Elizabeth [Murray] Inman to Ralph Inman, 22 April 1775
[When the Battle of Lexington and Concord broke out in April 1775, Elizabeth [Murray] Inman was close to the action, at the estate of her third husband, Ralph Inman, in Cambridge. At the time, Ralph was in Boston. The location of their home gave Elizabeth a close-up view of the troop movements and the reactions of the town's inhabitants. Large numbers of women and children fled. After the battle, the British troops retreated into Boston. Armed rebellious colonists surrounded the occupied town, and those within, including Ralph Inman, could not leave Boston. In this letter, Elizabeth describes the scene in Cambridge and her actions for her absent spouse.]

I have the pleasure to tel my dear friends that I am well as are all under this roof you know how fond I am of grandure, I have acted many parts in life but never imagend I shou'd arrive at the muckle honor of being a Generall that is now the case, I have a guard at the botom of the garden, a number of men to patrol to the marsh & rownd the farm with a body gaurd that now covers our kitchen parlor twelve oClock they are in a sweet slep while Miss Denforth & I are in the midle parlor with a board naild across the door to protect them from harm, the kitchen doors are also naild they have the closet for thier guns the end door is now very usefull, our servants we put to bed half past eight, the women & Children have all left Cambridge so we are thought wonders, you know I have never seen troubles at the destence many others have, as a reward the Gods have granted me a Mentor & a Gaurden Angel [of—crossed out] three years of age they are now in bed together pray let thier friends know he is better & she very well mentor bids me tell you that we have nothing to fear but from the troops landing near us these matters you'll know more of then we do therefore we shall wait till we hear from you again which we hope will be time enough to make a safe retreat thier is not one servant will stay if I go poor Creatures they depdnd on me for protection & I do not churse to disapoint them as far as it is in my power I will protect them, this day we had a visit [from-crossed out] of an offecer from our head Quarters with writen orders to our gaurds to attend in a very particular manner to our derections He said we were the happiest folks he had seen to convence you of that. I'll tell you how we are employ'd, [Jay] is in the garden the others are planting potatoes we intend to make fence & plant corn next week, to shew you the goodness of the people they say we may have what provisions we want. Mentor we have rais'd above us his walks are in the uper Chambers, Boid was here to day Mrs Barnes is well got home safe Wednesday.

She's Crafty
— © Tim Wright/CORBIS		From Fall/Winter 2007 issue of  Oregon Humanities magazine: "Handmade and Proud: What's behind the resurgence in knitting, sewing, and making your own stuff?"   by Jamie Passaro. Locally, there's a flourishing culture of knitting and craft circles of (mostly) women who get together to make things and talk over wine and snacks. The Portland Church of Craft, which will celebrate its fourth year in October, has nine hundred members. Once a month, members gather and learn to make a project, such as a pendant made from a rubber stamp or a choker made from crocheted wire or a book made from envelopes.
		This “crafty-ness” is part of a national trend.

Call it the new wave of craft, domestic craft, domestic arts, or the new domesticity. Some link it to the third wave of feminism, to the same DIY (Do It Yourself) philosophy found in punk rock and its three chords, or to the Arts and Crafts movement of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. While it may very well be related to all of those things, there are ways in which it looks remarkably like the very thing it's trying not to be—a little like Mom herself, or maybe like Martha Stewart, that icon of domesticity.

From "A Winter Walk" by Henry David Thoreau, collected in Excursions: The Writings of Henry D. Thoreau, edited by Joseph J. Moldenhauer, published by Princeton University Press. The wind has gently murmured through the blinds, or puffed with feathery softness against the windows, and occasionally sighed like a summer zephyr lifting the leaves along, the livelong night. The meadow mouse has slept in his snug gallery in the sod, the owl has sat in a hollow tree in the depth of the swamp, the rabbit, the squirrel, and the fox have all been housed. The watch-dog has lain quiet on the hearth, and the cattle have stood silent in their stalls. The earth itself has slept, as it were its first, not its last, sleep, save when some street-sign or wood-house door has faintly creaked upon its hinge, cheering forlorn nature at her midnight work-the only sound awake twixt Venus and Mars,—advertising us of a remote inward warmth, a divine cheer and fellowship, where gods are met together, but where it is very bleak for men to stand. But while the earth has slumbered, all the air has been alive with feathery flakes descending, as if some northern Ceres reigned, showering her silvery grain over all the fields. At length we awake to the still reality of a winter morning. The snow lies warm as cotton or down	An American bed manufactured in 1827 in the Napoleonic style-including its original bed-hangings, valance, curtains, and cornice elements, is being preserved at the Woodlawn Museum in Maine. Accompanying archival materials contain bills of sale, an unused bolt of silk fringe, original drawings and notes made by the upholsterer, and photographs of the bed from 1880 to 1900.—Courtesy of Woodlawn Museum