Of Redcoats and butterflies

Marching in the militia

We figured we had wreaked enough havoc around our usual stomping grounds, so we departed for an educational field trip to Colonial Williamsburg (CW Homeschool Days = Really Cheap Tickets). We'd been studying the founding of our country, so the kids knew all about George Washington, candle-making and the fact that the colonists used chamber pots. CW, then, was the perfect cap to this unit. Plus, it was cheaper than Disney (where Pocahontas has dual citizenship... very confusing to a five-year-old. "If Pocahontas is dead, how is she in Disney?").

The four-hour drive was easy (thanks to copious amounts of unhealthy snacks and a portable DVD player). Once we arrived, Duke of Gloucester Street was full of moms and dads with approximately 7.2 children each, all in colonial costume. So, wanting our children to fit in with the other nerds, one of our first stops was to buy a colonial bonnet for MM. She wore it to bed that night, too, and wore it so much that we stopped noticing she had it on... until several strange glances at rest stops on the way home ("She's Amish! Stop staring!").

Modern discipline was no longer working

Then, since every good little colonial boy needs a gun, we bought one for V-Man. Not just a wimpy little pistol, either. A rifle (or musket, I still don't know the difference) as big as he is. He promptly picked off a family of Japanese tourists (Welcome to America, folks!), at which point Daddy had a little talk with him about only shooting redcoats. And who should walk by right then but a preschool teacher herding a militia of three-year-olds... and wearing a bright red coat. "Bang! You dead, redcoat lady."

We'll be getting him an NRA membership for his birthday.

We had dinner at the Kings Arms tavern both nights, where none of the kids would try the "game pye" -- venison, rabbit and a few other small furry creatures. In fact, later on at Jamestown, the little boy who had no trouble aimng at anything that moved grew gravely concerned at the Indian campsite where there was an overload of hanging animal skins, asking every Indian he could find, "Do you hurt butterflies?"

At Jamestown where it all began

Indians definitely do not wear butterfly skins, by the way.

Also at Jamestown was the rebuilt ship Susan Constant, which the first colonists arrived on from England. I do feel the need to point out, after a day of indoctrination, that the Jamestown settlers beat the Plymouth Rock Pilgrims by some thirty years. And their life was ROUGH. They arrived during the worst drought in 700 years, and even the Indians were hurting on the food front, so they were hardly interested in trading food with the settlers. Of the 100-some original settlers, only 38 were left by spring, most having died from starvation. They even ate their horses and dogs (but not any butterflies).

Someday this photo will embarrass him.

We also -- this is one of those actions that will quickly inspire us to ask ourselves, "What we were thinking?" -- bought the kids a drum and a tin whistle. One of the trip's highlights was the Friday night drum & fife parade through Colonial Williamsburg, where all the redcoat soldiers marched in formation to the armory and then fired muskets and a cannon. Our little soldier was right there with them, tapping his drumsticks and asking, "Are they redcoats? Should I shoot them?" And MM, terrified though she was of the cannon, stayed right up front and watched. Bravery on all fronts.


Ask MM, though, and she'll tell you her favorite part was the horse-drawn carriage ride through town. That was very cool; we were transformed from part of the plebeian masses into the landed gentry elite. Perhaps that was our fifteen minutes of fame.  

We're home now, and everyone is back in their own beds, and V-Man has his gun and tri-corner hat in a very special place but takes them out every few minutes to hunt for redcoats (Note to son: The dog is NOT a redcoat). I woke up around 5 a.m. to his tinny little voice calling out in his sleep, "Mommy? I have a question. Do I need to shoot the redcoats?"

Yes, son, you do. But not the butterflies.