchantment in a New England Ghost Town by Elyssa East.
