My dad’s family was from Massachusetts. He was born in Randolph and lived in The Bay State until he was 17. I knew I wanted to spend a significant amount of time there.
My first campground was near Old Sturbridge Village, a living history museum that recreates a village from 1830. Many historic structures have been moved to Sturbridge, and costumed staff inform visitors of what American life was like nearly 200 years ago.
The Quaker Meeting House was across the street from a sheep pen.
I chatted with a woman who was spinning wool and then climbed aboard a stagecoach for a ride.
Lunch was at Bullard Tavern where I enjoyed cranberry stuffing and mashed potatoes with roast chicken.
Each of the costumed staff was well informed. They were knowledgeable about their roles and village life and were happy to engage in conversation.
Hearing the Boston dialect reminded me of my dad and extended family:
- Howa you?
- Ah, you shouldda seen it this mawnin’.
- That’s up toward Worcester [pronounced Woostah… go figure]
Driving away at the end of the day, I spotted these geese grazing in the meadow.
A few days later, I connected with folks I knew in California. They have lived in the east for a few years. Damon & Cynthia were parents at the school where I served as librarian near Temecula. Their super-reader son earned an unsurpassed number of points in our school’s Accelerated Reader program. It was fun catching up at Kimball Farm, which, by the way, has the best homemade ice cream ever!