Photographing the dress collection presented special challenges. Unlike the smaller pieces, dresses are long and bulky and don’t fit easily on a table. I needed a way to take long flat photos without putting too much pressure on the dress’s shoulders.

I experimented with a few different methods before settling on a final arrangement. First, I tried the side of the shelving units, but this was rejected quickly, because there wasn’t enough room and the angle of the hanger was wrong. Then I tried laying out a dress on the floor, but again, the angle was wrong. Next, I found a long dowel and pinned a length of backdrop fabric across the top to create a curtain. I laid the dowel across the aisle created by two shelving units and hung a dress on top of the dowel from a padded hanger.

By: Vasanthi Pendakur

My name is Vasanthi and I’m Barkerville’s curatorial intern for the winter. I’m responsible for processing the new collection. I studied Public History at the University of Western Ontario where I became particularly interested in collections management. Coupled with my interest in historical clothing, this position is a wonderful opportunity. I moved from Ottawa to Wells in October to work with the collection, and am thoroughly enjoying it so far.

My job is to catalogue, tag, package, photograph, and store the collection. Cataloguing and tagging documents each artefact and allows for easy tracking. Cataloguing requires various pieces of information including an accession number, a description of the item and its condition, dimensions, what it’s made of, and key search words. Once that is finished, a tag with the accession number is attached to the artefact so that it is connected to the catalogue entry and won’t be lost.

Each artefact is then packed in acid free tissue which is the safest method of preserving them for the future. The tissue provides a buffer against harmful agents in the environment, as well as protects the item from itself as it provides a lining against anything rough on the fabric, such as beads, and puffs up any folds made during packaging.

Generally, I deal with one box at a time to catalogue, tag, and package each artefact. Once I’m finished a section of clothing, I switch to photographing items. I have now processed all of the hats and have moved on to the dresses. I have found some beautiful hats and am learning a lot of new vocabulary related to millinery and dressmaking. For example, large picture hats and capelines were popular right before and after the more famous cloches.

I’m looking forward to exploring the rest of the collection. Since starting the dresses, I’ve found some beautiful beaded dresses that just have to be seen. More pictures to come!

by Vasanthi Pendakur, Barkerville Historic Town & Park

Barkerville closing for the season inspires a whole slew of emotions. The day after the Barkerville season officially ends, when the last of our guests have checked out of the B&Bs and are headed off down Highway 26, is a shock to the system. For many long-time Barkerville “residents” the shock of going from clamour and celebration on Sunday afternoon to exceptionally quiet on Monday morning is always jarring… but it is a familiar feeling. We’ve lived it many, many times over.

Last week we wrapped up another Barkerville season and, as usual, we went out with a bang. For the second year in a row we closed our September season with a Steampunk-themed murder mystery weekend. For the better part of three consecutive days the streets of Barkerville were filled with leather, corsets, metal sprockets, gears, goggles, and the coolest collection of boots, masks, fascinators and other accessories this side of the 19^th-century. Steampunk participants ran furiously about the site while trying to solve a mystery, attended themed events, and made a cacophony of joyful noise.

Then, come Monday, everything went quiet – as it always does.

During the active Barkerville season, my mornings take on a rhythm I find comforting. For weeks on end my routine has a familiarity that matches my nature. I get my daughters off to daycare and drive the eight kilometres from Wells to Barkerville, enjoying some glorious scenery or chatting with my husband if we happen to be commuting together. Once I arrive on site I park the van and almost always choose to walk up the backstreet. I cross behind El Dorado Gold Panning & Gifts and meander past the back of the Tregillus buildings, almost always lingering for a second or two to note the progress of the little garden patch tucked away there. For the last few weeks of the season the garden is dotted with fat, colourful poppies and I love watching their progress.

I tend to arrive early enough to have the pleasure of waving to the various merchants as they drive off-site and clear the streets of anachronistic vehicle traffic by 9:30 AM. I walk by the stables and have a quick wave or, time permitting, a chat with Glen or Dave or Felicity as they organize horses and coaches for the day. Once I arrive at my dressing room I pull on costumes and lace up boots with my fellow Historic Street interpreters. If Michelle (the actor who plays Miss Irvine) is there we chat non-stop with each other, our voices spilling over the tops of adjacent cubicles, until we are both confined in our Victorian properness, and are ready to hit the streets and face the day.

Now that the season has come to a close, I find myself walking up a much quieter street in the morning, on my way to clean out our dressing room. If I pass anyone at all it is someone with an energy that is decidedly different from what we’ve experienced over the past few weeks. Rather than gearing up for an eventful day in Barkerville, I find interpreters and contractors gearing down for the winter.

Businesses take inventory, pack up and put away the summer. Teamster Glen leads his giant, gorgeous horses away from rustic wooden coaches toward big silver trailers for their long ride to winter quarters. There is no buzz of early-rising visitors emerging from their respective B&Bs. There is no aroma of fresh coffee, or baking bread. It is all done.

As with most things, there is a special kind of beauty to be found in the relative stillness of season’s end. At the same time as my heart aches a little for those friends who have already departed (until next year) I look forward to some rest. My aging body feels the wear and tear of spending months on my feet; months of vocal strain; months of holding my body in ramrod Victorian posture.  I also crave the quiet.

I like to imagine Barkerville itself feels a similar sort of need, a need for a time of peace, at the end of each season. The old town has hosted more than 60,000 guests in four short months and now, perhaps, it too wants to be still for a spell. Barkerville shines so bright from May to September and, like any aging star, needs a little time away from the limelight to rest, watch the oncoming snow fall, and slow right down (save for Halloween and Christmas) until next spring, when we will rev it all up and make some serious noise again.

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The above one-panel cartoon by Dirk Van Stralen, with accompanying editorial by Danette Boucher, is the seveteenth of twenty weekly entries that were logged – and subsequently blogged – as part of a 2015 collaboration between Barkerville, British Columbia and the Prince George Citizen aimed at introducing the quirkier side of living, working, and playing in the Cariboo Goldfields. We hope you enjoy!

We are in the final days of the Barkerville season. The air is getting colder, the hillsides have turned golden, and the pace of life on the street has slowed. In summer much of my time is caught up in the energy and intensity of crowds and performances. In September, however, our schedule is far less demanding and my days are freer to luxuriate in a slower version of Barkerville.

In September I notice the changing light and shadows as summer fades into autumn. I look under the boardwalks at wet little ecosystems curling into dormancy. I take the quieter moments, when many visitors are off the streets and in the Theatre Royal or over at the Waterwheel Show, to visit some of my friends who work in our onsite businesses – friends who are so busy in the main season we hardly have a chance to connect.

This September I have been able to pop into McMahon’s Confectionary to chat with Ronnie and Windsong. We catch up, reflect back on the season we’ve shared, ask after each other’s families, and check in with what’s next for us as we put our Barkerville dresses away until Christmastime.

I have known Glen, our BX Express teamster, for years. I’ve watched his children grow up and have children of their own. In September Glen and I have a chance to lean on the boardwalk railings and talk about everything and nothing as his big horses snort occasionally beside us.

At the Goldfield Bakery I spend my final Barkerville work days sampling the divine treats I’ve done a reasonably good job of avoiding all summer (trust me, when you work in such close proximity to a bakery this good, you have to pace yourself). In September I let myself have a massive sticky bun, a brownie and the most sinful of all, a fat john. I’ve barely had a chance to talk with the bakery ladies all season, as their well-deserved line ups preclude it in the busy months.

Neil and Evangeline, who operate the Wake-up-Jake restaurant, are lovely people and their two sons have grown into fine young men who, in turn, have kept us laughing all summer, when they weren’t gracing us with impromptu classical guitar concerts. I am especially fond of Evangeline’s soups, and I try to fit in a few bowls before the season ends.

The House Hotel is a favourite gathering place for the Barkerville interpreters. The food and drink flow, and Rose, Sam, Ted and their family and staff are as funny as they are friendly. This season they hired a young woman called Emma as a server, and she happens to be a gifted musician. The sound of Emma’s piano playing or cello solos drifting out onto the streets after work has added so much to the ambience of our gold rush town. I savour her final concerts as I laugh and chat with my hosts.

Pat, at L.A. Blanc Photographic Studio is another old friend. Her gallery is so busy during the summer months that it’s only in September that we really have a chance to catch up, and she can fill me in on the details of her children’s lives. Her kids were children and teenagers when we first met, now they are off in the world having exciting adventures.

Amy and Richard at the Theatre Royal are dear friends I have known and worked with for years. We have walked together through so many shows and seasons. I stop outside the theatre for a chin wag with them almost every day.

McPherson’s Watchmakers and Jewelry store owns a large piece of my heart and a fair chunk of my income. The Mason and Daly is a great place to drop in during this late part of the season to pick up a few final Victorian items while I still can. Mrs. Douglas will always greet you at C. Strouss Dry Goods with a smile as she stands before the looming wall of teas, and she always remembers how you like your coffee (and if you have never heard this woman laugh, you don’t know what you’re missing).

The day the Lung Duck Tong closes for the season (which it already has, on the 21^st this year) is basically a day of mourning in Barkerville. We spend our winters longing for their Szechuan beef and Cantonese special chicken, and achingly have to wait until they reopen in May.

I usually don’t have much time during the season to visit the El Dorado Goldpanning & Gifts, or the Quang Sang Wing Chinese Store, or the Chinese Embroidery Gallery, because these businesses are at the farthest ends of town, so in the fall I make sure to get in there to look at all their wares.

If I catch them during a break in the action, I can usually find a moment to talk with our always busy Bed & Breakfast operators, Saya and Carol (whose daughter Tish was also onsite this season) to wish them a safe and happy winter.

Barkerville’s businesses are such a vital part of our seasonal lives, and the people who work in them are treasured members of our community. I look forward to seeing them again next May, when we all come together again for another spectacular season.

– Danette Boucher

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The above one-panel cartoon (originally published September 26, 2015) by Dirk Van Stralen, with accompanying editorial by Danette Boucher, is the sixteenth of twenty weekly entries that were logged – and subsequently blogged – as part of a 2015 collaboration between Barkerville, British Columbia and the Prince George Citizen aimed at introducing the quirkier side of living, working, and playing in the Cariboo Goldfields. We hope you enjoy!

A few days ago a boy who was about 11 years-old approached me as sat outside Barkerville’s St. George Hotel. “Excuse me,” he said. “Is it true that the people from your time always wear black when someone dies? My teacher said you do.”

During my years as a historical interpreter I have often been asked about Victorian mourning fashion, but rarely, if ever, have I heard this question from a child. So we talked about it. I told him about the Victorian-era tradition of recognizing grief through fashion. Women, especially, wore black clothing in specifically chosen fabrics that were deemed appropriate. Jewelry was limited to anything made of jet, or made out of the hair of the deceased. I explained to the boy that certain, recommended lengths of time for wearing mourning fashion were customary, depending on how close you were to the deceased.

After a while I noticed that the boy was wearing a black hoodie and black jeans. I said: “According to what you are wearing today, should I assume you are in mourning?” I was joking, of course. He smiled. “No,” the boy replied. “I’m not in mourning.”

Then he paused. “Actually, I guess I am,” he said. “My parents died.”

“Do you find that people avoid talking to you about your parents?” I asked.

He answered without hesitation. “Yes,” he said.

“Unfortunately, people in your time tend to avoid talking about death, especially with those closest to people who have died,” I said. “Do you like to talk about your parents?”

Again, the boy instantly replied. “Yes,” he said.

The boy’s guardian, a woman of obvious character who had been with us the whole time, explained that she often takes him to their old house, and that together they look at pictures and talk about his life before his parents’ death. “It brings him so much comfort and joy,” she said.

After our short but memorable exchange the boy and his guardian continued up the main street, and I sat pondering the differences between life now, and life when Barkerville was in its heyday. And I have thought a lot about that boy ever since. I wish I had been braver, I wish I had asked him more questions. I wish I had, at that moment, been more Victorian. Rather – in that moment – I had stepped out of my historical role and allowed my modern self, a self that was terrified of upsetting this young, vulnerable visitor, to step forward.

In the late 19^th-century, the Victorian era in which Barkerville was created and the first Cariboo Gold Rush flourished, death was definitely not the taboo subject it is to modern North Americans. The Victorians engaged in many death-related traditions that, now, we would find odd or even shocking. For example, Victorians posed and photographed the bodies of their loved ones shortly after death so as to keep a record of the deceased. The resulting photographs were often manipulated to make the bodies appear more lifelike. To our modern sensibilities this sounds terribly macabre, but the Victorians did not fear and avoid death like we do. For the most part, we live in a time when the subject of death is avoided whenever possible, or at least negotiated with awkward self-consciousness.

The Victorians, who dealt much more comfortably with death, may have a lesson to teach us all. When we lose a loved one, we don’t necessarily need to wear black clothing, but I think we should understand that mourning is a necessary and crucial part of life.

We are learning a kind of Victorian lesson in mourning this season in Barkerville. Tim Sutherland, our beloved Judge Begbie, died in July. My husband was Tim’s good friend for more than twenty years, and my very close friend Corey Matthews was Tim’s life partner. Grief has been part of the summer season of 2015, and I for one have been a little Victorian in my response to Tim’s death.

I have been open and eager to talk with Corey and James about Tim. Our community has celebrated and marked Tim’s passing with rituals. We have held ceremonies and wakes, and we have made tributes. We went to the closing performance of the last play Tim directed, at the Sunset Theatre in Wells. It was his final expression of art, and we understood and celebrated the weight and grief of that hard truth.

We have raised glasses to Tim and I have been grateful to the visitors to Barkerville who have been thoughtful enough to ask after us as we negotiate our considerable loss. I have talked with people that I have never met about what Tim has meant to all of us… and it has been a relief to speak his name. It has also been a comfort to hear his name spoken aloud. We have not covered our mirrors or sent black bordered letters, but in our own way we have let ourselves feel and recognize this most significant death. In this way, although we could never have expected it, this Barkerville season has been especially, authentically, Victorian.

– Danette Boucher

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The above one-panel cartoon (originally published September 18, 2015) by Dirk Van Stralen, with accompanying editorial by Danette Boucher, is the fifteenth of twenty weekly entries that were logged – and subsequently blogged – as part of a 2015 collaboration between Barkerville, British Columbia and the Prince George Citizen aimed at introducing the quirkier side of living, working, and playing in the Cariboo Goldfields. We hope you enjoy!