Daggett Farmhouse in Greenfield Village. / THF175173
Samuel and Anna Daggett and their children, like other farm families living in northeastern Connecticut in the 1760s, made careful preparations to get through the winter. Food was a year-round concern and a top priority, especially in the fall, as the family preserved a supply of meat, harvested crops and took special care to prepare and store fruits and vegetables to last the colder months.
The Daggetts kept pumpkins and other winter squash in their house cellar or attic to prevent freezing. They stored a variety of hardy root vegetables in an outdoor root cellar — essentially a stone-lined pit dug into the earth, preferably into a small hillside, and lined with stones for additional insulation and cleaner storage. A wooden cover or door lined with straw provided access throughout the winter. In addition to turnips, potatoes, beets and similar vegetables, the Daggett family stored cabbages — pulled roots and all — in the root cellar. They left other root vegetables, like parsnips and salsify, in the frozen ground of the garden and dug them out as needed.
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Background shows a sneak peek of the conservation treatment of Gen. Ulysses S. Grant’s desk. / Image of Grant writing his memoirs in July 1885 courtesy of the Library of Congress.
The Henry Ford has quite a collection of objects used by historical figures on display. There are many more gems safeguarded in storage with equally fascinating stories. One such piece is Army General and 18th U.S. President Ulysses S. Grant’s secretary desk. Henry Ford was interested in collecting items tied to people he admired. That is why he purchased Grant’s desk from renowned antique dealer Israel Sack of Boston, Massachusetts, in 1930. The desk had passed down through the family of Grant’s wife, Julia, before making its way to the former president. Grant used this desk while writing his “Personal Memoirs” in 1884 and 1885. Recently, the desk has made its way to the museum’s conservation lab for a bit of TLC and a taste of the limelight.
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Sally Ann Firestone with her grandchildren at their farmhouse in Columbiana County, Ohio, circa 1876. / THF115221
How should we answer the question, “Did women do farmwork?” In the time periods and regions interpreted at the working farms of Greenfield Village — here we examine the Daggett, Firestone and Mattox family farms — men typically worked in the fields and barnyards, and women worked in and around the farmhouse. (This contrasted markedly with Indigenous American and African cultures that operated with a matrilineal worldview and in which women had authority over farm work. Women in these cultures worked fields and processed, preserved and stored food.) Because of this gendered division, some argue that only men truly did farmwork. However, farmwork ebbed and flowed between fields and barnyards and the farmhouse. In the farmhouse and surrounding yard, women nursed orphaned livestock, started seeds, preserved food, discussed farmwork and market strategies, and prepared meals three times every day to maintain their family’s health. Everyone did farmwork, and no one found relief from it.
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Mattox Family Home in Greenfield Village, 1991. / THF250591
Starting in the Reconstruction Era, multiple generations of the Mattox family would live in the Mattox Family Home, a farmhouse located in Bryan County, Georgia. At a time and place when African American land ownership was rare, the Mattox family was able to farm their own land into the 1930s when the family was led by Amos and Grace Mattox. Grace Mattox’s story gives us a unique glimpse into what labor looks like for an African American woman and her family just one generation removed from slavery.
To be an African American woman working in agriculture, to tend a crop or to look after livestock was not new — the labor of entire African American families was used for generations by plantation owners looking to get wealthy from cash crops. Looking at Grace Mattox’s life, we can see what farming looked like without that layer of economic exploitation. What did farming mean for an African-American family that owned their own land instead of sharecropping? Or who farmed to put food on the table rather than to turn a profit? What changes when the person doing the farming gets to benefit from their own labor?
Continue ReadingMourning takes many forms. But can it ever be joyful? For celebrants of the holiday Día de Muertos, the answer is yes.
Día de Muertos, also known as Día de los Muertos or Day of the Dead, traces its roots back to the celebrations of pre-Hispanic Indigenous Mexicans, in particular the Mexica/Mexihcah (Aztecs). For them, death was considered an important part of the cycle of balance, and they practiced rituals to both prepare the recently deceased for the afterlife, and to honor those already departed. One such ritual was a two-month-long feast in late summer celebrating the dead; the first month was dedicated to honoring children, and the second to adults.
When the Spanish arrived in Mexico, they sought to drive out the old traditions, establishing mandatory church burials, abolishing certain mourning and funerary rites, enacting a grave tax, and banning feasting during burials, funerals, or on “Days of the Dead.” These traditions persisted, however, and eventually melded with the Catholic influence of the Spanish, who celebrated All Saints Day and All Souls Day, to create Día de Muertos.
Continue ReadingThrough determination and resourcefulness, Mary Judge stood out from the other hucksters at Detroit’s Central Market in the latter half of the 19th century. Poor, single and an immigrant, Judge managed to make a living — and a name for herself — at a time when such women seldom gained financial independence.
Born in Sligo County, Ireland, around 1825, Judge emigrated with her parents as a baby, settled in Quebec, received her education at a convent and became a nun. Judge left her order but remained a devout Catholic. When and how she came to the Midwest remains unclear, but a Detroit-based relative of her legal guardian helped set her up as a huckster at the vegetable building at Central Market, the city’s bustling agricultural marketplace, by 1863.
The vegetable building at Detroit Central Market, 1884. / THF139107
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Detroit. What comes to mind when you think about Detroit? Cars. Motown, of course! Labor unions. All these make sense, but do you also think of Nelson Mandela? Probably not. And United Auto Workers (UAW) support of Mandela? It probably never even crosses your mind. For most people, the first and frequently only thought that comes to mind is apartheid and Mandela's fight to stop the practice in South Africa.
Mandela was a union man. When he was president of South Africa (1994-1999), he declared, "The kind of democracy that we all seek to build demands that we deepen and broaden the rights of all citizens. This includes a culture of workers’ rights." He understood the importance of unions and the rights of workers. He knew that the organization of workers was vital to having a free and just society.
Button welcoming Nelson Mandela to Detroit on his 1990 Freedom Tour. / THF196997
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Ford Model A cars were easy to find at Old Car Festival, but our spotlight this year fell on Indiana-based automakers. / Photo by Matt Anderson
Auto enthusiasts, bicyclists and folks just looking for a little fun descended on Greenfield Village over the September 9-10 weekend as we celebrated our 2023 Old Car Festival. More than 600 vintage automobiles and some 250 bicycles — none dating more recently than 1932 — participated in this beloved late-summer tradition.
Each year at the show, we spotlight a special theme. Generally, it’s a particular make or model or a specific style of automobile. (Last year, for example, we featured early American luxury cars.) For 2023, we went in a different direction, instead focusing our spotlight on a state. Our “Indiana Autos” theme allowed us to honor the many marques of the Hoosier State. More than 400 distinct automobile brands called Indiana home at one time or another, and the state’s automotive industry was second only to Michigan’s in its size and significance. From premium luxury vehicles to the greatest spectacle in racing, our Indiana neighbors had it all.
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Detroit Central Market vegetable shed in Greenfield Village, 2022. / THF190482
Cities like Detroit built public markets where growers, fish mongers, vendors and peddlers sold directly to customers. People of all ages, many nationalities and various occupations crossed paths in these spaces. Vendors paid rent and tried to outdo each other with their vegetables, fruits, flowers and other wares. Some hawked their services as chimney sweeps or day laborers. Customers, attracted by the variety, stayed for entertainment.
Detroit's original city hall building with market sheds behind, 1861-1871. / Detail, THF623873
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Milk cans are visible on the carts at center in this view of the Leslie, Michigan, railroad depot in 1910. / THF204974
Many Americans consider milk an essential part of daily life. For more than a century, milk’s production has followed the same basic pattern. Raw milk is gathered at dairy farms, it’s taken to processors for pasteurization and bottling, and then it’s distributed to consumers. But milk is a perishable product that spoils quickly. In the 19th century, transporting raw milk from countryside farms to urban processors was a task beyond the limited range and speed of horse-drawn vehicles. Railroads rose to the challenge and developed a steady business moving milk.
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