The American Shakers

The magnificent round stone barn at Hancock Shaker Village

Two summers ago we went to spend a few nights in New Gloucester Maine with our friends, the last remaining Shakers in Sabbathday Lake (four at that time). We had gone up for a visit as Sister Frances is our youngest son's godmother and also because I was to photograph their pantries for The Pantry. While we haven't been back since, we have visited Pleasant Hill several times in the past two years, outside of Harrodsburg, Kentucky, and last week we stopped at the Hancock Shaker Village outside of Pittsfield, Massachusetts on our way home from the Chaiwalla Tea Room (see previous blog entry).

My husband wanted me to photograph the famous round barn to show his Mennonite friends in Kentucky (one of whom has built a round barn out of modern materials and who would like to build one for us one day--slowly and phased, of course). Built out of limestone in 1826 for housing 52 cows and hay, and an ease for milking, it is the only round barn that the Shakers built in any of their communities. Inside it is cathedral-like in its expanse of timbering and solid stonework, something I find endearing about many old barns. [According to the Hancock Shaker Village website, Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville, who summered nearby and often entertained Boston area literati, had a footrace in this structure.]

The dwelling house (left) and poultry house at Hancock Shaker Village

We hadn't been there in about ten years and, while a beautiful Sunday afternoon on June 1st, there were many more staff there than tourists. I fear this may be the sign of the times with increased gas prices and fewer families exposing their children to historic-minded day trips. But that's beside the point and clearly a rumination for a cooler day (it is 95 with high humidity in our part of New Hampshire today so I'm a little on the grumpy side of things).

I was delighted to discover the canning room, pantries and kitchen, all located in the cool stone cellar of the Hancock dwelling house

What sparked today's blog was that I was putting something in our fridge on this very hot and humid day--which got me thinking about the cool stone kitchen and ample ice house at Hancock Shaker Village--and noticed a magnet that lists the tenets of the American Shakers, a copy of a framed sign that is at Sabbathday Lake. Apart from the celibate lifestyle, which clearly meant the future end of the order after they stopped adopting children and taking in entire families (and now with three remaining Shakers, the future is insecure at best and some would say already a former Utopian society--new Shakers are accepted but after careful consideration), these principles are fascinating in any era. In their credo of "hands to work, and hearts to God" and their simple, non-judgmental but separate lifestyles, Shaker followers were perhaps more Christ-like than most organized religions of today. But that, too, is beside the point (again, I am blaming the humidity and my crankiness, and besides, who wants to listen to someone who learns anything salient from a fridge magnet!).

The meetinghouse at Sabbathday Lake still holds Shaker-led services

I had not realized, for example, despite knowing the last Shakers and attending services at Sabbathday, that they believe in the "Duality of the Deity: Father and Mother God, The Mighty Dual Spirit, Creator of Life, Light, Truth and Love." They also acknowledge(d) a duality between Christ and Ann Lee, their founder, which other religions have also done between a deity and a mortal (Mormonism and Christian Science come to mind, and well before Christianity, there was Zoroastrianism, a pre-Islamic religion of duality).

The other principles for Shaker life and communal living are based in equality of the sexes, labor, and property. What an advanced notion for the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, at the height of the order. The Shakers would eventually settle in seven states--including Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New York, Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana--after Ann Lee came to this country in 1774 for religious freedom from England. Several communities are still open as historically interpreted sites, including those mentioned above and Canterbury Shaker Village and the Enfield Shaker Museum, both in New Hampshire, as well as a few others.

An historic photograph of the interior of the Hancock dwelling house reveals the Shaker appreciation of symmetry and the duality of form following function [image from Hancock Shaker Village display]

Architecturally speaking, the Shakers embraced simplicity and ingeniousness of design, usually favoring symmetry and even the latest technology, as they did the dumbwaiter, at left. [Two identical dumbwaiters in two corners of the symmetrical kitchen lead to the men's and women's sides of the equally ordered dining room upstairs. And Shakers were into lots of build-ins, cupboards, nooks, and storage pantries as everything had a purpose and a place.]

Perhaps a balanced and ordered design, with two entries on most buildings and into most common areas, symbolized the duality of their thought and lifestyle as much as it was for practical purposes of separation of the sexes. Even though they believed in equality of the sexes, because they were a celibate order, living, dining and working was largely done without interaction between them. Entire families who joined were even separated.

This summer take your children or your grandchildren or your own friends to a Shaker community or other historic property. Carpool, save up your gas money or any money that you might have spent at a water park or amusement park or a trip to a mall (each unctuous in its own way--ok, there's that humidity crankiness setting in again). Make it a destination. I was so disheartened to see such low attendance at what is obviously a well-run museum and magnificent set of buildings, complete with many original contents and courteous interpreters who didn't hover too much.

My favorite building at Hancock Village is the garden tool shed

This is another grumbly aside. I once worked for an historic house museum organization where one of the curators, a bit older than myself, actually said that if she had her way the houses that we were interpreting and "keeping" would be mothballed for scholarly use only and closed to the public. [The specific house I worked at has been more or less mothballed since I worked there, but that is another grumbly aside: get thee to a Shaker ice house, Catherine!] I was shocked by this notion but she is probably not alone in that sentiment, her argument being that if the general public is kept away from preserved buildings and their contents, their longevity will be assured without the wear-and-tear. But what of the education and awareness of these objects and places? House museums and related historic sites need to remain accessible, interesting, and even savvy to survive. People want to see how others lived in the past and experiencing the buildings and their contents, although in need of perpetual preservation, is the best way to do that.

I know we are not alone as parents in wanting to bring our children to historic places, houses, farms and monuments. We live in an historic house in New Hampshire and, until we build our utopian farm, a modular in Kentucky (ok, a big five-bedroom doublewide). I certainly hope we are not a dwindling number of people who care about these great American treasures, apart from the people who curate them. What better way to teach history: through the actual places where history happened and is preserved.

Chaiwalla Tea Room

I haven't blogged in a few weeks and there has been much to blog about: a special wedding, more lilacs (my third and final, spectacular, round in returning to a glorious New Hampshire spring after also having lilacs in Kentucky and Ohio--a lovely, extended spring this year all around), new book projects, random thoughts (which of course I haven't jotted down), some recipes. [My youngest son is reading this blog entry over my shoulder and I can feel his warm chubby cheek on my own as he reads my words.]

One highlight in the hub bub of the last two weeks was a stop on Sunday at the Chaiwalla Tea Room** in Salisbury, Connecticut when we went to pick up our daughter for the summer.
Mary O'Brien has operated this tea room for 20 years and we spoke at length a few years ago -- when I was writing an article on New England tea rooms for Yankee Magazine -- about her efforts to bring quality imported loose tea to Americans when she first got started. [In fact, Mary introduced chai to this country well before it was trendy--her loose tea can be purchased in the shop or through the mail.] She remembered that conversation, which I'd mentioned only after she'd already said we could send her a check (they don't take credit cards and we didn't have a check on us, or enough cash: a brief moment of panic as we thought we'd need to wash dishes). While not her practice, she said she does let hikers on the Appalachian Trail--which passes through that part of northwestern Connecticut--send her checks all the time.

I last went to Chaiwalla about 15 years ago and it was exactly the same as I'd remembered it (I believe even our gracious waiter was the same as I never forget a face). Our daughter was five and we were visiting that region of Connecticut on a pop down from the Berkshires. My husband had not been before and was equally delighted with the fine food and service and atmosphere. It is not a cutsey tea room by any stretch: its decor is Zen-like with Shaker chairs and tables and photographs of classic Greek and Roman statues, definitely no Victorian tea room revival froufrou here.

At Chaiwalla, the emphasis is on a simple menu of exquisitely prepared food and an unusual selection of loose tea served in glass pots warmed over a candle and poured into glass mugs. Chaiwalla's atmosphere is probably reminiscent of the tea rooms that were once scattered about New England--more as tranquil stops for lunch or tea than the gussied up places of today who cater to women in big hats and gloves. [For an excellent book on this very topic, I highly recommend Tea at the Blue Lantern Inn-A Social History of the Tea Room Craze in America by Jan Whitaker. While it is now out-of-print there are copies available on various websites. Jan also keeps a website on Vintage Tea Rooms which is worth exploring.] One has to applaud a tea room where you can bring your friends as well as your often picky, adamantly froufrou hating husband!

Because it was Sunday, we were able to select eggs Benedict from the menu and were not disappointed. The Hollandaise sauce was clearly homemade with a strong hint of lemon and the thinly sliced and flavorful ham superb. In addition to our tea we had glasses of fresh squeezed orange juice.

Of course we had room for dessert, as it was technically "brunch" after all -- 1 round of strawberry rhubarb cobbler and 2 slices of lemon tart (which was also quite custardy) -- all served from a Federal-style sideboard by our charming and attentive waiter. I am only sorry we do not live closer as I would certainly become a regular (I just remembered, however, that there is a small serving of leftover cobbler in the fridge!).


Chaiwalla Tea Room is at 1 Main Street in Salisbury, Connecticut 06068, in Litchfield County, located in the rural northwest corner of the state -- just south of the Berkshires region of Massachusetts and near the New York border. The tranquil and bucolic area is full of antiquing and many recreational and cultural opportunities. Call for hours: 860-435-9758. [NOTE: While we had only a few minutes to wait on a Sunday morning in May, with many local graduations, the Chaiwalla does not take reservations. If you allow extra time around your visit, you can stroll down Salisbury's lovely Main Street or into any number of shops.]

**Although providing interesting background on Chaiwalla, this review, from The New York Times, is almost 20 years old and describes the original tea room setting across the street.

Blackberry Winter

What is it about fruits, especially berries, and their many associations from childhood? My favorite bedtime story was about a black bear who got lost in the forest and found a thicket of blackberries to eat. I would make my mother or father tell it over and over and then think about it myself, as I fell to sleep. [Certainly it was a derivation of Robert McCloskey's Blueberries for Sal, another favorite: kerplink, kerplank, kerplunk]

At my grandparents' farm in New Hampshire I couldn't wait to go to the pine woods with my grandmother or later run up myself to pick low bush blackberries and blueberries, and high bush blueberries later on in the summer. We had the occasional wild strawberry patch but nothing like I've seen on roadsides here in Kentucky.

In the Cuyahoga Valley in Ohio we'd go to an area park for a hike and often leave with pockets of blackberries, certainly well satisfied by our gorging. In Kentucky, while the wild blueberry does not grow here as it does throughout New Hampshire, blackberries are everywhere. They ripen in July and are a popular fruit for canning and preserves [one of the local vernacular cakes is called Blackberry Jam cake, almost like a fruit cake but with a caramel icing].

This week I heard a term for the first time (and I love regional expressions): Blackberry winter. This is a cold snap in May after the blackberries have bloomed and we are certainly having one now: a long stretch of cool, fall-like weather after the rains. I also learned today, in referring to our deed, that our property line falls along Cold Weather Creek. How appropriate, I thought (and soon at Cupcake Chronicles we will be reading Cold Comfort Farm), and the kind of place name I love.

"Blackberry Winter" would also make a great title for a novel or some such but of course, through a quick Google search, I have discovered that Robert Penn Warren, a Kentucky native, wrote a short story of the same name.

One of my favorite poems about blackberry picking is by Mary Oliver and simply called "August" when they ripen in the north. It is from her Pulitzer-prize winning collection American Primitive. We will soon be leaving the roses, strawberries, gooseberries and other things in our yard, not quite ready for picking. But we'll be back for blackberries when they fruit in July and hopefully into August.

August

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

Mary Oliver, American Primitive

NOTE: photo is of black raspberries near our compost bin in New Hampshire last summer...but close enough.

Blog-o-Rama

Hi there ~ great time in Akron and I need to write down some highlights (many you will find over on Cupcake Chronicles). I realize it is getting harder with the spring here, and gearing up to head back to New England for a few months, to find the time to blog, let alone write. But I'm also writing/writing (meaning "writing for paycheck," although random) and getting my next book topics together.

I've realized, also, in the past few weeks that I don't take enough time to read other people's blogs. Several of my friends have blogs, too, and I come across many blogs I'd like to read more regularly but that I never seem to find again. Cat gave me a great tip for how to keep a running list of blogs to check, but of course, I've already forgotten how to do that. She is blog-Queen and even used to publish a magazine in her spare time. My blog is already so "busy" in the sidebar columns that I am reluctant to add a "Blogs I Read" column but perhaps it is time (and that would solve the "where do I keep a list of other bloggers that I read?" conundrum).

It's not that I don't want to read other people's blogs, it's just that I need to make the time to do that. Like everything else, I suppose, it is all in the organization and time management of what we do or choose to do. For example, right now I should be organizing my office and getting stuff ready to bring in the car next week. I am also supposed to be finalizing a book proposal. I use the internet for a lot of research and quick checks but when it comes time to sit there and read something on line, I find it a bit more difficult for the old eyes to do too much. So I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank those of you who read my blog(s) and who also take the time to leave such thoughtful posts.

Keep checking back from time to time and I might just surprise you. Otherwise, I expect I will be a more regular blogger again when the kids return to school in August (yes, down here they go to school from early August to mid-May: I think I will get used to it only because right now it feels like June...but I imagine August in Kentucky feels like, well, August in Kentucky!).

In the meantime, enjoy your summer (or winter, down in Australia and environs ; ) ~

"Where Thou Art--that--is Home"

I am so looking forward to seeing two friends in Akron next week--actually The Cupcakes for those of you who follow that blog--and to going back to New Hampshire for a time--and yet so much is happening here I almost hate to step away from it all. But this is good because I will want to come back again in July. We are rooting here. I never thought in a million years that you could pry me out of New England and yet here I am: a modern day pioneer woman in the wilderness (well, hardly, but the whole getting in the wagon, even though that wagon has made a few return trips in recent months, and striking out for new territory has just held that image for me). Thank you for that poetic reminder, Edie (and Emily and Melissa): "Where Thou art––that––is Home." ––Emily Dickinson, 1863 [is that like the modern day: "No matter where you go, there you are!"?]

Among the non-reading and writing highlights of this week: I have helped to butcher a hog for our freezer at our Mennonite friends (did not participate in the actual slaughter, just the meat fixings); learned to make scrapple and sausage; designed a chicken house for pullets and laying hens that we are getting quotes on now; went in search of wildflowers of Kentucky (with camera, not clippers); worked on a book proposal with another writer; sold a condensed version of my blog on "Appalachian Homeplace," with two of my own photos, to Old-House Interiors (for their twice-annual publication, Early Homes); and am finalizing my talk for Stan Hywet next week in Akron.

More writing irons in the fire, and other non-bloggable developments, which are also good ~ and let's not forget my monthly Bunco gathering with new friends in nearby Casey County. And I have more blog fodder, and photos, too. In sum, I've done everything but clean up my office and better organize it: the story of my life (and married life, too, but I have a patient husband and at least I keep my piles to just one room). I can hear the childhood refrain now: "Cathy, you can't go out and play until you PICK UP YOUR ROOM!" [Yes, I was a clutterer-piler back then when I had very little to clutter and pile apart from books and dolls.]

I realize as I've tried to step away from this computer and blog world for a time that I really can't: it is too necessary for what I do, how I think, write and process stuff. But it hasn't hurt to try and regulate my time on it a bit more. After all, Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote her books on a tablet and typewriter, probably while multitasking in her farm kitchen. We know that Emily Dickinson certainly wrote (often in her pantry) and juggled household tasks. It's not impossible ~ one just has to be highly focused and organized.

These computers are supposed to give us more time, are they not? And yet I find them to be the ultimate time consumers. An hour later and there you are--if not writing "in the zone" as it were, I often ask myself what I have I done? "And you might ask yourself, how do I work this?"

One look at our Mennonite friends' cellar pantry (and this photo only shows half of their supply) and I realize how productive time can be. After a day of grinding up 74 pounds of sausage meat, packaging up scrapple and pork tenderloins for the freezer, and rendering and canning 16 quarts of lard it was not hard to compare the difference between that productivity, however combined it was in labor force, and 3,000 words on a good day.

There is also an inescapable Zen-like quality to working like this, in the moment and the task, with a productive output at the end of the day. Writing is similar, yes, but it is more self-absorbed and doesn't always keep the children fed and in clothing. Meanwhile, there are times when my own children probably think I prefer writing to their company. This is a hard thing for me and one reason I'm trying to better regulate my writing time. And yet, I can't imagine not ever writing. It has always been a part of who I am and want to be.