By Keith Alexander

If you are walking along German Street this July and see someone dressed in old-fashioned clothes leading a tour, you probably aren’t hallucinating. You’re seeing a summer living history tour, a new initiative of Shepherd University’s historic preservation program.

Two Shepherd University students lead the tours, which they researched and wrote themselves. The students were chosen based on their excellent performance in a living history class offered at Shepherd during spring semester 2010. The program gives tourists and town residents alike new insights into the stories and structures of the town formerly known as Mecklenburg. The students benefit, too, gaining additional experience planning and leading living history programs.

Held to coincide with the Contemporary American Theater Festival, the walking tours begin and end at the Entler Hotel. The tours are an outgrowth of Shepherd’s popular Halloween living history tours, presented during the past two years in the Shepherd family cemetery on New Street. An anonymous benefactor liked the tours so much that they donated funds to expand the historic preservation program’s public education and outreach activities. The result was the summer historic walking tours. The Arts and Humanities Alliance of Jefferson County, the Historic Shepherdstown Commission, and the Friends of the Shepherdstown Riverfront contributed additional financial and material support for the program.

The historic costumes are an important touch: Dr. Kathleen Corpus, Visiting Assistant Professor of Family and Consumer Science, contributed her knowledge of the history of fashion to ensure that the guides’ clothing is as authentic as possible. The result is unique and attention-grabbing, and helps participants imagine what it was like to live in Shepherdstown a 100 years ago or more.

The tours are unusual not only because they are conducted by guides in historical costume, but because the docents are portraying actual historical individuals from Shepherdstown’s past. As a result, even though the guides follow virtually the same route, the stories they tell and the insights they provide are very different. Heidi Carbaugh, a senior majoring in history and minoring in historic preservation, is portraying Mary “Minnie” Bedinger. Minnie Bedinger spent time in Denmark as a child while her father was serving as the U.S. resident minister to Denmark. She also experienced Shepherdstown during the Civil War, and her recollections of the battles of Antietam and Shepherdstown are both vibrant and harrowing. Claudia Paycheff, a sophomore majoring in historic preservation, plays Mary Schroeder, the daughter of a C&O canalboat captain. Her stories give insights into a rougher, more working-class Shepherdstown of the early 1900s.

Kyle Pfalzer of the Gettysburg Foundation contributed his expertise in first-person interpretation for the tours. Pfalzer, a 2009 graduate of Shepherd University’s history and historic preservation programs, notes that the tours are different from the usual historical tour. “This is a unique approach because the guides are portraying actual historical figures who are telling about their own eras, but the guides also interpret the Shepherdstown of today,” Pfalzer notes. “The result is unusual, very effective.”

Shepherdstown is the perfect venue for such a program. Not only is it full of historic structures, but there are historical objects everywhere that people walk past every day without noticing them. One of the goals of the program is to teach people about the historical treasures that surround them, thereby making them more likely to preserve them.

The tours, which last about an hour, are free and open to the public. They run from July 7 to August 1, and will be given Wednesdays and Thursdays at 11am, Fridays at 3pm, Saturdays at 10:30am, and Sundays at 3pm. Tours begin at the Shepherdstown Visitor Center in the Entler Hotel at 129 East German Street. For more information, contact Keith Alexander at kalexand@shepherd.edu. Facebook users can find out more by searching for Shepherdstown Living History.

I have now been a Jefferson County Commissioner for one year. What have I learned after attending 75 meetings of the commission? Here are a few of my insights.Never leave town during February. I entered office on January 8, 2009 with no clue about what was awaiting me in less than 30 days. In February, property owners can appealtheir tax assessments to the County Commission. Last year homeowners could not believe their tax appraisal was so much higher than market value, es-pecially as the sales prices of homes plummeted week byweek. Unfortunately, the state-mandated tax appraisal period is always in the past, so up-to-date market values cannot be considered. The County Com-mission met 14 times in Feb-ruary to accommodate people  wanting to plead their case. It was a long, grueling process.Never leave town during March. March is budget month. I am proud we got the budget adopted on time after missing state-mandated deadlines two years in a row. It took endless meetings, and left no oppor-tunity for meaningful public input. Equally frustrating was the absence of work programs for county departments that described the types of service and programs being funded. The County Commission has already directed departmentheads to create work programs to go with their budget requests for FY 2011. I am a strong sup-porter of performance-basedbudgeting and will continue to push for that approach.Don’t let your voter reg-istration go stale. Just like unused bread, unused voter  registrations go stale. It takes a little longer for voting registra-tions to go bad: 8 years. Those who don’t vote at least once in that time have to re-register. I learned this fact while certi-fying the elections for zoning and table games. The County Commission must review ev-ery single provisional or chal-lenged ballot, and decide whether or not to allow a ballot to be counted. The easiest bal-lot to reject was the registered voter from Berkeley County who insisted on voting in the table games election. The most rewarding ballot to accept was from a hospital patient who voted while still in the inten-sive care unit. Employees can have their personnel evaluation done in public session. This was a real shocker to me. West Virginia state law requires personnel  evaluations in the government sector to be done in public if requested by the employee.So, the personnel evaluation of the county administrator was done in public, on the web-cam in front of an audience as requested by the employee. I have been evaluated and con-ducted evaluations for over 30 years during my employment in county government. This is the first time I have ever seen an evaluation done in public.Communicating with the public is not easy. Com-mission meetings may all be viewed on the webcam, but I suspect most people don’t have such a high threshold for pain. Residents should be able to go to the County Commission website and find information about key actions, upcoming meetings, and important com-munity announcements. One  of my biggest disappointments is that the webpage was never improved last year. Now that a web expert has been hired, that should change in 2010.I have learned a lot during my “rookie” year on the com-mission. Next year I want to explore the big issues facing Jefferson County, includingjob creation, implementing the Chesapeake Bay environmental standards, promoting history-based tourism, and figuring out how to solve our looming infra-structure problems.But first I must complete a far harder task. I have to clear my house of a year’s worth of agenda packets and back-ground reports.Lyn Widmyer is a Jefferson County Commissioner and oc-casional contributor to The Observer.

Squirrels are the fly in the ointment of my husband’s otherwise peaceful home life. It’s not that Brian dislikes them; he just thinks that birds should eat at the bird feeder, and that everyone, including wildlife, should know the rules.

I’d noticed the disrespectful squirrels at the feeder and decided not to point them out. Nature was preparing for winter, another season of darkness, and I needed to think about the holidays. “Do you think we’re up to hosting Thanksgiving dinner here this year?” I asked.

Brian looked up from his laptop, concern in his eyes, and answered, “If you want to try, I’m with you.” What could be so hard about Thanksgiving dinner? We had prepared the meal many times, and always managed to enjoy some part of it, even if sometimes the sweetest moment was when everyone left. But everything was harder since we lost Desiree — especially holidays.

“I wonder if Chris will join us.” Chris, the son of my heart, was one of my daughters’ friends that I was glad to know. “I hope he’ll at least stop by. He makes everybody laugh.”

“Good idea, so Steph and her new boyfriend, your Mom, and Chris. I think that’s doable. You call everyone, and I’ll make the grocery list.”

Cold rain met us on Thanksgiving morning; at least the house smelled like turkey. Brian and I stood side by side at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered leaning his head on mine.

My daughter Stephanie and her boyfriend Kevin showed up with empty stomachs and a broccoli casserole. Mom brought a bottle of wine. Chris came late as usual and entertained us, asking, “Did you know that liquid Downey should not be put into the dryer?” The wine warmed us all, and we had a pleasant meal. But conversation dwindled, and soon we found ourselves looking at our plates.

“I’ll clear the table if you load the dishwasher,” I offered my husband. Everyone leapt up to help. Scraping the leftover mashed potatoes into a container, someone pointed to the squirrel on top of the birdfeeder outside the kitchen window.

“No!” Brian said, slinging his dish towel to one side. “Not any more.” A declaration of war, or was this a diversion? Kevin joined the battle with a flanking strategy, going out through the garage armed with a baseball. Brian took a frontal attack out the kitchen door. Chris took over the command position at the kitchen table, shouting, “He’s coming toward you Kevin,” until the squirrel retreated into the trees, planning his next assault on the bird feeder.

Three generations of women looked at each other and shook their heads. This crusade was not a part of our holiday tradition, but I liked it better than strained silence.

“I wish I was so easily entertained,” I sighed.

“You’re not male,” my daughter answered. My mother reached for the wine bottle to pour us liquid fortitude.

The men regrouped to strategize, and the determined squirrel had another go at the birdfeeder right before their eyes. Enraged, the men took the same positions with the same results.

“This is becoming entertaining,” I said to my daughter as I handed her the last pot to dry. After another failed attempt, Brian stared out the window at the backyard misted in light rain. His face limp in resignation, he absently said, “If only I could get electricity to the pole.”

Chris, a licensed electrician, walked up next to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “You got any wire in the garage?”

My husband blinked at the wiry young man. “I have 12-2 wire, and we could use an old extension cord.” Kevin stepped forward, saying something about wire nuts and splicing. A nice diversion or not, water and electricity didn’t seem like a good mix to me, but I was overruled by the male army of three. Out they strode into the wilderness of the back yard, armed with wire, tape, and a metal pole that held the birdfeeder.

They hoped to prove that they were, in fact, smarter than a squirrel. I had my doubts. Stephanie, my mom, and I sat at the kitchen table, finishing up our wine, phones in hand, waiting to call 911 in case one of the boys got electrocuted in the rain. My mother soon tired and left for home.

After about half an hour, the wet guys joined us at the table, excitedly waiting for the unsuspecting squirrel to come back for another bite of bird food. It didn’t disappoint. The squirrel climbed the pole, stopping to look for men charging out of the bushes. It scurried a bit higher. No one in the kitchen dared to breathe. Chris had the plug in his hand, Brian in command, “Just wait for it . . . wait . . . NOW!” The squirrel jumped ten feet, landing in the grass. Startled but still healthy, he glanced over his shoulder in puzzlement.

The humans laughed until we cried, the boys victorious. And so it went again. And again. Squirrel-shocking amused us until the animal seemed in full retreat, so the others wandered into the living room to watch some football. I lingered, wiping off the table, as the darkness folded over me again. I missed Desiree. Our second Thanksgiving since she died, this one somehow seemed harder than the first, the absence of her laugh more permanent.

Night had also begun to claim the day. Through the gray rain, another squirrel, or perhaps the same, approached the birdfeeder. That little bastard, I thought, happy to be the only thing between the squirrel and the birdseed. My turn to defend, to even out the wrongs of life.

I waited, electric cord in my hand. Waited until the invader stood at the pinnacle of the pole. And then I plunged the plug into the socket. The squirrel jumped at least 20 feet. I shouted in victory, and everyone rushed in from the TV wondering what the noise was about. They soon cheered and teased me at the same time. “You got him,” they howled, “And you didn’t want us to set it up.”

The diversion worked, the darkness pushed back again, replaced with laughter and hugs.

Disclaimer: No animal or human was injured in the making of this story, including the squirrels that still eat birdseed daily from my birdfeeder.

When I was pregnant, I wanted a daughter, a pretty doll-like being to play with. She’d smile at me, laughing and cooing in her frilly pink dress.

Wishing so hard, I produced Desiree and Stephanie, twin girls — tiny red-faced creatures that cried and pooped and ate like piglets.

I wished they’d feed themselves. Soon enough, they drank from their Sippy cups like two recovering drunks that had fallen off the wagon. The cute silver spoons that grandma gifted them were lobbed to the floor in favor of their hands, much better to smear anything that landed on their high-chair trays into mush. Red sauce streaked their blond hair, spaghetti noodles stuck in their toes, noses, and diapers.

As I emptied the guck from the pockets of their plastic bibs, and washed the walls and floor, I realized this was not what I’d envisioned when I made my wish.

Since I’m a slow learner, I looked forward to the time they would walk. My twin stroller kept jamming the automatic doors at the grocery store. Hoisting a baby on each hip limits the use of your hands. I imagined blissfully shopping hand-in-hand with my cute girls when could they walk.

Well, they walked. And then they ran.

One Tuesday afternoon, at the mall, they took off running in different directions. As I hesitated, one fell down. So I took off after the other one with the sound of a woman asking, “What kind of mother is she, leaving her child crying?” following me. By that time, toddler two entered a shoe store. Desiree always liked shoes. I wrestled a woman’s high-heeled boot from her fat little hand, tucked her under my arm football style, and running as if to make a touchdown, I raced back to the crying one on the floor. I broke through her audience, and like a skilled crane operator, I maneuvered her under the other arm. Sauntering away as if I didn’t have a care in the world, I wished – for the floor to swallow me.

Having learned nothing, I wanted them to talk. My daughters communicated with each other, even before they were born, and I yearned to be included in their conversation.

An average four year old asks about 450 questions per day. Two four year olds encourage each other’s curiosity, so the total number of questions per day usually exceeded 10,000 by my count. “Why is an orange called an orange? Can you have a cat mommy and a dog daddy? Where do lizards sleep? Will I be bigger than Daddy? How does the sun know when to come up?”

I started wishing for them to start school. Apparently I hadn’t noticed the pattern yet.

Summer ended, and my marriage was sinking. I had no gainful employment, and the girls turned five on September 7. I decided that while they were on the cusp, age-wise for school, it might be best for all of us if they entered kindergarten. They both read, so the curriculum should be a breeze. I hoped school would be a happy, stable place for them, not sure what was ahead for us at home. With white-out and a copy machine, I forged their birth records, changing their birthday to September 1, and enrolled them.

Kindergarten was a success, but first grade – more challenging. Their dad moved out of our house in February, along with my dream for a traditional happy family. But determined to maintain their routine, I still put them on the bus every morning, following it toward town for employment interviews.

One day, they refused to get on the bus. They grabbed my legs and wouldn’t let go, their faces wet with tears. I untangled one, only to have her re-attach as soon as I tried to untangle her sister. “Don’t leave us too,” they said, and I realized they shared my fear, my sense of loss. In fact, their devastation was greater than mine.

As my resolve slipped, the driver got off the bus with little white donuts in his hands. Wiping their faces, he offered them the donuts and promised they could help him drive to school. As he talked, he gently unraveled one child and guided her onto the bus; I followed with my other child. It worked, and for years after, Sam, the bus driver made sure my daughters had donuts on every school bus they rode.

The years flew past. I got a job, remarried, and my girls both grew into lovely young women. Desiree was engaged, preparing to walk down the aisle, a beautiful bride, in impressive shoes.

On January 23, 2005, six weeks before the wedding, a policeman knocked on our door to tell me that Desiree had been killed in a car accident.

Still I wish. In my dreams, I see Desiree alive again; she bears the babies she was planning, confides her impatient desire for them to crawl, and I get to laugh long and hard.

I wish my family to be whole again. Accepting this unspeakable loss leaves me with my memories of yesterday, and the task of building a life without her.

I wish I was still wishing my babies talked, walked, or fed themselves.

Darlene Truman moved to Shepherdstown in 1987. She has been a business person for over 20 years in Charles Town, a fitness and dance instructor in Jefferson County, daughter of Ethelmary Elliott, mother of Desiree and Stephanie Shields, and wife of Brian Truman.

Occasional looks at the people and places of the Eastern Panhandle

Finally! I can say those five little words that represent the culmination of 24 years of parenting: “My son has a job.”

Sort of.

My son Nick earned a degree in history. You can imagine how many job offers he received. He ended up living at home while earning a certificate in teaching English as a second language. At night, he volunteered in Charles Town to teach English to immigrants. While Nick was home, we engaged in many intellectual discussions on topics like, “the role of the returning adult child in the maintenance and upkeep of the family kitchen,” and, “the pros and cons of turning out lights when the adult child leaves a room.”

Once he got a teaching certificate, Nick’s job hunt began in earnest. It consisted of typing into Google, “job opportunities as far away from home as possible.” This resulted in two job offers. He chose the one in a very sleepy, very rural town in Mexico. Off he went, and discovered the town was not only sleepy, but dusty and isolated, and his job would consist of teaching only one class per week. Nick decided not to sign the contract. Instead he traveled around Mexico City. He studied the history of the country and especially enjoyed attending a cultural festival with the slogan: One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, FLOOR.”

Nick then took the second job offer to teach in Santiago, Chile. Off he went, assuring me he had a signed contract, and telling me, “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll find someplace to live.” Ten people with signed contracts turned up the first day, and the school informed them that only four would be employed. Nick survived the interview process, but the rest of the group was bid “adios.” Nick has a contract for six months, but that’s not much assurance given the schools quick dismissal of six applicants. For over a month, Nick lived in a boarding house with 15 other tenants and two lamps. At least in the gloom no one could notice his poor housekeeping skills.

Now Nick is in a mountain town north of Santiago teaching English to the workers at a gold mine. He said they gave him equipment. I asked if that included a pick axe and a cage with a canary to test oxygen levels in the mine. Nick assured me he is not going into the mine, but he gets a pair of boots and a fleece jacket with the company logo. In Homer Hickam’s memoir about growing up in Coalwood, West Virginia, he recounts his mother’s refusal to allow him to work in the mines even though his father was mining superintendent. I feel the same about my son.

A far easier way to teach English as a second language is to volunteer right here in Jefferson County. Jane Wagner runs a program in Charles Town that is in desperate need of volunteers. She had to turn away people for the classes that start this fall. She needs helpers on Mondays and Wednesday evenings. For those interested in becoming a regular volunteer, there is a short training course with Literacy Volunteers of the Eastern Panhandle. Contact Jane at esljefferson@yahoo.com.

In the meantime, I am proud to say in English (and Spanish) that my son is employed. I hope I am still saying that in three months.

Lyn Widmyer is a Jefferson County Commissioner.