"If you are not involved in government," says a member of Virginia's "Independence Delegation," then "you get the government you deserve." Hear, hear.
Political parties? No need for them either. One more thing: for your safety and protection, don't get Patrick Henry started about Baptists.
The town wigmaker unveils a new style: the 18th Century glam-rock look. Actually, it's the beginning of a judge's wig. The rolls of curls will come later.
They're beautiful, hand-made and oh, so expensive. A shopkeeper tells me the last full wig they sold went for $6,000.
I asked about a queue, a ponytail clip-on. Those go for $450, depending on style. For those prices, I'll stick with Yankee thrift and the slow-growing locks in the back of my head.
Benedict Arnold -- boo, hiss, hiss -- takes Williamsburg for the redcoats. Funny how he doesn't seem to notice your humble servant in front of him with a Continental Army uniform.
"I would cover that up," a lady interpreter says to me, in character.
"But I am a patriot," I protest in character.
"He's all right," another interpreter acts to her. "He's got his parole card on." That's my Colonial Williamsburg ticket, I gather.
"I would still cover it up."
Not on your life. I'm having too much fun being mistaken for one of the interpreters. Several people ask for directions. I'm traversing the historic area alongside another family I know, and we all are asked to stop and pose every so often in our period attire.
"There is no such thing as good government," our Capitol Building interpreter says, and a monarchy is absolute tyranny. It's just not in our human nature to behave or look after ourselves the right way. That's why we need more than one house and one branch, he says in the apropos location of the "Compromise Room." This is where Virginia's two lawmaking houses hashed out differences in bills passed before sending them to the king. Sound familiar?
We the jury, deciding the fate of accused Virginia witch Grace Sherwood. The capitol building serves as our setting for this historical courtroom drama. The case, with its allegations of curses and death, stinks all the way to Salem. The vote is close, but a room full of jurors (most of them too young for real jury duty) convicts her, leaving her open to a death sentence. That's historical showbiz. The reality surrounding the Sherwood case is complicated, as the Colonial Williamsburg interpreters will tell you.
For the record, I voted to acquit.
Afterwards, the family of We Make History enjoys a rollicking evening at Josiah Chowning's tavern, feasting and toasting mint juleps and smiling over the wonderful time-travel vacation we are sharing. It is time to say goodbye to some of our companions as they begin the journey back in time and space to the present day.
"We have invested in people," our leader explains to newfound friends and family, pointing out that many of us didn't know anything about re-enacting before joining with We Make History.
I remember sitting in Chowning's four years ago, during my first night in Williamsburg, laughing and toasting with strangers to period music accented by a rousing fiddle. The previous hours had not encouraged me, as I heard murmurs of a half-empty hotel. But when I wandered into the historic area, when I saw Bruton Parish and the all the restored buildings, and the colonial ladies and gentlemen, I remembered why I came.
Part of me felt like it belonged here, among history, never wanting to change. In the days ahead, my curiosities deepened and my appreciation for the 18th Century deepened. But I would not take the step from observer to re-enactor for another two years, when I found the people who showed me the way.
I walked out of the tavern that first night as a lone but merry patriot, full of anticipation.
Now, a long line of us walk out onto Duke of Gloucester Street, thankful for the time together, strolling into the night as family. Whatever lies ahead of us, we'll always have Chowning's.
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