Category: Local News & Events

Brookfield Citizens Keep News Local

Brookfield is a small town in central Massachusetts nestled along the banks of the Quaboag River. Established in 1660, it was once part of the Quaboag Plantation, an area settled by colonists that migrated inland from the coastal community of Ipswich. Six towns emerged from that settlement including North, East, and West Brookfield, Warren, and New Braintree. Travelers driving on Route 9 from the Berkshires may pass through Brookfield on the way to Boston. Folks could read the news in the local weekly Quaboag Current or Spencer New Leader. However, Brookfield residents have an alternative press in the home-grown monthly “The Brookfield Citizen.” The publisher is APPLE Seed Inc. an acronym for Average People Promoting a Loving Environment. The monthly publication has become part of the fabric of life.

“The Brookfield Citizen” is the result of a community survey conducted by the Congregational Church in 1993. Residents wanted to know what was happening in town. The publication began with the motto: Community Identity through Communication. The Managing Editor is Philip Peirce said he is not a journalist and the 16 page publication is not a newspaper. It’s a journal, a grassroots sharing of information written for people about local events. A way to understand what is going on in the community. Since 1995, a new edition is published monthly. In all 1,700 journals are printed and distributed to 3,390 residents via the local post office and by mail to locations as far away as Scotland and Hawaii. A free copy is available at the Library as well.

The wry Peirce 79, is the second managing editor. He took over the role eight years ago from Ted Davis. Peirce was born in Worcester and graduated from Burncoat High School. Peirce stated he completed the equivalent of a two year Industrial Engineering degree at the former Worcester Junior College. He moved to Brookfield in the early 1990s and became interested in public service after the Board sought volunteers to sit on committees. He responded and became involved in town governance. Peirce has served on the Housing Authority Board, Finance Committee, and as a Selectman. Those five years on the Select Board were marred by a contentious relationship with the Police Chief. A heart attack brought an end to his tenure as Selectman. He is currently on the Board of Assessors and Apple Country Fair Committee.

“The Brookfield Citizen” has a staff of eight regular columnists and contributors. The topics include gardening, hunting, recipes, Selectman’s response, senior news, sports, and news from the Fire Chief, Highway, and Water Departments. The Look Back page features articles from 50 to 100 years ago taken from the archives of the Brookfield Times or Spencer Leader. The current issue even managed to squeeze in a cartoon. The publication is intended to be the “good news of Brookfield” and purposefully keeps the storyline up beat and entertaining. The police logs, obituaries and “hard news” are for the Quaboag Current and Spencer New Leader to cover.

The publication is free to residents. The entire staff are volunteers. The costs are covered by 40 percent advertising revenue, 60 percent donations and grants. Some of the grant funding is from The John Jeppson Memorial Fund for Brookfield administered by The Greater Worcester Community Foundation.

by Frances Ann Wychorski

A Revolutionary War Camp ~ Redcoats and Rebels in Sturbridge MA

The lazy warm fields of the Freeman Farm in Sturbridge MA were transformed on the afternoon of August 3, 2014 into a busy battleground between the Redcoats and the Continental Army of 1776. Some 1,000 men, women and children from Canada to Pennsylvania gathered at the Old Sturbridge Village (OSV), Living History Museum for the largest American Revolutionary War reenactment in the Northeast. This was the 11th annual encampment held at OSV. Long fascinated by the history of Massachusetts Bay Colony, I set this day aside for the event. Here was a chance for acquired knowledge of the Revolution to become visual living knowledge in a unique format. Little did I know how grand and immersing the experience would be. This was my first experience as a spectator in a reenactment camp and sure to not be the last.

OSV is a large, living history museum in Sturbridge MA. This is an entire preserved village from the 1830s. The structures include a Friends Meetinghouse, Parsonage, Towne Bank, Town Pound, Powder house, kiln, Bullard Tavern and more. The herb and kitchen gardens grow native and imported culinary and medicinal herbs of the era. The goats, chickens, sheep and oxen are a vital part of the village and farms. This is life as it was in a quiet town in Massachusetts. The Village spans some 200 acres and offers activities for every member of the family.

I was a staff member at the museum for several years and came to admire the costumed interpreters for their devotion to maintaining old crafts and learning how to live and work within our American history. The Village gardens, houses, barns, mills and walkways became an old friend as I am a great walker and spent many a happy lunch hour strolling along the meadows and lanes. I absorbed a fair amount of knowledge and whimsy about rural 1830s life simply by being there.

Camp

Camp is too small a word to describe the row upon row of neatly pitched tents covering every patch of Village ground. The British camp spread out over the common. I was astonished to find that the women and children of married soldiers, had come along and set up “home” away from home. As I arrived early in the morning, the cook fires were going with familiar fragrances. I stopped by the Towne House and spoke with a women frying doughnuts in a kettle. They were Loyalists from Maine in support of their men in arms. Apparently, it was not uncommon an occurrence and the source of comfort, nourishment and care for the soldier. And, should the soldier happen to die in battle, an opportunity for the widow to move on and remarry another soldier for the support and comfort of a husband and father to her children. There was an army surgeon, dentist and recruitment table for young men in search of adventure. There were drills, arms inspections, talks and even a quiet morning cup of tea.

Fife & Drum

Fife and drum could be heard all the day long throughout the Village in militia units from many New England towns including Stow, MA and Lebanon CT. The British and Rebel camps daily activities are dependent on the drummers cue. The fife, drum and bugle are the “clocks” for the encampment and have a song for everything from wake up to wash, breakfast to battle. Several militia groups seemed to play just for the beauty of the music. The fife held a special significance in the battles and was the signal source for those big guns on the hillside. The sergeant-at-arms assured me that in the pitch and vigor of a roaring artillery barrage, the high tone of the fife could be heard above it all and signaled the unit officers what to do next in the battle.

Soldiers

The Revolution came alive before my eyes. There were scores of men in every type of uniform on both sides moving through the Village. For the British there were Butler’s Rangers, a British Intelligence unit with Indian Scout, the Scottish Highland Regiment, Royal Irish Artillery, etc.

The Rebel or Patriot camp was located at the farther end of the village along the fields and farms of the Bixby and Freeman houses. A tour through the camp demonstrated the remarkable level of detail as to foods, table wear, cook pots, equipment, clothing, tents, weaponry, maps, lanterns and every bit of minutiae that was in use by the Continental Army of the day.

Even a French Regiment from Quebec province and Hessian Mercenaries were in attendance at this gathering of armies along the Quinebaug River.

A participant in these activities typically takes on the persona of a person who did serve in the Revolutionary War. The participant may have an ancestor who fought or kept a diary of activities associated with the time period. The majority of the current militia are formed from local towns. Someone became fascinated by the facts of their townsmen or women long gone, took on their story and made it live again. The person in history is researched and studied than put into action. The people who fought the revolution where everyday folks that found a compelling reason to take up arms against the British Crown. The anecdotal summary is that 1/3 of the population at the time of the war were Loyalists, 1/3 were Patriots and 1/3 were undecided.

Skirmish in the Woods

The hourly events included a skirmish in the lane near the Potter’s shed and kiln at around 11 a.m. As it was my first time at such an encampment it was a bit confusing about what or when it was to happen. I was caught by surprise and found myself at the edge of the skirmish as the Redcoats and Rebels went at it. The ferocity of the musket fire and veil of smoke covered everyone over. Here was a chance to watch men in earnest becoming soldiers of the day. The men are not merely “playing soldier” in an adult manner. They are reliving the steps and activities of our ancestors so that we may know what happened and what it was like to be a Patriot and soldier in the day.

The different styles of fighting was quickly discernible. The Rebels had a pattern of firing in waves with the first row shooting, moving to the back of the line to reload, the next row coming forward to fire and continue this wave as the battle moved on. The Rebels showed a habit of advancing the line with every barrage of musket fire. They steadily pushed at the British line creating momentum. Both sides held firm their ranks. The soldiers were shoulder to shoulder and did not break the lines despite the heavy gunfire all around. There was a moment of surprise as a Rebel unit came running up out of the woods behind the British line. They started firing into their backs and pinned the British forces to their position. They could not move but had to stand there and take the fire. This was deadly serious and gave me pause to understand how the war was fought. Because of the range of the muskets firing power, soldiers needed to be in close proximity to have any hope of striking their target. They were so close they could, pardon the cliché, see the whites of their eyes. At some point, the skirmish ended after about twenty minutes and both sides relinquished the fight.

The day went on with Artillery Fire (cannon), Musket Drills, and even a Sabers on Horseback demonstrations. On the lighter side there was Morning Service in the Meetinghouse, Camp Tours, Laundry duty, and even an 18th Century Social Dance.

Patriots Face Off Against the Redcoats

The early afternoon brought the event of the day with a fully engaged battle between the two camps. I fell in line behind the squadron of French soldiers as they marched out of the town and into the fields. After a lengthy tactical discussion, each unit set out to take up positions to fight the British. The battle began with an exchange of cannon fire on both sides. The open fields are bordered by forest and out of the woods came several units of Patriots forming a half-moon shaped arc of fighters around the British forces out in the open.

Once again, the style of fighting was distinct. The French fought hard with constant gunfire into the British line. As needs to be remembered, the Patriot forces are largely a self-taught militia lacking the discipline and precision of organized battle. They fought in the way that gave each man the least amount of exposure to enemy fire and allowed no pause in the action. The French forces stood out in contrast as being well seasoned professional soldiers. Viva La France. There was a distracting element to the combat as the British had to look in several directions at once to meet on-coming enemy fire. The Patriot forces came on in that wave formation of fire and fall back along the lane into the field proper. They fired, and fired until a blanket of gun smoke-filled the air. The cannons on both sides kept up a steady rain of artillery. What a scene! This went on and on for about a half hour. The tactic of advance and advance by the foot against the immobile British units was in action. To their credit, the British did not step back or give any ground.

At one point in the battle, both armies were in a long line firing directly at each other. Several British forces fell and fell some more. There were men on horseback, snipers in the woods, and cannons rolled deeper into the battle. A British officer with a plumed hat took that off and waved. This was taken to mean stop firing, we give this time.

The ammunition, of course were blanks, no rounds were in the carbines or canons. The fields were littered with gunpowder packets from each shot. At no time did the call to fix bayonets go out. There was no hand to hand combat on the field. However, the movement and energy of the battle was fascinating. The element of fear was not present as it is a mock battle. The action was authentic and carried out with precision on both sides. There were hundreds of fighters on both sides. Spectators watched from the hillsides around the fields and were very close to the action. We could see the battle and sometimes wonder which way things would turn. The outcome is obvious but authentically presented.

Uncommon Courage

The encampment was a two (2) day event with evening activities as well. Time and opportunity restricted my visit to Sunday. The next experience will be much longer and more time spent talking to the participants and observing day-to-day life in a Revolutionary War Camp. I have little doubt that my fascination for the experience will turn from watcher to participant in the near future. I hail from Worcester and live in a small rural town that is thick with histories from both the French & Indian as well as Revolutionary War. There are plenty of local heroes small and large who are remembered to this day. Their bodies may have gone to rest, but the spirit of their courage has not been diminished with the years.

I came away with a sense of taking a great leap forward in acquired knowledge. Yes, the high school and colleges professors teach American history. Yes, we can visit Lexington and Concord to see Minutemen Park and the Old North Bridge. Yes, we can read and imagine the events of the Revolution. But, the participants to a person had more common and anecdotal knowledge of this time in American History. It’s one thing to have the facts, it’s yet another to act on them. The authenticity of clothing, weaponry and life style came through in each participant. These are modern-day Patriots. The Patriots of the day displayed uncommon courage and faith in what they took on. They believe in what they are doing and each other. The camaraderie amongst the troops and confidence of heart carried the day. For the short span of time I was with them it was a privilege to walk along side.

@FrancesWychorski2014

A Visit to the Old Manse ~ Concord MA

The Day I Became an American

The definition of what it meant to be an American was a point of confusion as I was growing up. As a nation of immigrants, the majority of us can trace ancestry to a distant shore. The Native Americans may have a wholly different understanding of immigration with the disastrous outcome for an entire race of people. Newly arrived immigrants come here for the hope of a better life while coming to terms with what has been left behind. Truly, some may spend the remainder of their lives with a foot in both worlds. Immigrants as well as second, third and fourth generation Americans often apply a label to their identity in order to establish roots of ancestry. This is an important factor in socialization. Having been raised in a 2nd generation home, I can identify by association of place to being an American confused along with a thread of connection to the founding ancestry.

This article is about awakening and grounding into what it means to understand I am an American. Everything changed the day I read Nathanial Hawthorne’s Introduction to “Mosses from an Old Manse”, “The Author Makes the Reader Acquainted with His Abode”. A Collection of Short Stories published in 1846. It might have been the first time words on paper made such an impression. He spoke directly me in a prose of such beauty and depth that I melted into it. His presence come up off the page and spoke as if to me. He took me literally into his heart, home and to that place, our most sacred ground, where I became a full-blooded American.

Identity Obscured

I was born in the United States and have not moved too far from my home base of Massachusetts (MA). I am a 2nd generation American whose ancestors left Eastern Europe at the turn of the last century. My grandparents came here born out of a desire for adventure and change. Tired of living in a country that often times felt the boot of invaders trampling on to glory, they came to America for a better life.

I am from Worcester, MA. A place named for the sister city of Worcester, England and a Commonwealth named for the tribe that once lived here. We are descendant of British settlers landing at Plymouth in 1620. We keep the name of the original inhabitants alive. Really, it is difficult to not notice the pairing of English and Native American names side by side. In my area alone we have Quaboag, Podunk, Tantasqua, Wickaboag, Nipmuc, Hammonasset, Quinsigamond, etc… A foot in two worlds. Worcester was a manufacturing city and is notable for the inventiveness of Robert Goddard, anti-establishment rhetoric of Abby Hoffman and the Houdini of the Hardwood, Boston Celtic player Bob Cousy. I lived in a house with a small yard surrounded by smoking traffic, three decker’s and bustling immigrants. Worcester is known to be a gateway city. If there are people on the move, they may come here.

Worcester is a city of seven hills. The neighborhood I came from is referred to as Vernon Hill. In its day, the area was notable for its Americans descended from Polish and Lithuania immigrants. The foundation of the community is the Lady of Czestochowa Catholic Church. The imagery of Mary is strikingly different from the anglicized version. There are many legends associated with this portrait. She is a woman of beauty, youth, wealth and power. There is nothing passive about her. She would not be burned or lost to nonbelievers. A hint to the reader of how strong the identity to the motherland still is can be conveyed simply. In attendance at a funeral in this old church in 2013, in the vestry hangs a picture of Pope John Paul II. He died in 2005. He has been replaced by two (2) popes. Yet, this church still honors his ancestry and identifies with him through it. This is how strong the confusion can be to place of identity. The faith is based in a foreign church, not the American Catholic Church, but that of Poland.

The local markets cater to ethnic tastes. Worcester boasts several authentic markets well worth shopping in for Vietnamese, India, Mediterranean and Italian goods. The identity with where the ancestors came from is strong. I had early learning in Polish language and can still read a little. Apparently, I still speak with a slight accent as two people I recently met from Russia asked, where was I from? Rather than, you are an American. I was tied to Poland by my relatives, neighborhood, church and people around me. We all lived in this confusing place where identity to the old country came first often.

The Old Manse ~ The Author Makes the Reader Acquainted with His Abode

This may sound odd, but I did not realize I was an American first until my mid-thirties. I became fascinated with the writer, Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804 – 1864) formerly of Salem MA. He is a notable classic short story writer from the Transcendental Period (1820-1830) in American literature and famous for many writings including “House of Seven Gables”, “Rappuccini’s Daughter” and “The Scarlett Letter”. Based on reading his, “The Author Makes the Reader Acquainted with His Abode,” and particularly this

“The glimmering shadows, that lay half-asleep between the door of the house and the public highway, were a kind of spiritual medium, seen through which, the edifice had not quite the aspect of belonging to this material world.”

I have never recovered from this sentence. He is describing the space between the street and front door of the old house. One does not simply walk to the front door, one passes through the veil between the worlds along the way. Hawthorne had a genius with lyrical prose. As a writer, he had a sensual, enveloping style of storytelling that wrapped the reader into his world and that of his characters.

He is my knight. And, I paid my respects. I visited the Old Manse in Concord MA within only a few days of reading this text. The beginnings of the War of Independence are visible from the backyard. There I was standing on the bridge and reading the plaque stating the significance of what happened here so many years ago. Standing on the battlefield, it seems outrageous that folks could have formed the notion of living without foreign rule and acted on it. The rebellion does seem to have been an extraordinary occurrence in the history of civilization. The fact that it succeeded is even more astonishing. There is a spirit about Concord that I found enlivening. The energy of independence is in the air. Here I realized I was a citizen of this nation and proud of it.

My parents and the community passed on a strange awareness of being here but from somewhere else. Because I was surrounded by other people who thought the same, I didn’t understand that I was leading a confusing existence until Concord. I lacked a personal connection with America as an American until that moment. Odd too, that I loved the Red Sox and spent many a happy hour at Fenway Park. I love the Boston Pops and have attended the July 4th celebration on the Charles River in Boston. Yet, I was confused by my allegiance. The sense of release from past prejudice has been a blessing.

Here is the description of the battlefield from Hawthorne, it lays only feet away from the Old Manse.

“Come; we have pursued a somewhat devious track, in our walk to the battle-ground. Here we are, at the point where the river was crossed by the old bridge, the possession of which was the immediate object of the contest. On the hither side, grow two or three elms, throwing a wide circumference of shade, but which must have been planted at some period within the threescore years and ten, that have passed since the battle-day. On the farther shore, overhung by a clump of elder-bushes, we discern the stone abutment of the bridge. Looking down into the river, I once discovered some heavy fragments of the timbers, all green with half-a-century’s growth of water-moss; for, during that length of time, the tramp of horses and human footsteps have ceased, along this ancient highway. The stream has here about the breadth of twenty strokes of a swimmer’s arm; a space not too wide, when the bullets were whistling across. Old people, who dwell hereabouts, will point out the very spots, on the western bank, where our countrymen fell down and died; and, on this side of the river, an obelisk of granite has grown up from the soil that was fertilized with British blood. The monument, not more than twenty feet in height, is such as it befitted the inhabitants of a village to erect, in illustration of a matter of local interest, rather than what was suitable to commemorate an epoch of national history. Still, by the fathers of the village this famous deed was done; and their descendants might rightfully claim the privilege of building a memorial.

A humbler token of the fight, yet a more interesting one than the granite obelisk, may be seen close under the stonewall, which separates the battle-ground from the precincts of the parsonage. It is the grave–marked by a small, moss-grown fragment of stone at the head, and another at the foot–the grave of two British soldiers, who were slain in the skirmish, and have ever since slept peacefully where Zechariah Brown and Thomas Davis buried them. Soon was their warfare ended;–a weary night-march from Boston–a rattling volley of musketry across the river;–and then these many years of rest! In the long procession of slain invaders, who passed into eternity from the battle-fields of the Revolution, these two nameless soldiers led the way.”

These are my stories of old. I am of this heritage and while I may carry remnants of the old world in my name and manner, I honor that past, but prefer to live in this present at home. In this, the only home I’ve ever known.