Serving the Writ
We're having a heat wave here in Western Pennsylvania, but that didn't stop the residents of Bear's Retreat to going on over, yesterday, to Whiskey Rebellion Day at our more well-funded counterpart, the Oliver Miller Homestead.
I've wanted to go check out the competition anyway, and since there was going to be a skit performed by volunteer historical reconstructionists, called "Serving the Writ," it was an excellent day to go, pretty much. (Note to self: next time, find historical reconstruction involving air conditioning.)
The Oliver Miller Homestead is a bit older than our house, though the original log house has disappeared into a stone structure. (The fireplace molding is just like some of ours, though, which was very exciting.) Also, it's WAY bigger, having not sold as much of itself off and torn down most of its outbuildings. And having reconstructed a bunch of damn stuff. I'm especially jealous of the beehive oven. I think that Sam, as Steward of Bear's Retreat, could DEFINITELY build one. When, you know, he's not, like, mowing the interminable lawns.
The skit was short; the historical explanation was long. As a group of historians, we are capable of sitting through LOTS of history, though the child eventually resorted to killing ants with a rubber band. (Where the hell did that rubber band come from?)
But I will be brief, in case you have no rubber bands and ants to hand:
The Whiskey Rebellion, 1791-1794
(as told by Anne, the Stewardess of Bear's Retreat, within the living room of which she believes the Rebellion was discussed, though there's no historical evidence of this so don't bother looking)
Back when Our Federal Government was very young, it discovered it needed a bunch of money, on account of having gotten terribly into debt whilst winning freedom from the imperialist teadrinkers. So it created a bunch of taxes, one of which was the tax on whiskey. Now, this was a problem for the farmers out in Western Pennsylvania, which was at that time The Western Frontier, cause whiskey was what they were shipping back to the Eastern Cities. Why was this, you ask, briefly putting down your rubber band and ceasing to molest the ants? Well, I'll tell you. It was cause 1) the Eastern Cities didn't need wheat and rye; 2) the Eastern Cities needed a lot of whiskey; 3) grain, turned into whiskey, was WAY more profitable than grain in its unadulterated state, and 4) grain, turned into whiskey, was WAY more transportable than grain in its unadulterated state, and since the roads sucked, this was an Issue.
Shall we have a new paragraph? Why not. Ok. So the local farmers needed to sell whiskey, and they were opposed to paying taxes on it. Why? Because 1) they operated in a barter economy, unlike the denizens of the Eastern Cities, and did not have cash to hand, and 2) as far as they could tell the federal government wasn't doing anything for them, such as keeping them safe from the local native population, which was, understandably, annoyed by their presence, but that's a whole nother story, or, indeed, making the roads passable.
So. The farmers didn't pay the tax. They were told they had to pay the tax. They didn't pay the tax. Tax collectors appeared. The farmers did Bad Things to them. The farmers were served with writs. They ignored them.
The farmers marched on Pittsburgh in order to burn it down, but were met by the citizens of Pittsburgh, who had set out tables of food and drink. The farmers burnt down one barn, after, I guess, having been placated with sausage and beer. The federal government sent soldiers. It took SO LONG for the soldiers to get here (see sucky roads, above), that everybody had disappeared. So the soldiers didn't have to do much except stand around, but this was proof that the federal government meant what it said, by God, so we should all behave.
The end.
So there was a civil war, though there weren't a lot of casualties, thank goodness. Actually, the Whiskey Rebellion was sort of a model for a tolerable civil war, I'm thinking. Keep it short, keep it simple, keep it fairly safe. Do NOT have massacres. And in the end, since there were soldiers stationed in the county, there was a Sudden Cash Flow, and everybody could pay the taxes. Also, since there were soldiers stationed in the county, the roads got better. This is called Dramatic Irony.
And since you've been so patient, you may now have pictures. Please put down your rubber bands.
Here's the still, which still survives at the Oliver Miller Homestead. There is no whiskey in it. The fire is fake:
And here's a reconstructed federal agent, serving a reconstructed frontier farmer with a reconstructed writ:
And here are the Helpful Neighbors, as reconstructed, carrying guns, and preparing to run off the reconstructed federal agent:
That was the best. Gunshots! Very Exciting! Worth putting your rubber bands down for a while.
And now, over at Bear's Retreat, we'll be observing the heat wave by having Reconstructed Afternoon Naps, which may be observed in the 1790 part of the house, both upstairs and downstairs.
I've wanted to go check out the competition anyway, and since there was going to be a skit performed by volunteer historical reconstructionists, called "Serving the Writ," it was an excellent day to go, pretty much. (Note to self: next time, find historical reconstruction involving air conditioning.)
The Oliver Miller Homestead is a bit older than our house, though the original log house has disappeared into a stone structure. (The fireplace molding is just like some of ours, though, which was very exciting.) Also, it's WAY bigger, having not sold as much of itself off and torn down most of its outbuildings. And having reconstructed a bunch of damn stuff. I'm especially jealous of the beehive oven. I think that Sam, as Steward of Bear's Retreat, could DEFINITELY build one. When, you know, he's not, like, mowing the interminable lawns.
The skit was short; the historical explanation was long. As a group of historians, we are capable of sitting through LOTS of history, though the child eventually resorted to killing ants with a rubber band. (Where the hell did that rubber band come from?)
But I will be brief, in case you have no rubber bands and ants to hand:
The Whiskey Rebellion, 1791-1794
(as told by Anne, the Stewardess of Bear's Retreat, within the living room of which she believes the Rebellion was discussed, though there's no historical evidence of this so don't bother looking)
Back when Our Federal Government was very young, it discovered it needed a bunch of money, on account of having gotten terribly into debt whilst winning freedom from the imperialist teadrinkers. So it created a bunch of taxes, one of which was the tax on whiskey. Now, this was a problem for the farmers out in Western Pennsylvania, which was at that time The Western Frontier, cause whiskey was what they were shipping back to the Eastern Cities. Why was this, you ask, briefly putting down your rubber band and ceasing to molest the ants? Well, I'll tell you. It was cause 1) the Eastern Cities didn't need wheat and rye; 2) the Eastern Cities needed a lot of whiskey; 3) grain, turned into whiskey, was WAY more profitable than grain in its unadulterated state, and 4) grain, turned into whiskey, was WAY more transportable than grain in its unadulterated state, and since the roads sucked, this was an Issue.
Shall we have a new paragraph? Why not. Ok. So the local farmers needed to sell whiskey, and they were opposed to paying taxes on it. Why? Because 1) they operated in a barter economy, unlike the denizens of the Eastern Cities, and did not have cash to hand, and 2) as far as they could tell the federal government wasn't doing anything for them, such as keeping them safe from the local native population, which was, understandably, annoyed by their presence, but that's a whole nother story, or, indeed, making the roads passable.
So. The farmers didn't pay the tax. They were told they had to pay the tax. They didn't pay the tax. Tax collectors appeared. The farmers did Bad Things to them. The farmers were served with writs. They ignored them.
The farmers marched on Pittsburgh in order to burn it down, but were met by the citizens of Pittsburgh, who had set out tables of food and drink. The farmers burnt down one barn, after, I guess, having been placated with sausage and beer. The federal government sent soldiers. It took SO LONG for the soldiers to get here (see sucky roads, above), that everybody had disappeared. So the soldiers didn't have to do much except stand around, but this was proof that the federal government meant what it said, by God, so we should all behave.
The end.
So there was a civil war, though there weren't a lot of casualties, thank goodness. Actually, the Whiskey Rebellion was sort of a model for a tolerable civil war, I'm thinking. Keep it short, keep it simple, keep it fairly safe. Do NOT have massacres. And in the end, since there were soldiers stationed in the county, there was a Sudden Cash Flow, and everybody could pay the taxes. Also, since there were soldiers stationed in the county, the roads got better. This is called Dramatic Irony.
And since you've been so patient, you may now have pictures. Please put down your rubber bands.
Here's the still, which still survives at the Oliver Miller Homestead. There is no whiskey in it. The fire is fake:
And here's a reconstructed federal agent, serving a reconstructed frontier farmer with a reconstructed writ:
And here are the Helpful Neighbors, as reconstructed, carrying guns, and preparing to run off the reconstructed federal agent:
That was the best. Gunshots! Very Exciting! Worth putting your rubber bands down for a while.
And now, over at Bear's Retreat, we'll be observing the heat wave by having Reconstructed Afternoon Naps, which may be observed in the 1790 part of the house, both upstairs and downstairs.
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