Fort Lee is a mixed bag: the site is very urban, authenticity levels vary, the activities sometimes get off schedule, and I don’t think anyone knows for certain what goes into the stew pot. Still, it’s an easy there-and-back dash, and all of us are going now that Sunday’s swim meet is cancelled.
After all, the Young Mr has an agenda. After being told at the Fort that “they didn’t have grapeshot then,” we found a reference in the Jeremiah Greenman diary to grapeshot being fired on the Continental troops at Fort Mifflin in 1777. He’s fastened on this and looks forward to moving that conversation forward…
And I’m just happy to have a day outside to look forward to. It’s a little dull without a fire and tent, but the event has its quirky charms, and I can always bring a book or work on shirts.
It’s always cold, though, and I could use a day sewing various projects or vacuuming. But it’s also the last event of the season. Of course, in the slack time, I always stand on the NJ shore wondering how feasible it would be to run over to Manhattan for trim, fabric, or a trip to a museum. In kit. Because…. why not?
But Mr S wants me to come, so I’ve stirred myself to cutting and pressing and starting to hem a wool kerchief. This is made from some crossed-barred wool found in Somerville on the shopping expedition with Sew 18th Century.
She kindly sent me the image above, which is a good thing because I get distracted and think, “you know, that image with the duck and the girl and the bonnet,” which will give you 71,000,000 results in Google, but fortunately includes this one.
Three hems: I should be done by now.
It’s an easy project, but sometimes those are the hardest because you’re not learning anything. That, of course, is what Netflix is for: ghastly murders or sophisticated dramas keep you going on repetitive hems. (I do my best backstitching to BBC crime dramas– go figure.)
So, a November Saturday up on the Palisades means wool, in fact, requires wool, and for the first time I think I have enough wool to stay reasonably comfortable. That’s a cloak, kerchief, gown and two wool petticoats, plus wool stockings and, if they fit, sheepskin insoles for my shoes. We have a wool shift at work, but at about 50 years later than the Fall of Fort Lee, it provides no justification for a wool flannel shift. Still, a wool shift is a tempting thought, and suddenly that kerchief hem gets more interesting, as I start to think about where to look for documentation of wool or flannel shifts.
Surreal: that was the word for the morning at Monument Park. The RI Reg’t walked over the park instead of parading with the troops, because one of our members has not been well, and did not think he could keep up with the parade. It was odd to follow the reenactors in 18th century clothing under power lines and past high rise apartment buildings shouldering out old frame homes, but the surrealism really kicked in at the park.
Describing sniper fire in WWII to salsa music
There it became multi-sensory when the ceremony’s organizers turned on the music. It wasn’t exactly merengue, and it wasn’t exactly salsa…then the soundtrack switched to updated Big Band hits and finally landed on a strange, over-the-top, quasi-operatic version of “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
So when you look at the photos on flickr, play some salsa or an album you might have ordered at 2 AM from a TV ad, and think about standing in 40F/4C weather eavesdropping on politicians talking about inching closer to universal health, and the lessons of Hurricane Sandy for high-rise dwellers, while squeezing up next to you for a photo op.
Later, at Fort Lee Historic Park, the artillery demonstration was loud and satisfying, but we got behind schedule and to the oddness of the morning was added rushing. It was capped off at the end by the order to fix bayonets, which led to bayonets being caught in branches.
Bayonets fixed, Capt. Becker takes measure of the trees
Finally, for me, the day nearly foundered when I pulled my phone out of pocket at the end of the event to check the time, and saw my boss had been texting me all afternoon over a non-crisis. Part of why I love re-enacting and living history so much is that it takes me so far away from myself and from my daily existence. It’s related (slightly) to my work, but to be so far away in place and time and effort is a delight. I can’t just throw the phone away or not take it along: I am supposed to be on call, all the time…but it’s history, not a hospital, and if budgets change, so should expectations.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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