Another year has come and gone upon the homestead a few of us refer to as Coon Valley, Norskedalen, or the Bekkum House.
As Flanagan and I were slowly packing up the barrels, boxes, and crates he asked me what my favorite part of the weekend was. "Hmmm..." I thought, "Is this a loaded question?" Let's be honest...the weather was awful. It rained in volumes we had not seen all summer, my wood stove was sometimes temperamental thereby yielding very few "homemade" items (when I was able to be near it that is), the scenario portrayed kind of left me hanging out in a parking lot for an hour or so with nothing to do, I had to bring home more dirty dishes than clean ones because I had no hot water to wash them, and there were virtually no spectators to watch us portray history.
Sounds pretty dismal doesn't it?
Now I could focus on those negatives and decidedly declare there was no good thing to comment upon. I could adopt exactly what Flanagan talked about in his church service...a complaining spirit. In fact part of me almost allowed that complaining spirit overtake and steal my joy. There were so many good things about the weekend if one just looked past what the devil would want us to focus on.
For example, even though the trees have shed their oranges and yellows, the oaks still held onto their vibrant reds and warm browns. The smoke from the cook stoves and parlor stoves warmed our senses, our hands, and our chilly toes as it wafted into the air with its recognizable smoldering scent. Not more than once did we look into the tops of the hills and watch the clouds enfold them with a fine and filmy mist. It was lovely to see that very mist slowly settle into the valley at night painting the landscape yet again with mystery and beauty. The friendly ladder-back, or what some call a red belly woodpecker, with his bright red head darted back and forth causing me to constantly re-focus my eye in order to see his great design and the intricate pattern upon his back. Each night just up the hill if you were quiet enough, it was not one but many deer I was able to see grazing silently within the dampness of the early autumn evening. And I for one loved the rain. Without the modern intrusions of the television, radio, phone, or office, I was actually able to just listen to the rain. The patter on the roof and glass pane almost lulled me to sleep; the rain fell sometimes non-stop to soak into a battered and thirsty ground.
Those that decided to live history for the weekend added so much flavor to the event. The "singspiration" around the parlor stove with gleaming oil lanterns was by far the best part of the Coon Valley event to me. Folks that knew each other, and some that have never met sitting in the family parlor belting out old tunes like "Wait for the Wagon", "Dixie", and "The Bonnie Blue Flag" also, haunting tunes such as "The Old Coat of Blue" and "Lorena". My favorite songs were the old hymns sung with heart and in harmony. No one noticed a sour note or an off-key even if there were one or two! I am sure in our minds many of us in that room were feeling as close to stepping back into the past as we possibly could that evening. Almost as if we could picture ourselves somewhere in the hills of Tennessee...neighbors, friends, family, all gathering in the family parlor for a time of fellowship and song. Just like they did 150 years ago. Nothing in the room, on the people, or in the area spoke of the year 2012. There was no talk of politics, the election, the latest post or tweet, or the price of gasoline. There were only folks communing as folks used to. Face to face. Talking. Laughing. Rejoicing in the love of history and what once was. I myself was secretly wishing it was this way everyday. I bet I was not the only one who felt that way.
As Flanagan and I were slowly packing up the barrels, boxes, and crates he asked me what my favorite part of the weekend was. "Hmmm..." I thought, "Is this a loaded question?" Let's be honest...the weather was awful. It rained in volumes we had not seen all summer, my wood stove was sometimes temperamental thereby yielding very few "homemade" items (when I was able to be near it that is), the scenario portrayed kind of left me hanging out in a parking lot for an hour or so with nothing to do, I had to bring home more dirty dishes than clean ones because I had no hot water to wash them, and there were virtually no spectators to watch us portray history.
Sounds pretty dismal doesn't it?
Now I could focus on those negatives and decidedly declare there was no good thing to comment upon. I could adopt exactly what Flanagan talked about in his church service...a complaining spirit. In fact part of me almost allowed that complaining spirit overtake and steal my joy. There were so many good things about the weekend if one just looked past what the devil would want us to focus on.
For example, even though the trees have shed their oranges and yellows, the oaks still held onto their vibrant reds and warm browns. The smoke from the cook stoves and parlor stoves warmed our senses, our hands, and our chilly toes as it wafted into the air with its recognizable smoldering scent. Not more than once did we look into the tops of the hills and watch the clouds enfold them with a fine and filmy mist. It was lovely to see that very mist slowly settle into the valley at night painting the landscape yet again with mystery and beauty. The friendly ladder-back, or what some call a red belly woodpecker, with his bright red head darted back and forth causing me to constantly re-focus my eye in order to see his great design and the intricate pattern upon his back. Each night just up the hill if you were quiet enough, it was not one but many deer I was able to see grazing silently within the dampness of the early autumn evening. And I for one loved the rain. Without the modern intrusions of the television, radio, phone, or office, I was actually able to just listen to the rain. The patter on the roof and glass pane almost lulled me to sleep; the rain fell sometimes non-stop to soak into a battered and thirsty ground.
Those that decided to live history for the weekend added so much flavor to the event. The "singspiration" around the parlor stove with gleaming oil lanterns was by far the best part of the Coon Valley event to me. Folks that knew each other, and some that have never met sitting in the family parlor belting out old tunes like "Wait for the Wagon", "Dixie", and "The Bonnie Blue Flag" also, haunting tunes such as "The Old Coat of Blue" and "Lorena". My favorite songs were the old hymns sung with heart and in harmony. No one noticed a sour note or an off-key even if there were one or two! I am sure in our minds many of us in that room were feeling as close to stepping back into the past as we possibly could that evening. Almost as if we could picture ourselves somewhere in the hills of Tennessee...neighbors, friends, family, all gathering in the family parlor for a time of fellowship and song. Just like they did 150 years ago. Nothing in the room, on the people, or in the area spoke of the year 2012. There was no talk of politics, the election, the latest post or tweet, or the price of gasoline. There were only folks communing as folks used to. Face to face. Talking. Laughing. Rejoicing in the love of history and what once was. I myself was secretly wishing it was this way everyday. I bet I was not the only one who felt that way.
"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven" Ecclesiastes 3:1
King James Bible (Cambridge Ed.)
This October particularly more than ever I realize the verse from Ecclesiastes 3:1 can state how many things change oft before our eyes or even when we least expect it. Finding a complete kinship with my daughter at this event and in the hobby of living history has been a joy to look forward to each and every year.
Wearing my heart upon my sleeve I can see that this too has had its season.
King James Bible (Cambridge Ed.)
This October particularly more than ever I realize the verse from Ecclesiastes 3:1 can state how many things change oft before our eyes or even when we least expect it. Finding a complete kinship with my daughter at this event and in the hobby of living history has been a joy to look forward to each and every year.
Wearing my heart upon my sleeve I can see that this too has had its season.
This year as I slowly closed the door upon the Bekkum House in Coon Valley it symbolically seemed I have also closed a chapter of life within a book yet to be completed. I shed not one but twin tears as I thought of all the years, good and bad, my daughter and I had shared this event together. Alas, the bond that we shared as common ground has now changed; life has turned into a different direction, and the commonplace cannot remain the same. I will miss my time here with her. I will miss it greatly, sadly, with remorse, but not without smiles and vivid memories. Now it is my time to think of new ideas for scenarios; scenarios I can do with others or alone, sort of a new chapter of a book not yet completed...
So...on to next year and plans of next year, if the Lord tarries! I look forward to Norskedalen, Coon Valley, The Bekkum House, really the best event of the year! Three cheers for our love of history! To Arms for the menfolk! As the worlds of our ancestors saw seasons, change, and turn, we must do as well even if it is of a different light. Let us live our history with pride and honor...!
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