Art by Ian Newbury
In November, 1959, I went with my fifth-grade class at Lincoln School to Old Sturbridge Village (OSV). It was a gloomy day with rain showers that would have been snow flurries if it had been just a few degrees colder. I have vague memories of walking the grounds with my classmates and going into buildings such as the Pliny Freeman farmhouse, the Salem Towne mansion and the church at the head of the village green. To this day, I think of Old Sturbridge Village when I detect the scent of firewood burning on a hearth or a wood stove. My memories of this visit are vague and fleeting. Images of interpreters dressed in period costumes, old-fashioned furniture and unfamiliar objects from another time in history flash across my mind’s eye as I remember that day from almost 61 years ago.
That visit had a lot to do with setting the course of my life. A love of American history was kindled within me from that day forward and this in turn led me to wanting to be a teacher. When I taught at S.B. Butler Elementary School, I took several classes to OSV over the years. After I retired, I wrote a book of poems, Sprung From the Soil, about the village. In both of these ways, I was hoping to share the happy,enlightening experience I had had when I was in the fifth grade.
The next time I went to Old Sturbridge Village was during the summer with my family after I graduated from Manchester (CT) High School in 1967. Interestingly enough, I worked as an usher at the State Theater in Manchester and that same evening, when I had gotten back from OSV, the movie “Hawaii”with Julie Andrews and Max Von Sydow was playing for the first time. I was greatly surprised to see the opening scenes were shot at OSV. That’s one of the reasons “Hawaii” has always been my all-time favorite movie.
Earlier on that day, as I walked around the village and saw the Blacksmith Shop, the Fenno House and the Miner Grant Store (I can see the hotplate my mom bought there as I sit and write this) I was aware of a letdown I couldn’t understand. Years later, when I wrote about my faith journey as a member of a group of seekers, I described the feeling I had this way:
After my field trip was over, I wanted to go back again and relive the experience that had meant so much to me. It would be several years before I finally did and I still remember the disappointment I felt on that return visit. The magical quality that existed in my mind's eye did not exist in the place that inspired it. I would go back several more times, but it was always as if Old Sturbridge Village was a Brigadoon for me, and I was never there when the magic took place. Eventually I realized that there was nothing significant for me about Old Sturbridge Village except the importance I gave to it in my mind. I have since applied this insight to other experiences in my life, including those I have had in church.
The place itself, no matter how beautiful, peaceful and harmonious,isn’t the source of our delight. It’s how we create an image of it in our mind’s eye that makes it special. The place itself doesn’t have an intrinsic, objective reality to it that everyone will experience in the same way. People might respond to the beauty of a place, perhaps most who see it will appreciate and even love its charm as much as many others do. I’m sure that most of the students I brought to OSV would, if called upon to remember, talk about their field trip there as being a good memory that they appreciate. But I doubt any of them would think of it as I did in November, 1959. I didn’t think of it that way myself when I returned in July, 1967, nor have I ever experienced OSV the same as that first visit in the many times I have been there since. The closest I’ve ever come to sharing with others my trip to OSV in November, 1959 was when I wrote the poems in Sprung from the Soil. But even if I had had Robert Frost’s ability with words, I still couldn’t have taken you with me all the way there. Our only companion when we go to those places is God.
David James Madden