Making history fun, one fork at a time

My summer was historical, not historic. While all of my friends were jet-setting around the world, either exploring it or saving it, I was cleaning fireplaces and categorizing candlesticks at a Revolutionary War battlefield near my house.

The first question I always get when I mention my summer job is: "Did you get to wear an old timey costume?" Get to? "Have to" is more like it. Obviously you've never worn a corset made entirely of wool before. And the answer is: yes, occasionally. And on those occasions I was faced with quite a conundrum. The "wealthy lady" costume was gorgeous but horribly uncomfortable. It actually gave me broken blood vessels on my arms. The peasant girl costume made me look slovenly and pregnant, but allowed me to breathe. It was a surprisingly tough decision to make on costume days.

While giving two to four tours of the battlefield's historic houses daily, I soon found myself explaining 18th century cutlery in my sleep. Though I am an actress, you can only make 18th century tableware so exciting. I unsuccessfully tried to make it into a game.

"You might notice that these forks look different from modern forks: they have only two tines while ours have at least four. That's because they were used for a different purpose. Anybody know what they were used for?"

Silence. Why would anyone know that?

The forks were used solely to hold down the piece of meat that was being cut, and they balanced their food on the flat of their knives to bring it to their mouths. My bonus round question regarded how one would eat peas off of a knife (especially if one was of a nervous temperament).

My cutlery quiz did nothing but make the visitors feel awkward. It didn't help that I ended that segment of the tour by reciting an inane poem about 18th century eating practices:

"I eat my peas with honey,

I've done so all my life.

It makes the peas taste funny,

But it keeps them on my knife."

Every one in a while, one of the visitors would be able to finish the poem for me. Apparently their lives were even more exciting than mine.

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Quakers originally inhabited the houses where I gave tours, and when I would explain Quakerism to the visitors and tell them that I had gone to a Quaker high school, that somehow gave them license to ask me all sorts of personal questions about religion.

"Quakers don't believe in the Bible, then, right?"

"No, they believe in the Bible."

"Well, do you believe in the Bible? Do you believe that the Bible is the word of God?"

At this point in the conversation, I would make the most awkward segue you could imagine. Something like: "Speaking of inappropriate questions, in the 18th century, people used this iron rod to heat their tea!"

More exciting was the presentation I gave to a group of high schoolers on 18th century medicine. I was told during my training that I would be demonstrating an amputation on my own arm, and that at least one person faints or vomits each year. This year, I was sure that person was going to be me. Needless to say, I was thrilled.

A week later, a group of fifteen apathetic teenagers strolled in to listen to some chick in a Betsy Ross getup talk about bloodletting. As you can imagine, it wasn't exactly the ideal summer day for them, but I was not to be deterred. I tied my apron, straightened my bonnet and busted out the bone saw.

My presentation included graphic descriptions of the practice of creating and lancing boils, bloodletting and the entire process of amputation, complete with reproductions of all of the gruesome accoutrements.

Just as I suspected, the blood and guts side of colonial history made them sit up straight. I was eliciting moans and groans galore, and even had one student shout "Oh that's gonna hurt" every time I introduced a new medical procedure. I considered the presentation a hit, if not in the traditional sense, at least in the sense that I made those listless kids have nightmares for weeks. Who said history isn't fun?

And then, at the end of July, the battlefield was abruptly and unceremoniously shut down due to state budget cuts. Was my presence the last straw? Did my cornball presentations do them in for good? We may never know.