Is that a sugarloaf in your pocket, or...

 Hi!  Your friends here at States of Snark decided it was high time for another adventure, and so Lizzie and I took a trip to a place few folks from Eastern Mass dare to go--WEST OF WORCESTER!  Lizzie wisely chose Deerfield as our destination, and wouldn't you know it, we saw both deer, and fields!  It took us about two hours to get out to Deerfield, so our first stop was the restrooms.  YAY!

Deerfield is about 30 minutes north of Springfield, and was originally home to the Pocumtuck nation.  The English settlers came in 1673, forcibly expelling the native people who hadn't already been

killed by the Mohawk people.  The Pocumtuck sought help from the French up in Canada, and as you can imagine, things only got better for everyone involved.  During Queen Anne's war (1704), Deerfield was razed by a French/Native American contingent, with 56 people being killed, and 112 being (forcibly) marched up to Canada (in February).  The colonists who survived the march were eventually ransomed by the communities surrounding Deerfield, but not everyone bothered making the return trip home.  Eventually, the frontier was pushed north (though many Bostonians would still consider Deerfield the frontier) and the little town prospered, and in the late 19th century, the townspeople preserved the historic downtown, to attract annoying visitors such as Lizzie and myself. The downtown is about a mile stretch, with lots of 18th- and 19th century houses lining the way, many of which are, or house museums.

After availing ourselves of the restrooms, (politely, unlike the horses who just crapped in the road like animals or something) we went to the visitors' center, where a series of gingerbread houses led us to an old-school cooking demonstration, conducted by a lady who looked like she was from the late 19th century.  She was making cookies, and showed us her biscuit cooker, which was a little metal box you'd put in front of the fire to burn your hands bake said cookies, as well as her cooking supplies: a sugar loaf  after which the mountain is named (though the mountain is far less delicious) and the various spices she was using that had to be ground by hand with a deadly looking grater. My cookies would've been 100% knuckle skin.  She showed us a fruit cake she had made, which was missing some pieces, and said "this is for special occasions" before putting it back.  Apparently Lizzie and I are not a "special occasion," though I would beg to differ.  Having sat through the demonstration with no cookies to show for it, and unable to pocket a sugar loaf, Lizzie and I struck off to learn all of the things.