Plan your visit to our town’s Fairly Old House—a local history museum that’s somehow the fourth most popular thing to do here, according to TripAdvisor.
Why is this relatively old house so remarkable? It isn’t. But it is one that didn’t burn down over the course of multiple fires. Sure, it’s not as notably historic as you might assume it would take for something to be declared a landmark, but it’s probably pretty old compared to the buildings where you live. (Boston excluded.)
Legend has it, however, that President William McKinley once briefly used the outhouse here while on a whistle-stop tour. (No official documentation of this occurrence has ever been verified or unearthed.)
After you drop your suggested donation admission of one dollar into a plexiglass cube that contains mostly pennies, you’ll be greeted by our pair of volunteer docents, two retirees in tan polyester vests who look the way old people used to look when you were a kid. They’re here to answer any questions you won’t have and to hover in the next room as you take a trip back in time.
First, for some immediately forgettable context, read our unillustrated “Origins” posterboard containing no fewer than eight eye-straining paragraphs. It’s surprisingly heavy on the no-longer-existent lumber mill and disconcertingly scant of facts about the region’s indigenous population.
Then, gaze deep into the past at the two-to-three photos anyone bothered to take of Main Street before World War II.
Lean politely over our glass display case featuring a dusty hair comb and mismatched buttons. Check out a handmade broom that couldn’t have made housework any easier. And did you know that in olden times, people used to dig? Well, they did, and we have half a rusty shovel to prove it.
Our self-guided tour of the perfectly preserved (read: mildewed) living quarters will allow you to glimpse what life was like slightly before your grandparents were born.
You’ll meet the members of the Fairly Old Household eerily portrayed by former Montgomery Ward mannequins dolled up in billowy trousers and buttermilk-colored nightgowns. You’ll find Father seated in the parlor, enjoying a tobacco pipe glued to his awkwardly outstretched hand, while Mother stares blankly in the kitchen, toiling her days away on a slow spiral toward subjugated anonymity.
And who’s that in the crib? It’s the papier-mâché goblin we’ve been passing off as a baby, which you would find creepy if you weren’t so consumed with depression over the realization that their childhood was, at best, bleak.
There’s even more to do outside. Get hands-on with our working water pump and bucket. Take a stroll amid the piles of stones we surmise must have been useful. Pay your respects to the handful of real-life dead people buried on-site in the family plot.
If you’re lucky(?), you might even encounter a roaming third volunteer who’s unnecessarily dressed in period costume and will insist you try some weird old game involving an apple or corn husk doll or something.
Fairly Old House is also a fun activity to do with kids, assuming your kids can mentally grasp the concept of “decades ago” and have no preexisting concept of “fun.”
Take the opportunity to bond with your little ones by grasping their wrists firmly as they resist the urge to touch everything and sprint toward our enticingly climbable array of obsolete farm equipment. And don’t forget to snap a photo in front of the crown jewel of our collection: a vintage horse-drawn wagon. (No horse.)
Finally, swing by our gift shop that sells only wildflower seeds, wooden train whistles, and loose agates.
Our hours are 12 p.m. to 2 p.m. (with a break for lunch) every Saturday and any Sunday with a date that’s a multiple of six. We’re located in the middle of everything, yet near absolutely nothing.
So, stop on by. Fairly Old House is the perfect way to spend an entire afternoon or, more likely, no longer than forty minutes.