Day 5 of our Cape Cod vacation found us driving to the Outer Cape. About as out as you can get and still be on the Cape actually…
Provincetown.
Or P’town as it’s known to the locals.
I’ve heard it’s the place to be in the summer, but it was November and the wall to wall tourists were long gone. Sadly, so was most of the fun as many places were closed for the season. But we managed to have a good time all the same.
As you draw near, you realize it’s unlike other sections of the Cape.
John F. Kennedy designated a National Seashore here…
And there are miles upon miles of unspoiled beach.
As well as some pretty impressive sand dunes along the road.
But it was cool, foggy and threatening rain so we kept driving… keeping an eye out for this:
Thankfully it’s hard to miss on the skyline. Wanting to climb to the top for the fabulous views, I was unaware of the museum at it’s base.
Never one to pass up a museum, we began strolling.
The first thing you notice? Pilgrims.
And Pilgrim history. Figuring it was because they landed up the coast at Plymouth… I had to admit I was shocked.
Whaaaat? You mean my grade school teachers got it wrong…
And I went all the way to Plymouth to photograph a rock for nothing! Yes ladies and gentlemen, the Pilgrims landed in P’town first. And believe me when I say they take that fact very seriously at the museum.
But it wasn’t all Pilgrims.
The building was filled with maritime history…
And a musk ox, like any good museum should be.
There were recreations of a Captain’s ship board quarters…
Which aside from the chamber pot, looked pretty comfy.
As well as his home on land.
There was an antique fire engine…
And a wreath made of human hair.
Because who doesn’t want one of those hanging on their living room wall?
There were maps of the Cape..
With questionable artwork.
Is it me, or is that Griffon in dire need of a Jane Russell 18 hour bra?
There was some Arctic expedition fashion…
Shoes!
Even a rooster hat…
And a couple of local celebs who clearly knew how to have a good time.
Yes, there was a Mayflower replica…
But it was the antique doll collection that made me want to run screaming from the room.
Holy Hell, those things are creepy.
I mean, come on…
You know this one will be feasting on your flesh long before you’re dead.
A full day of resort hopping on day 7 made us hungry so we stopped at an inn near our resort that had a well recommended British pub/restaurant.
The Jolly Drayman seemed inviting enough.
And though it was a very small place with limited seating…
I was willing to like it.
It’s a shame I couldn’t.
What English pub worth it’s salt only has 1 British beer on tap? Where was the Harp? The Smithwicks? The Old Speckled Hen? Yes, there was Guinness thank God….
But Pabst Blue Ribbon? Come on!
It went downhill from there.
A limited menu.
A disinterested, unfriendly server.
Uncomfortable seats.
And the worst beef Wellington I’ve ever had.
The husband had a not nearly hot enough beef stew ( with mashed potatoes?)Â that must have weighed 12 pounds…Â served in a fish bowl.
Framed fart humor not withstanding….
I wouldn’t go back.
Day 8…. the departure.
One more breakfast under the canoe.
And beside the twig lights.
We checked out and said goodbye to the dangerous looking ski motif rocking chairs…
And laughed at the resort’s wedding advertisement for the last time.
Heck, that’s as good a reason as any… right?
Through one more covered bridge…
And because you know my husband can’t drive past an antique store.
Funny part is, I went outside to wait for him because the owner was a crotchety old man I didn’t like the look of.
A few minutes later the husband comes out and I can hear that old man screeching his lungs out like a lunatic, cursing my husband from here to next Sunday.
Apparently husband had the audacity to take an old magazine out of it’s plastic sleeve and flip through it. Guess that’s a no no in the mountains.
Anyway, vacation over.
Home safe and sound with…. how shall we say?
Some coffee and a few beauty products for my cabinets.
Hey, if they’re going to charge an extra $25 resort fee per day for that lousy condo?
I’m going to fill my suitcase on the way out.
The end.
(You may now officially breathe that sigh of relief you’ve been holding.)
So we’ve established my husband is a collector of vast piles of junk, boatloads of crap, too much rusty old stuff, some eclectic treasure.
Lots of people know this, and think being an antique expert goes hand in hand.
They constantly give him items and want a full history, description of use, plus what it’s worth.
Problem is….. more often than not he has no frickin’ clue.
Which is when he hands it off to me.
I research, investigate, and compare so he can go back and look knowledgeable. Which leads to more people giving him more items to identify. It’s a vicious circle.
*Note to self – stop researching, investigating and comparing*
Last month he came home with two items that were beyond even my scope of reference.
Supposed Native American artifacts.
A medicine man’s turtle shell rattle…
And a warrior’s breastplate.
I admit, even I was clueless here.
His friend gave him some accompanying paperwork that was, to say the least….. a wee bit strange. It was a statement from a man named Silver Wolf who said he saw the items at an antique show 10 years ago and was then visited in his dreams by the original owner Red Hawk, who lived in the late 1700’s.
Okaaay.
A man named Ernie then purchased the rattle, and took it to a Pow Wow to “awaken it”. A red tail hawk flew overhead during the ceremony and apparently that was the spirit of the original owner.
Okaaay.
Later, a chief said the rattle had a person named Many Eyes bound inside of it and the spirit needed to be set free.
So, yeah.
How the hell do you research that?
I tried. And the closest I came was this:
Pretty damn close. (Red tailed hawk and trapped spirit not withstanding.)
As for breastplates? They’re everywhere… in hundreds of designs, made with multiple materials, some old, some new and I have no utter clue how to differentiate.
So I went to the Maine State Museum….
Where no one had a clue either.
But they gave me the name and email address of a supposed expert…. so I contacted her and sent photos.
This was her response:
Boy. I’m not the expert, At All. The breast plate looks modern to me, but don’t take my word for it! And I have never seen a rattle like that so I really can’t judge. It could be Plains, but equally, could be new. It looks dirty, as opposed to worn, which sets off alarms for me.Â
That said, I am NOT that versed. If you want to talk to someone who is, my ex-husband is very knowledgable.
Best of luck in your search!
And thank you for thinking of the Maine State Museum.
So after wasting more time than I thought possible on this, I was done.
I passed along what I learned to the husband to give to his friend, with the expert’s ex husband’s phone number, and called it a day.
The next morning after having breakfast with his friend? The husband came back with the items and said his friend wanted me to sell them for him.
What???
No!!
Personally… if the items are real Native American artifacts? I’d give them back to the tribe of origin, or at the very least a museum. So much Native culture has been bought and sold over the years, I felt bad even having them at our house.
And if they’re reproductions? You wouldn’t get any serious money for them so why bother.
This is what happens when your husband can’t tell his friend no.
It’s a simple process…. and one I need him to learn.
