18th Century arts and crafts

 When we entered the Apprentice's Workshop next to the museum, we had no idea that it would feature hands-on fun.  We were greeted by a lovely woman we called Gladys, who is obviously a retired academic, well-versed in the study of everything.  (She mentioned how we'd just been at the museum.  Did the guard call her to tell her about our walking on the grass?)  We started off in the loom-room, where Gladys showed us the original off-sheep wool, and it's various in-process states, with the final product of the yarn being set up on this loom, at which Lizzie is seated.  I cannot imagine the pain-in-the-assness which setting up a loom would involve, but it turns out Lizzie is pretty good at working it.  There were four pedals, and you'd alternate pedals to create your pattern, passing the shuttle through each time (as you see Lizzie doing, above.)  Gladys told us that the wool being carded and spun in Deerfield was "not what you would wear to the Governor's ball," but rather the rougher stuff you'd use for carpets and blankets.  After Lizzie finished making the carpet, we moved onto the ceramics room, American ceramics also not being what was in demand.  (We were producing mostly stoneware made with salt, which was great for storing things, but not for elegant tableware, etc.)

Gladys asked if I wanted to make my own ceramic piece, and of course I did.  She gave me a little ball of clay, which was NOT THE CONSISTENCY I WAS EXPECTING.  It was super slimy and wet, so when I went to smooth it into a ball it squashed all up over my hands, horrifying Lizzie into not making her own ceramic token.  You could choose from several presses, and I, of course, chose a sexy 1797 Ben Franklin mould.  With my now-greasy hands, I had trouble peeling the clay off the mould, so Gladys helped out, creating my little buddy here on the left, who is hoping I'll go back and make a nice pressing of some French whores.  I used some wet wipes to clean off most of the clay, but it is still stuck in the grooves of my knuckles as I write this out hours later.  Such are the costs of superb artistry.

The third room in this building housed a wood working shop, which was, unfortunately, not guided by the lovely Gladys.  Instead there was a clean cut man who looked like a priest named Brent, who illustrated the use of various planers you'd use to smooth out wood.  I was exhausted just hearing him explain it, and thought of all the tetnus you'd get from the endeavor.  The process was extensive, and you'd need to repeat it for every exposed wood piece in your home, include the entire floor.  Here, the activity was trying out various 18th century tools, the auger being the most popular.  People like boring holes in shit.