My folks are pretty rad people, but hey, I’m probably biased. Over the years, they’ve done zillions of projects, gigs, jobs and even had careers.
In a magical, fanciful time called the nineties, my mom took an “interpreter” position at a nearby historical location.
What the heck is that? You might be asking yourself.
If you visited Plimouth Plantation or Old Sturbridge Village for a field trip, like many a young school child in the Commonwealth have at least once, you encountered interpreters. They’re the people who dress weird, talk weird and churn butter. Those folks.
I’m messin’ around.
Interpreters are super interesting people. They are historians, artists, craftsmen, educators and/or just enthusiastic about our country’s heritage and want to share it with others.
Anyway, enough of the background. So, Mom was pretty well connected with the folks-who-dress-from-a-few-hundred-years-ago community, right?
Naturally, when someone decided to shoot an low budget film the area about John Muir, mom got a tap on the shoulder.
“Could you be an extra?” As, I fictitiously imagine the casting person asked.
“Late 19th century? Please… I survived the massacre of 1704 and I’ve never even been to Canada!” My mom fictitiously responded.
(these jokes… these jokes are getting really bad, anyway)
Next thing child me knows, I’m standing next to my brother wearing weird clothes in the basement of an old building filled with a bunch of other people wearing weird clothes and my mom is talking like she doesn’t even know me.
Frankly, I was confused
One Reply to “Hiking with John Muir”