History, with Hedgehogs: the Benjamin Patterson Inn

While much is made of the fascinating history of eastern New York State, there truly isn't a square mile here that isn't rich with tales, legends, stories, and established history.  This land has hosted humans because it is both fertile and beautiful -- that combination that lends itself to the best and worst in human nature.

The Benjamin Patterson Inn of Corning, NY, is a prime example of this phenomenon.  In the years following the American Revolution, there was a push to claim all the land in New York for the white folk.  As the armies marched through Western New York, on beyond Elmira and Big Flats and Horseheads, the land was rich with fruit trees, food crops, and grazing land.  The first thing the soldiers did was destroy all of that.  The second thing they did was to return to the scene of that crime and take ownership of that very land.  Benjamin Patterson was one such soldier, and he and his wife established the Patterson Inn, in 1796.  The Inn still stands today, though it has become a living history site where other buildings of similar age have been rescued and clustered with it on the property.

The Historical Society has posted some lovely photos of various outbuildings and gardens that were not open when we visited in early 2007, so please do follow the links to see the things we missed. 

When we visited, there was an upstairs area set aside for musicians, which we later occupied and filled with our own songs. 






Right next to that area was a full-sized loom, operated by a gentleman dressed in garments he had made for himself.  He was happy to explain his weaving processes to all his visitors, but it was a complicated enough process that few were brave enough to "help" him at his work.  Still, for those who wanted to try a little weaving (pun intended) there was a miniature loom set up across the room where everyone was welcome to add a few threads to the cloth.



There were several rooms set up just as they would have been when the Pattersons lived there, and along with the costumed Inn-terpreters there were glimpses of the huge floorboard planks available for construction of the building.  Note the background details.







The grounds of the museum include a huge vegetable garden and a blacksmith shop.  Both of these produced items put to good use in the kitchen area at the heart of the Inn.  The food was delicious -- a vegetable stew, hearth-baked cornbread, homemade bread, and -- surprise! -- popcorn!  The hearth utensils were period-correct, and it was hard to tell which were actual antique items and which had been forged new by their smiths.

Patient, talented seamstresses, spinners, and knitters worked quietly, and it was a delight to see mothers and daughters working together.  Fathers and daughters were in evidence as well: our weaver on the loom was father to the cook in the kitchen.


Dangers still lurked back then, and while we worry more easily about black bears, it is the "small bears' that caused the most damage, then as now.  Thus, we have the historical mousetrap.  The system was that this device would be placed along a typical mouse highway -- they prefer to follow the edges of a room, so this heavy piece of wooden machinery was set in their favorite pathways.  Each weighty block of wood would be raised up by the attached string, and held tenuously in place by a sliver of wood.  The lightest touch -- the passing of a mouse through the slot below -- would drop the block down in seconds.  We can assume it worked as well as any other mousetrap, as there was a highway and main street that allowed easy access to the Inn.

There was time for fun as well: checkerboards made from planks of wood featured playing pieces cut from small branches or corn cobs.  Bits of wax colored the tops, though I'm sure other means were used as well.  I had one better shot of the playing pieces, but it featured a period-incorrect plastic zip-closure bag for storage -- a jarring reminder that this was just a visit, not a chance to live 200 years in the past.