For the Mothers Day holiday (that was Sunday, in case you're wondering) we spent the day as a family doing family things. We went out for breakfast at Bob Evans, went down to the riverfront, toured a winery, and finally ended up at the Daniel Boone home historic site.
We evidently saved the best for last. This place is freakishly difficult to find, since the signs are old and wrong, so I was trying hard by the time we arrived to put on a happy face. I found one in the glove compartment, so I was alright.
It cost $7 to get in per adult, but mothers were free that day. Bonus. It cost the whole family $7 to tour this historic site. Nifty. My mood improved somewhat.
Now, everyone who works there is a volunteer. I guess they were unable to find state employees who wanted to dress up in period garb (I learned that phrase from the SCA geeks). My three-year-old thought the frontiersman was a pirate. It was piracy, considering how much it cost for even the smallest souvenir, so that observation was appropriate. I got a good laugh.
Anyway, we took the tour and it was somewhat informative. I like historical sites. We opted not to move on after the tour to the Sappenfield House. Instead, we loaded the baby into the stroller, took the other kid by the hand, and proceeded to walk around the rest of the site.
Big mistake. The gravel road through the settlement makes a U, with the ends facing the main house. After rounding the bottom of the U, we noticed this late-middle-age woman in her sack dress and bonnet rushing breathlessly toward us. Uh oh, I thought.
Sure enough, when she arrived she was just incredulous that we had been walking around out there unescorted. Her face was twisted into this mask of absolute horror as she whined, "Can I help you?" I could tell she was thinking, what the fuck are you people doing out here?
"No," I replied. "We're just walking through the settlement." Wrong answer. I thought she was going to faint. She demanded to see our tickets. She wanted to know who our tour guide was and why we were walking around out here without an escort. She wanted to know where we had been and what we had been doing. On and on the interrogation went. She was concerned that we might vandalize the place. She was afraid that we might hurt ourselves. Naturally, I quickly reached my limit.
Hurt ourselves on what? The bales of hay? The steps? Stay the fuck off the steps if you're too uncoordinated to negotiate them. Besides, ramps had been added to make all the buildings accessible.
I raised my hand to silence her and began, "What are you thinking? Naturally, vandals pay the price of admission in order to tear things up. They also bring small children to assist, since we know that they know the best ways to break things. Who the Hell are you? You're a volunteer. I paid to see this place. Your prices are already high and this is a state- and federally-funded historic site. You have no employees. Universities pay you grants and also pay to conduct research on the site. All we wanted to do was see the rest of the village before leaving and you come out hear, breathless, demanding our papers. This is a public site. We are the public. It's hot and I am in a bad mood. What were you thinking?"
She stood there with her mouth hanging open. I thought she might say something else, so I quickly added, "We're leaving. Go knit something." We walked off.
What the Hell? These assholes get to play "American Frontier" in their spare time and they think they own the place. They try to keep us together like cattle, giving us only what they want and charging for it. I'll tell you who owns the place. I do. I and the rest of us who pay taxes. We own the whole fucking thing. Now, get off my lawn!
We evidently saved the best for last. This place is freakishly difficult to find, since the signs are old and wrong, so I was trying hard by the time we arrived to put on a happy face. I found one in the glove compartment, so I was alright.
It cost $7 to get in per adult, but mothers were free that day. Bonus. It cost the whole family $7 to tour this historic site. Nifty. My mood improved somewhat.
Now, everyone who works there is a volunteer. I guess they were unable to find state employees who wanted to dress up in period garb (I learned that phrase from the SCA geeks). My three-year-old thought the frontiersman was a pirate. It was piracy, considering how much it cost for even the smallest souvenir, so that observation was appropriate. I got a good laugh.
Anyway, we took the tour and it was somewhat informative. I like historical sites. We opted not to move on after the tour to the Sappenfield House. Instead, we loaded the baby into the stroller, took the other kid by the hand, and proceeded to walk around the rest of the site.
Big mistake. The gravel road through the settlement makes a U, with the ends facing the main house. After rounding the bottom of the U, we noticed this late-middle-age woman in her sack dress and bonnet rushing breathlessly toward us. Uh oh, I thought.
Sure enough, when she arrived she was just incredulous that we had been walking around out there unescorted. Her face was twisted into this mask of absolute horror as she whined, "Can I help you?" I could tell she was thinking, what the fuck are you people doing out here?
"No," I replied. "We're just walking through the settlement." Wrong answer. I thought she was going to faint. She demanded to see our tickets. She wanted to know who our tour guide was and why we were walking around out here without an escort. She wanted to know where we had been and what we had been doing. On and on the interrogation went. She was concerned that we might vandalize the place. She was afraid that we might hurt ourselves. Naturally, I quickly reached my limit.
Hurt ourselves on what? The bales of hay? The steps? Stay the fuck off the steps if you're too uncoordinated to negotiate them. Besides, ramps had been added to make all the buildings accessible.
I raised my hand to silence her and began, "What are you thinking? Naturally, vandals pay the price of admission in order to tear things up. They also bring small children to assist, since we know that they know the best ways to break things. Who the Hell are you? You're a volunteer. I paid to see this place. Your prices are already high and this is a state- and federally-funded historic site. You have no employees. Universities pay you grants and also pay to conduct research on the site. All we wanted to do was see the rest of the village before leaving and you come out hear, breathless, demanding our papers. This is a public site. We are the public. It's hot and I am in a bad mood. What were you thinking?"
She stood there with her mouth hanging open. I thought she might say something else, so I quickly added, "We're leaving. Go knit something." We walked off.
What the Hell? These assholes get to play "American Frontier" in their spare time and they think they own the place. They try to keep us together like cattle, giving us only what they want and charging for it. I'll tell you who owns the place. I do. I and the rest of us who pay taxes. We own the whole fucking thing. Now, get off my lawn!
