I love re-enactments. The costumes, the language, the history.
I’ve been transported back in time to the Civil War, to the Renaissance Period, to the Wild West.
Friday night I had an amazing adventure at local place called Buckley Homestead which hosted a literary re-enactment of the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I was invited by a friend of mine and was extremely delighted to have been able to attend.
From their website:
“Buckley Homestead is transformed into Tarrytown, NY, a quiet, dreamy little village known to many as Sleepy Hollow. The village abounds with stories and superstitions, the most famous of which is of a Hessian soldier who lost his head in the war and rides each night in search of a new one. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Headless Horseman?
Visitors will walk with a guide through Sleepy Hollow as they meet and interact with the townsfolk in search of Ichabod Crane, the one person who can tell them all about the stories of this quaint village. You become part of the storybook scenes, but be careful! There’s no telling what may cross your path in the night besides the occasional black cat. It may be the Headless Horseman himself! This program is a great way to experience the excitement of classic literature come to life. The walking tour is about one mile long outdoors and requires walking a bark chip trail lit by luminaries.”
At our first stop, a white country house from the late 1800’s, we listened to some town gossip about Ichabod Crane and Brom Bones, who were both courting that two-timin’ ho’ Katrina.
We walked on to the barn where we were greeted with townsfolk having a barn dance, listen to a fiddler play some music, and we were given a some lemonade and cake for a treat.
We were then invited to participate in a “choosing dance” which was a hoot and a holler. You stand in the middle of two people of the opposite gender at one end of the barn and give the person you don’t want to dance with a broom while you promenade down with your dance partner between two lines of men and women.
We left the barn and walked on the trail to a bonfire where two storytellers shared some of the story about the Hessian soldier they called the Headless Horseman. It was a cloudy, crisp, fall night, which added to the mystery and magic. The bonfire was toasty warm and wonderful.
Afterward, we continued our journey and we were startled by a snoozing scarecrow who gave us a frightful warning to be wary of the headless horseman that was seen in the area.
Soon, we called upon a hunch-backed gravedigger outside a one-room schoolhouse where Ichabod taught. The grave digger said we were foolish to go after Ichabod without a weapon. I asked him if we could borrow his shovel, but he gruffly said, “NO!”.
A short hayride later, we stopped to talk to a woman and her adorable young daughters at the log cabin they lived in. The young mother told us about seeing Ichabod not too long before we got there. We seemed to be always once step behind him. Not to be discouraged, we continued on.
We finally finished our journey on foot, across a bridge and we were spooked by the Headless Horseman himself on his big black steed.
We never did find Ichabod and we were left with the mystery – did the Headless Horseman get him, or did Ichabod run off to Pennsylvania?