History Lesson

HISTORY, n. An account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers mostly knaves, and soldiers mostly fools.

-Ambrose Bierce

If you're into falsities, knaves, and fools, the Freetown Historical Society's Open House will knock you out of your wool darned socks.

It was a step back in time for those of us intimately acquainted with my spec of a hometown. Blacksmiths were toiling away, making ambiguous sharp iron objects, and the repro schoolhouse had the same books we read in elementary school (probably not a good sign).

According to them, Assonet was a pretty prime piece of real estate in 1659, valued at "20 coats, two rugs, two iron pots, two kettles and one little kettle, eight pair of shoes, six pair of stockings, one dozen of hoes, one dozen of hatchets, two yards of broadcloth, and a debt satisfied to John Barnes, due from Wamsitti [the Native American] to the said Barnes." Not too shabby for a four-mile stretch of land.

Another grade school memory was resurrected when I visited a table whose proceeds benefited the Tyler John Trahan Memorial Fund. Tyler, the love of my second-grade life, was killed in Iraq this year; I bought a bell to help "Let Freedom Ring."

Apparently the thunder gods weren't too happy about the competition and started their own cacophonous ringing. A rainstorm doused the smoking embers of the evening's traditional clambake and sent the impostor Redcoats and Rebels running for cover.

Six of us were stuck huddling under the cover of Tyler's tent, the corners bulging with caught rainwater. My friend's dad, always prepared, began to beat his 18th-century infantry drum, and the whole tent started chanting in a kind of reverse rain dance.

It worked!  The sun finally broke through the drab. The heat crept up from the soggy ground and clung to my waterlogged jean legs as I waddled over to the library's fundraiser table. I ransacked it, stuffing my arms full of twelve books (for a grand total of $3.25).

Today's History Lesson: If I traveled back to 1659, the weather would still be as New Englandy as ever, but at least I could have myself a Colonial made of books and four miles of land to build it on.  Drive down to the Open House next year and see what history has in store for you.