I know I am privileged, I was cold: my first winter event - I did it!

I am privileged.

I do much of my learning through doing. There have been things I have wanted to do over the past few years that most people would just shake their heads at and ask why? I have needed to get into the head space, even if it's just a tiny bit, to understand what it must have been like for a woman to exist back in the eighteenth-century. I've never been one for the big names and dates of history. I've always wanted to know what it must have been like for people just like me, coming from lower incomes and economic status.

All last year, I looked forward to being invited to do one of the winter events at Ticonderoga. What must it have felt like to have lived in the fort in the winter. Everywhere is beautiful in summer, life is beautiful in summer. Winter is hard work. Pierre and I worked our butts off last summer to be afforded the opportunity to attend more events at the site.

It paid off.

We missed the November event due to strep throat. I was bummed. I had looked forward to seeing what I could do. I was scared as well, of being cold, of making a mistake because of the cold, of letting people down. I will admit, the spector of cold hung there, creating anxiety most of the winter. Up until our drive down to the fort on Friday afternoon, I felt like I was a crazy-woman, foolish to be going 'camping' in the death throws of a harsh winter. It was still -22C on Friday morning. Foolish, I tell you!
Every bit of wool clothing I own was packed, there was an extra polar fleece blanket tucked into the bed roll, just in case. There were builder's protein bars at easy access, just in case my sugars went stupid and I started to shiver. I was as prepared as I was ever going to be. Pierre lovingly laughed at me, and told me that I would be ok. I think he was also proud that I was stepping out of my comfort zone and doing this thing though, even if he didn't actually say it out loud.

We got to the site, unpacked the car, got things set up. Alan started the fire in the hearth for us as we got geared up, and I managed to get it going good and solid while Pierre took the car out to the parking lot. We ended up being the only ones allotted bunk space in the west barracks for two reasons, 1. we would be cooking for the officers and needed a working hearth and to be close by the work space we would be inhabiting, but also 2. we would need to vacate that space fairly quickly in the afternoon so that boy scouts could take over the space Saturday night. When I went to bed Friday night, I knew how very lucky I was to have a fire. It was still blessedly cold. It took most of the night to just warm up the hearth, Pierre and I took turns getting up and adding fuel to keep the fire going. And it was still cold.
The west barracks room was still chilly in the morning, so we got up and dressed fairly quickly. We knew the folks in the other barracks spaces went through a much colder night than us, having no working hearths. We also know the need for coffee on an early morning at an encampment. Doubly so when it's cold.

I made it through the roughest part of the weekend, in my mind's eye. It was daylight now, and I would not be alone in the cold. I also would be extremely busy during the day, and maybe wouldn't notice so much. I was dressed, coffee was on board, and I got to work.

I dashed upstairs about as fast as one can with layers of petticoats and stays on, extra tablecloth and dinnerware in hand. I wanted the table set as best as I could, a double layer of cloth went down so that dishes wouldn't make noise when placed, my fake Delft tiles went under the candlesticks. A Christmas gift from Laura, a sugar cone, found its way to a little dish and placed in the centre of the table with the salt cellar and oil bottle. I nailed Stuart down to the table to actually eat breakfast, instead of having to chase him to throw food at him. The fort opened, and food began to be served. Interpretation happened, actual living history happened.

I found I was out of practice, talking to people. I sit much of the day at home either in front of the computer, writing about interpretation, or in the studio, creating garments to be worn by interpreters. I had forgotten what it was like to speak to people outside my friends group. Telling people about what I was serving, who I was, my back story. It was a good thing the day was busy, I didn't have time to think about how I must have sounded until later, on the ride home. All-in-all, it was a busy, but excellent day.

And yes, it was freaking cold!

As the day died down, and we started packing up to be evicted from our barracks, I was glad to be heading home for the night. I was looking forward to my car's seat warmer for 2.5 hours, looking forward to a nuclear hot shower when we got home, and to kitty snuggles. I was tired.

We left the site with big grins on our faces, looking forward to May opening weekend. I'm already menu planning, and looking forward to hopefully another season of living history with the site.

And yes, I am looking forward to warm weather again....did I mention, it was cold?

Who am I again?

When Pierre and I head to an event, I often give him the backstory in the car, the year it is, who we are portraying, what he's wearing for the weekend. Seriously, all this usually happens in the car on the way to the event.
I, on the other hand, have been thinking about it for weeks at this point. But I'm the one who's into researching interpretation. He is a soldier Monday to Friday and drives me to events and makes fire and coffee for the weekend. I respect that he has a lot of his plate with being a Canadian soldier, and he respects what I do to be keen on being told who he will be for the weekend and that I've packed his clothes and everything he'll need.

I am a dramaturg, a producer of our little aspect of the living history experience.

This year is slightly different for us. We are portraying characters we have never portrayed before, almost 25 years older, history-wise, but also French. Up until now, I have relied on my background as a British army follower/wife/Loyalist. I have been able to draw on tidbits of information learned while employed at the Halifax Citadel, doing living history surrounding the Revolutionary War, and my own family background. We played at Fortress Louisbourg from time to time, but as set dressing, background characters that don't really need to be face-first with the visitor.

Back in November (2018), Hands On History presented a conference on Living History entitled the 'ReConference'. It was geared to living historians and all about interpretation. It was a fabulous experience to watch the live stream and geek out about living history interpretation. The main take-away from the weekend for me was how the visitor engages with the living historian. Our beloved Jane Malcolm-Davis spoke about the sweet spot of interpretation for the visitor is a mixture of first and third. Being able to interact with the living historian as they would have been 'in the period' but also able to ask questions that only a modern, third person interpreter could answer. I have been thinking about how I can incorporate this blending of interpretation styles into my own work all winter.
Creating a character has been easy for me, visually. I look at the era we are re-creating, and then pick the clothes to suit. Most of my career has been costume design and production. The visual is my language. Recently, Jas. Townsend company began a youtube series on how to get involved with living history start here with this link. They explain really well that there are several layers to creating a character to use, a persona. The visual is just one aspect of it. Many reenactors only get this far in their character development, and that is OK. There's always a need for set decoration, background 'extras', and the chorus members. My work with Fort Ticonderoga has pulled me out of the 'set decoration', and into the 'face-first' interpretation, so I need to have a back story, I need to move between first and third person interpretation. people will ask who I am and why I am there.

So, who am I again? In a French fort connotation, mid century, Seven Years war period? The year is 1757. Pierre is relatively simple, he's an older French soldier who does mostly fatigue duties now. He can pull out his heavy French accent, sprinkle his French-Canadian patois throughout his language and be in character. But I am English speaking, I know a bit of French, and a bit of Gaelic. I needed to hit the research books.

Here is my back story...

In 1757, I am about 47/8 years old. I was born in Aberdeen Scotland in 1710 to a shipping family. A friend of my father's hired me on as a young woman to go to the New World and become a cook for his growing family. His name was Rodrigue, we would be going to Louisbourg on Ile Royale. I was happy there, but clashes with the British made life difficult in the mid-century, and in 1745, the British captured the fortress and expelled its citizens. Monsieur Rodrigue decided to return to Europe, since he had land and holdings in France. I decided to stay behind in North America, having fallen in love with a French soldier. We would move on to Montreal, to garrison there. Little did we realize we would find ourselves even further out on the frontier, at Fort Carillion in 1757. Now, I cook for officers there. It is cold, and I miss the ocean. Now that Lent has begun, spring may be here soon enough. I can at least hope for warmer weather. 

The Rodrigue family are originally Portuguese. Senior Rodrigue was a shipping pilot in Port Royal, Bahamas, but also Placentia Newfoundland. The younger generation have storehouses in Louisbourg, eldest son Michel also has a house. Michel's younger brothers Pierre and Antoine are the active sailors. The brothers supplied the French colonies through their Louisbourg storehouses, with other ships coming in from Quebec to trade everything from fashion items to foodstuffs. When Michel returned to France in 1745, the brothers all still plied their trade, and Pierre and Antoine returned to the fortress when things quieted down again. Their house and storehouses are among the reconstructed buildings at the fortress, and one of my favourite spots at Louisbourg. I could live in that house.

And with that, our 'costumes' are now finished and had final fittings. And I am about to begin my pre-cook for the weekend's event. Our first event of the season, and I am excited to try some new things, both in interpretation, but also in character development.

In related news, I am in the final editing stages of my thesis proposal. It goes to review on Tuesday, and I defend the first week in April. This PhD is feeling like it might actually happen, that all these thinky-thoughts have purpose. ONWARDS! Sa'Coche!

Rodrigue House, Fortress Louisbourg, photo by Douglas Sprott