Plimoth Plantation – Saturday June 22nd part two

The drive was short, and we arrived just as the plantation was opening.  We watched the movie about the first settlers and about the rebuilding of the site.  The Wampanoag Indians, we learned, were native, and practiced their tribal traditions and way of life.  They were not interpreters or actors.  We saw summer quarters, winter quarters, gardens, animal furs of rugs, blankets and clothing, beads, and canoes being burned out.  They were burned to hollow the tree, not carved.  The tribal matriarch shared her stories and demonstrated her belt making.

I took Kathy’s picture in front of the winter quarters.  It seemed that if we got a photo in front of one of the Gilded Newport Mansions, which were summer cottages, we had to get one for winter, too.  She said after ‘paying that much’ for a summer home, the winter hut was all they could afford!  Fun!

We walked through the craft building, where trades people were demonstrating their skills.  It was very exacting and time-consuming and took great patience and a steady hand, neither of which I possessed!

When we reached the top of the path and rounded the bend, we came to the meeting house for the settlers.  Stepping out the other side was amazing.  The road (really a narrow path) led from the meeting house down to the water’s edge.  You could see nothing but water as far as you looked.  On each side of the path were replicas of original buildings.  Costumed interpreters told their stories, about their trip from England, about their families, about their lives once they arrived in the new world.  I was very surprised at the ornate and quality furniture pieces in each house.

We chatted a while with the  ‘doctor’, well versed in treating patients with the common ailments of the day with the herbs and plants from her very large garden.  There was a very funny interpreter who told stories about typical ancestral traditions passed down through generations.  There were goats and chickens roaming free; there were cows and horses in fenced-in yards. One house was set up for the children to role play, complete with toys and clothing of the day.

Again, it was hard to leave.  We left so much ‘unlearned’ behind.  A quick peek in the museum and a stroll through the gift shop, and we were once again back in the car with Cordelia heading us southwest, back to PA; back home.

About 3:30pm we were chatting away (as we always do when we travel together) when we saw a sign that said ‘Old Sturbridge Village’ six miles.  Kathy did a quick search and found that we were 20 minutes away and the Village was only open until 5pm.  And the cost was very steep, which made sense as it was booked as an all day adventure.  It was very hard not to turn off at that exit, but we determined that if we  (no, I mean WHEN we) went back to Newport, we would try to work Sturbridge Village into the plans.

Going back across the mountains gave us very limited exits with motels and/or gasoline.  I was getting low again, and I hate it when that happens!  We finally chose an obscure exit near Bloomsburg and filled the gas tank, then inquired as to a motel.  We found a very (and I mean VERY) basic, but safe and clean motel and didn’t even try to keep looking.  We ate dinner at Denny’s, settled in for the night, and breathed a sigh – whether of relief or resignation I don’t know.  Newport, Boston, and Plimoth were all behind us; home was in front of us.  And the evening and the morning were the fifth day; and the sisters saw that is WAS good…