Post 3--The Tar Creek River: Where History and Legacy Meet

By: Brianna Baker

The last location in our exploration of Bellevue, MD is the Tar Creek River. For it literally and symbolically divides Bellevue’s history of slavery from freedom. On one side of the river, there is a plantation that once bound African peoples in servitude to white masters; on the other, a town built on the perseverance and innovation of African Americans free to prosper. If both narratives exist, the question becomes which stories get told, which landscapes get preserved, and what historical narrative will future generations learn.

Bellevue’s landscape and architecture testifies that they did not settle for second-class citizenship and fought to see the glory of the Lord in the land of the living. That they used fishing skills cultivated over generations to establish a town where they could finally reap the benefits of their work and pass their blessings on to their children. Where they built their own boats to crab and fish, grew their own food in house gardens, and shared the fruit of their harvest with each other so that they could collectively enjoy the freedom and community of their black oasis. This town’s history is rooted in African Americans, flawed and fallible, but driven to survive. And this history is being attacked, here and now, by business developers. You can go online now and purchase your own slice of Bellevue for more than a million dollars while historic homes are valued at a fraction of that. Gentrification happens all too often for the law to ignore communities that are systematically erased by developers. No, this is not right, and there is something that you can do to help.

Women, people of color, and the lower classes have been denied them the right to vote and be represented across U.S. history. Now that we have these rights, we should exercise them so that the government continues to work for the people rather than the people working for the government. I ask that every reader write Maryland state representatives, the governor’s office, congress people, and any official with the authority to intercede on behalf of the people of Bellevue. History is not dead; it is alive in the people and places descended from it. The people of Bellevue are still here, and they need your help. If the law is based on what is popular instead of what is right, then we need to prove to government officials that the residents of Maryland are invested in preserving Bellevue and its rich history of black-owned businesses, self-sufficiency, and faith in God. I pasted a Bible verse at the end of a document that I wrote for the field school, but one community member moved it to the top. Isaiah 32:18 reads, “My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.”

To learn more and support the people of Bellevue and their partners, please visit the following:

Bellevue Passage Museum: https://bellevuepassagemuseum.org/

Water's Edge Museum: https://www.watersedgemuseum.org/

"Black Life in Bellevue" Field School: https://www.washcoll.edu/learn-by-doing/ces/black-life-bellevue.php

Post 2--The Bellevue-Oxford Ferry: The Stories We Choose to Preserve

   By: Brianna Baker

        On the morning of July 5^th, the first day of the field school, I tiptoed past my roommates and out of the house to take a brisk walk to the Bellevue-Oxford Ferry. I thought I would do so every morning, but alas, the rigors of the field school prevented me from enjoying the early morning atmosphere of Bellevue. I walked up Bellevue Road, with its imposing and well-kept oaks lining either side of the street and was reminded of my readings of plantation layouts: how they were built along the waters so that the human and agricultural cargo could be shipped and sold conveniently, and how the long, tree-lined plantation entryways were designed to strike a foreboding fear and intimidation in the hearts of all who approached.  I felt the same emotions when I visited several plantations with the field school. Of course, these antebellum driveways served practical purposes for privacy and security, but the psycho-social message they sent cannot be ignored.

        This passageway transitioned the free to a turf where the authority of the family, but particularly, the man up ahead must be heeded and respected. It also reminded the enslaved that everything they beheld did not belong to them. It didn’t matter if they manicured the trees, toiled over the crops, cooked every meal, nursed the master’s children, and built every home on the plantation. What mattered is that every aspect of their lives, even the architecture of the plantation, reinforced the inferiority and enslavement of the black and upheld the authority and superiority of the white. I learned that enslaved men were forced to build elaborate mansions and furniture for the people who owned him, for the children who would one day own his own. Yet, these same men were forced to build their own homes with ceilings too low for him to hold his head high, so small that children slept in the attic, and a home that offered no protection for women and girls against the advances of their enslaver. Plantations were designed to remind the enslaved that they were property, and that the land they tended would never belong to them. I can confirm that they still do not belong to the descendants of the enslaved. Pumping my arms and pacing towards the ferry, I wondered of the history this landscape could tell. 

        Lastly, I walked along a paved area that ran adjacent to the Bellevue-Oxford ferry and thought of a story I heard the day before at the Water’s Edge Museum 4^th of July celebration. A slave ship approached the ferry centuries ago with its human cargo—stolen from Africa. As they herded the survivors onto the dock, one woman, strong enough to survive the journey on behalf of herself and her unborn child, gave birth right there on the dock. The two themes that continue to define African American history are persecution and survival. Both are evident in every historical site of black history, but the sites that perpetuated black persecution generally receive more funding and protection compared to those that perpetuated black survival. These politics of historic preservation are erasing the history of African American success and freedom. It is well-established that Bellevue is a sight of black excellence and independence, but few know of the latest danger threatening the very existence of Bellevue. Read my last blog post to find out what is happening and how you can help.

To learn more and support the people of Bellevue and their partners, please visit the following:

Bellevue Passage Museum: https://bellevuepassagemuseum.org/

Water's Edge Museum: https://www.watersedgemuseum.org/

"Black Life in Bellevue" Field School: https://www.washcoll.edu/learn-by-doing/ces/black-life-bellevue.php

Post 1--St. Luke’s Church: Relationships, Spare Time, and the Spirit of a Community

By: Brianna Baker

        I spent the month of July 2022 in Bellevue, MD as a student-worker during the "Black Life in Bellevue" field school. I was commissioned along with nine other black professionals to study the architectural and environmental history of this tiny town on Maryland's Eastern Shore. It seems that after emancipation, some of the African Americans once enslaved on the Clay’s Hope plantation moved across the Tar Creek River, in full view of the big house and their former enslavers, and established what would become a thriving self-sufficient community. From the late 19^th century to the last decade of the 20^th, Bellevue was sustained primarily by crabpickers, oyster farmers, watermen and—as one local woman will not let anyone soon forget—waterwomen.

        Researchers have been intrigued for decades by Bellevue’s successful, black-owned seafood canneries and self-sufficient economic structure, but these institutions were built on the bedrock of community. On the clock, generations of families spent hours in the canneries singing as they cleaned crabs, building their own schooners, and training their children to do the same. Off the clock, they spent time caring for each other and bearing one another’s burdens—over a seafood stew or a crab boil of course. These are the undercurrents that have and continue to define Black Life in Bellevue; the historical superstructure that is woven throughout this town’s history and legacy. I discovered it not in the classroom with my amazing colleagues, but over dinner at the De Shield’s, sitting on the front porch taking in the breezes of the Tred Avon, and greeting locals as I walked the streets of Bellevue. I wish to unpack this phenomenon through three venues where I experienced what I will call “the spirit of Bellevue:” St. Luke’s United Methodist church, the Bellevue-Oxford ferry, and on the waters of the Tar Creek river. These venues were significant to my work and relationship with the community, significant to local history, and representative of the values that have sustained Bellevue for 250 plus years.

        St. Luke’s was the base of operations for the field school, and it was once the base of Bellevue’s community. We heard in oral interviews how its pews were once filled with Bellevue locals who gathered to more than worship God. They came for breakfast, voter registration, speeches from government officials, mingling with neighbors, and biblical encouragement. We found it this summer as the shell of a dispersed and largely deceased congregation. My pastor has a saying that I think explains what has happened at St. Luke’s: “the church has left the building.” It means that the few hours we spend in church do not define a congregation, but how we live when we leave does. I would propose that what started along that dirt road at St Luke’s has not been lost but has “left the building” in a way. I saw this spirit of community, Christian ethics, education, and hard work as I walked the streets named after the founding fathers of Bellevue, was welcomed into homes built a hundred plus years ago as a refuge in a hostile world, and in the eyes of the descendants of resilient, skilled, and intelligent African Americans. I am honored to have been a part of such a project to preserve the history of Bellevue, and I look forward to sharing more of their story and mine with you.

To learn more and support the people of Bellevue and their partners, please visit the following:

Bellevue Passage Museum: https://bellevuepassagemuseum.org/

Water's Edge Museum: https://www.watersedgemuseum.org/

"Black Life in Bellevue" Field School: https://www.washcoll.edu/learn-by-doing/ces/black-life-bellevue.php

Reflecting on American "Justice"

                                               Above: Baltimore State's Attorney Marilyn Mosby and ASA Becky Feldman

Recently, I've reported on several cases that made me think about criminality in the American collective memory. 

So often, disenfranchised members of society are marginalized further once they're thrust into the judicial system. The carceral state of Maryland has had to reckon with the overwhelming amount of new information discovered by reporters, journalists, and defense attorneys regarding what happens when justice "goes wrong." 

In 2021, the state passed the Juvenile Restoration Act, which re-examines cases in which juveniles were charged as adults and given life sentences. Many of the motions hearings I've reported on this fall have involved teenage boys, all black, being sentenced for life in prison for crimes intrinsically tied to lack of access, education, and resources to escape poverty and crime. 

When I thought about how I was going to write about these defendants (some of whom committed heinous acts), I had to be tactful about not letting my obvious bias show. 

It's impossible not to empathize with kids who never had a chance at a life devoid of violence being condemned for life. 

The sociological aspects of this internship have been incredibly eye-opening. As a consumer of true crime, I thought I had a decent grasp on how the system worked and the racial bias within it. However, reporting first-hand, seeing defendants and victims, even sometimes meeting families, can be confronting.  

Journalism is the pursuit of truth and transparency, a key mission statement of Baltimore Witness. Finding the tools to tell complicated, hard truths, and a narrative without a clear villain or protagonist is crucial to exposes flaws within the justice system.

I believe this framework can be and should be applied to the study of history in general. As I've learned more research skills in class this semester, particularly from Dr. Michelle Scott (take a class with her if you're a history major-btw!), and gained more experience in the field of reporting, I've gained a new appreciation for just how intersectional sociology, history, and criminology really are.

This job, at times challenging, is one I will genuinely miss because telling stories no one else is covering is something I'm proud to have done. 

In order to gain a better understanding of history, I think it's pivotal to think from different perspectives and also seek out knowledge about the contemporary experiences of human beings impacted by larger systems. By doing this, stories otherwise untold are not filed into the collective memory of the public. 

My appreciation for journalism and history as symbiotic subjects makes me excited to conduct more research and reporting in the future and immerse myself in new environments. 

Wrap Up: Editing, Public History Projects, and Internships -- Nolan Varee Blog #3

After focusing most of my time throughout the summer on my project with Made By History I was ready to dive into the process of editing with Dr. Brownell. This was really my hope in pursuing this internship, being able to get a behind the scenes look at what it is editors do and see if it is something that I would be interested in pursuing after completion of my masters. 

Each MBH piece goes through an editing process based on the needs of the author. Most pieces only take two rounds of edits before moving to press, but some may take longer depending on the back and forth throughout the process. After author’s pitch an idea, the first editor will go through to make sure the piece works within both the Washington Post and MBH style. To understand this, I had to learn the necessary terminology and ideas that support a well-written piece. Is the lede concise? Does the nut graph pull readers in? Is the conclusion too prescriptive? After reading through the piece, the first editor will send their thoughts back to the author and ask for revisions. Once this process is completed (which can sometimes include many emails back and forth) a second editor will read through the piece in order to catch any lingering issues as well as ensure the overall quality of the piece.  

Along the way, Dr. Brownell made sure I was in the loop on communication with the authors as well as shared on the Google Docs where edits were made. It was fascinating to watch the edits come through in real time, and view the entire back and forth between an author and editor. It was especially fascinating because it wasn’t my writing, so I didn’t have to deal with someone else’s edits, but it was great to see the process from an editor’s point of view. After each round of edits Dr. Brownell would allow me and another intern the opportunity to ask any questions we had about why an edit was made. 

My biggest takeaway from this experience was understanding that writing for MBH is different from writing for an academic journal. While scholars tend to elaborate on their ideas and the history behind their topics, there is no room for this background when writing for MBH. It’s the author’s job to be concise while writing both the history and why someone should be interested in reading their piece. More often than not Dr. Brownell’s first edit was deleting the entire first paragraph of background that was unrelated to the author’s main point. 

There are many reasons I am grateful for my experience with MBH this past summer, but I am most appreciative for the first-hand experience of helping to create a public history project. My biggest takeaway? There are so many considerations when putting together a project for public consumption, and so much of the work is behind the scenes. No one will ever see the hours I put in collecting the titles and author names of each MBH piece, just like no one ever sees the editing process that goes into publishing a piece, or the online mining of sources and tagging of ideas that happens at Bunk. I understand now that while a 50 word description about a historical article may only take a few minutes to write up, it may take hours of deliberating with various stakeholders about how best to say what you need to say. My work with both MBH and Bunk shows that no public history is done in a bubble. Many of the projects we see are collaborations between many individuals who all come to the project with different points of view and experiences that often lead to a process of molding a project into something that works for 

everyone. 

I also learned that I enjoy editing, but may want to spend some time working on my own writing and creative interests before helping others polish theirs. It was very easy to see the edits that needed to be made while watching Dr. Brownell in a Google Doc, but it is much harder to look at an unmarked page and suggest revisions on your own. This is especially true when working with an author who more than likely has a better understanding of the information than the editor does. Practice certainly makes perfect when it comes to editing, and I hope to continue gaining editing experience while working on my own projects - especially when reworking my thesis this spring. 

Lastly, I continue to question how best to promote public history projects like the one I spent my summer focused on. As you read in my second blog post, paywalls are a true barrier to getting historical research out into the public. Whether it’s JSTOR or publications like the Washington Post, subscription fees hinder the public’s access to important works that can guide our thinking about the present through the lens of the past. While this is the case, it is also true that the fees collected by subscription services help promote this important research in the first place. How can we break down the various barriers to accurate historical research, while continuing to support the researchers themselves? I am positive this is nothing new in the world of public history, but I am glad to have the opportunity to think about this and other issues surrounding the field due to my experience this summer. 

All history majors should gain work experience through an internship. Not only can you gain course credit, but you also have the opportunity to explore your interests in a way that allows you to promote yourself through these experiences. Given the rapid changes taking place throughout the country within the humanities, it is important for historians to show their value in other ways than writing books for an exclusive few. Taking history to the public is not only valuable, but crucial work within our ever-changing world. 

Great Camp Santanoni Internship Part III: Reflection on Lessons Learned

 Spending the summer at Santanoni exposed me to a lot of new things. I had

 the opportunity to meet and talk to people involved in many different aspects 

of careers related to history: public historians, preservationists both in the 

nonprofit field and for the state, details about fundraising from private donors 

and applying for grants, how people of different backgrounds such architects 

donated their time and expertise to historic sites that they care about. The 

preservation of Santanoni took a lot to achieve and in fact, AARCH was founded 

in large part to save Santanoni from the regulations of Adirondack Park, which 

had initially condemned it to natural deterioration after state acquisition. Learning 

the story of its preservation and realizing that my work there was a small contribution 

to a massive body of work was very humbling. Additionally, meeting state employees 

wiped away some of the opacity of government jobs: as it turns out, government 

employees are normal people. Below is a photo of two such employees along with 

the AARCH staff (Kevin and myself included).

 

This was my first time working as an interpreter, and I found it to be exhausting but 

rewarding. Santanoni is fortunate to get a rather self-selecting pool of visitors that 

are likely more interested than perhaps the general public may be. This is because 

it’s relatively difficult to get to compared to other sites where you can simply park and 

go inside: you either have to bike or hike the five miles in (and then bike or hike the 

five miles back out), or you have to schedule a seat on the horse and wagon that goes 

in once a day most of the summer. I found that I enjoyed smaller groups more than 

larger ones because they more easily facilitate dialogue, rather than a memorized recitation. 

I also found out that a key fact for interpreters is that someone will always ask a question 

that you don’t know the answer to.

Santanoni is a very interesting combination of park and historic site. There’s something 

to the setting of a natural recreation area that opens your mind to consideration and 

reflection, which can put some in a better headspace to learn about and reflect on history. 

In the summer, all the cabins in the main complex are always open, and there are so many 

corners you can poke your nose into. It’s a prime setting for snooping around. Being the 

only great camp that is open to the public in this way makes it a special place. Once an 

exclusive setting that was only accessible to the Pruyn family, their guests, and their 

employees, it’s now a place where locals can go on their daily runs, annual visitors can 

return to where they have made family memories, and first-time visitors can discover a 

new world to explore. 

One more thing I learned was that people who work outside are for the most part pretty 

laid back. With an “office” view of this from the workbench on the porch of main camp, 

it’s not hard to see why.

 

 

Great Camp Santanoni Internship Part II: Interpretation and Hands-On Projects

 The first project Kevin and I tackled was not very glamorous or particularly historic, 

even, but it was much needed. It was also a good beginner project, as it was in the 

Gate Lodge where we were staying rather than a one-mile bike ride to the farm or 

a five-mile ride to main camp. Most of the Gate Lodge today is used as private 

quarters for AARCH and DEC staff, which included Kevin and myself as well as 

three Assistant Forest Rangers (AFRs). One room, however, is used as a small 

visitor’s center and gift shop. This was in quite shoddy condition when we arrived. 

As we came to realize later on, main camp projects often take priority over any other 

part of the historic area. The photo below on the left is of the walls after scraping loose 

paint off, which paints quite a picture of the room’s weariness. After a very severe 

cleaning and repainting, the visitor’s center was much happier and our spirits were 

bolstered by the satisfaction of finishing a project.

We had a large amount of freedom in what we could choose to pursue in regards 

to both projects to work on and interpretive topics. There were about two and a 

half weeks between when we arrived and when tour season started, which we 

definitely needed in order to become oriented with everything and develop a tour 

outline. Kevin had some familiarity with both Santanoni and the larger history of the 

Adirondacks and New York state, but I had no background knowledge in any of that. 

In hindsight, I really began to get my footing right before the internship ended–the entire 

summer was spent learning more and more about Santanoni and how it fit inside broader 

stories. As long as we covered the basics in our tours (largely the history of its creation, 

its ownership, and its preservation), we could delve deeper into different themes that we 

had particular interest in. I found myself drawn to the site’s connection to women’s history, 

as matriarch of the original owning family Anna Pruyn (pronounced “Prine”) encouraged 

women to be outdoorsmen and led by example at a time when that was not particularly 

common. Additionally, Anna and husband Robert’s young cousin Hiebertie Pruyn was a 

rebellious and energetic teenager who wore bloomers on trips to Santanoni much to her 

mother’s chagrin, who was an anti-suffragist leader back home in Albany. Kevin gave what 

he semi-jokingly called “the plumbing tour,” as he has a much more engineering-focused 

mind than I do and knew what all the different pressure tanks about the house were for.

After tour season began, we were both out at main camp essentially every day we were 

working. This was for logistical reasons (being able to switch off who gave the tour, as there 

were three offered every day) as well as safety reasons. Being five miles into the backcountry, 

we had no cell service and had to rely on the radios we carried in the case of an emergency. 

During both our radio training from the rangers and our wilderness first aid training, we were 

instructed in a way that realistically relied on both of us being together. It was also beneficial 

to have each other in close proximity in case we needed to ask the other a question or brainstorm 

to come up with projects or solutions to problems. 

This being the case, most of the projects we did after tour season began involved window work, 

re-staining wooden building exteriors, or other independent projects that could be worked on out 

at main camp. As a carpenter, Kevin took to building various pieces of outdoor furniture out of 

unused lumber, including two Adirondack chairs that were the talk of the town within our little 

Santanoni community. While the interiors of the complex were unfurnished and nearly empty 

barring a few historical pieces, there was one cabin with historical photos nailed to the wall. 

Seeing that the photos were largely unorganized, I took it upon myself to take them down, 

reorganize them by chronology and theme, correct and add detail to a number of the attached 

captions, and re-hang them. Below to the left is the result. The tree stump timeline was a project 

that had been done by previous summer staff, which I moved from its former location out on the 

porch to inside the photo cabin so visitors could reference both at the same time.