Day of Rest Not Hardly

The past week was a normally busy week with canning, workday at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society, mowing, and grocery shopping. I know most guys don’t like to go grocery shopping, but if I don’t go, the cupboards get bare and I’ve always like to have food in my pantry and freezer. Willow the cat won’t shop, clean, do laundry, or wash dishes, so I’m the volunteer.

I knew the time schedule for Sunday was going to be tight. I went to church, but I skipped Sunday school, because my right knee was painful. It’s worse when I sit and I decided that even on the padded pews, I couldn’t sit for another hour. Last Wednesday I was roped into manning the display booth at the Stahlstown Flax Scutching Festival for the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. Each year we take over several photographs and artifacts to set up a display of local information of people and events from the past. We attempt to share a cross-section sample of the items we have on display in our showroom or squirreled away in storage. I thought I was to be there at one o’clock P.M. when I arrived, I found out I was half an hour early, so I watched a demonstration of flax plants being separated into fibers, then carded, and spun into linen thread. A weaver then used the thread to make linen cloth.

There was a fair amount of visitors and I shared information about our veteran’s photographs and patches and uniform insignias. We also had scrapbooks for local schools that displayed class photos. Because we are a small Historical Society, we try very hard to make people be aware of our organization and our desire to preserve local history. We also like to lure people into visiting our showroom to see our exhibits. I did enjoy meeting people and sharing information about our display and our group. While I was there, we were entertained by blue grass fiddlers, guitar players, and two gals who sometimes sang off key. They were hired by the Flax Scutching. There were also men and women wearing period clothing well as Red Coat militia. These soldiers would occasionally shoot their black powder rifles making loud bangs and billows of smoke. Near the end of the Scutching event, there was a display of an attack on a homestead.

There was just enough time for a quick teardown, returning the display items back to the Historical showroom, before I hurried home, grabbed my Bible, and drove to church for the evening service. Finally I made it home, took my medications and curled up beneath my cotton sheets and quilt.