On Saturday I headed 'home' to Carlisle, PA, where I was born. There, our family's dear friends the Berkheimers, were my host for the next two days and gave me a great tour. Our first stop was to see a tribute to Molly Pitcher, who was given that name as she had pitchers of water ready and waiting for the soldiers in the Revolutionary War.
We went by the boarding school site used to assimilate Native American with the mainstream; the idea that this might actually work (or that the Native Americans would actually want to leave their homes and families to become assimilated) is astonishing.
Marjorie was kind enough to take me back to the Carlisle Hospital where I was born. The unfortunate thing was that the hospital was torn down a number of years ago and now there are residents where it once stood. I am standing where perhaps the maternity ward may have been?
Saturday afternoon we went to Meadowbrooke Gourds on Potato Road (there used to be a big potato farm there).
I forget what this contraption is called but its a big dust sucker for the shaving from the intricate design work.