Inspire appreciation for Salisbury history.
In many ways it was a night like most other nights in our little town of Salisbury. The citizens were huddled close to their hearths as winter weather declared itself outside. For those who lived on Ferry Road, a faint, rhythmic clopping sound—approaching, then receding—may have interrupted their nightly devotions. If clocks had been common in that era—they weren’t—the residents would have noted the time: 7:00. A lone horseman on a mission galloped along the ancient road once used by native Americans in pre-contact times.
In Salisbury, Paul Revere has been remembered (and mythologized) by many for his daytime ride in December of 1774. His mission: to alert the Portsmouth Patriot community to rumors—unsubstantiated, as it turned out—that the British were planning to sail north in order to safeguard Fort William and Mary’s cache of gunpowder and weapons. The fort, known today as Fort Constitution, stood sentinel at the mouth of the Piscataqua River. At that time, it was under British control, but only lightly guarded.
It’s a ride much less talked about, much less ballyhooed. A different season with very different
weather. A gray horse instead of the chestnut mare who would convey Revere four months later
in the ride immortalized by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. This ride began in the daytime, with
the famed express rider steering his mount northward away from Charlestown and toward
Portsmouth, New Hampshire. A cold wind-driven snow lacerated his exposed skin, and both
horse and rider had to contend with frozen and slushy, rutted roads. This ride may have been a
less exalted, less memorable ride, and, of course, no famous ballad celebrated it. It did, however,
involve our hometown Salisbury.
The daytime ride of Paul Revere on December 13, 1774 mattered greatly in the early course of
the war, as the events resulting from the delivery of Revere’s message offered the American
citizens a world of hopeful possibilities. At the same time, it also signaled a moment of no return. The armed assault of Fort William and Mary by the patriot community of Portsmouth (and towns beyond) was deemed a clear act of treason against the Crown. It was the first direct attack by the colonists against British forces.
With the discovery in October of 1774 that King George III had issued a directive to his Royal governors forbidding the importation to the colonies of arms, gunpowder, or other “military stores” from Great Britain, a great sense of urgency had descended on the Patriots to build up and defend their own stockpiles of weapons and ammunition. Running through their minds must have been the realization that no degree of resolve or righteousness or lofty ideals would amount to anything if the British held all the reserves stashed around the colonies. While much of Revere’s route remains undisputed, debate swirls around whether he crossed the Merrimack downriver, upriver, or in the middle via Carr’s Island*. After much research, I’ve reached my own conclusions.
What do we know about Paul Revere?
The larger-than-life individuals that come to mind when we think about the Revolutionary War period all seem to have shared some common traits. Famous Bostonians such as John Adams, Abigal Adams, John Hancock, and Samuel Adams—all were of high social standing, educated, and wealthy. (Samuel Adams, alas, managed to squander his family’s wealth; he showed much greater interest in politics, so we keep him in that same cohort. And, of course, with a beer named after him, how could we dare diminish his legacy?) Such was not the case with Paul Revere. He was the son of an immigrant and took his place among tradespeople. His importance to the cause, nevertheless, situates him firmly among the era’s luminaries.
Paul Revere was born in the North End of Boston to Apollos and Deborah (Hitchborn) Rivoire in January 1735. His father Apollos had been sent by his Huguenot family from France to the Americas when he was 13 years old. He quickly succeeded in securing an apprenticeship with a well-established Boston silversmith, John Coney. Coney died before Apollos had fulfilled his apprenticeship, but through business savvy, Apollos was able to acquire his master’s “Rolodex”, so to speak. Inasmuch as Apollos was a foreign immigrant whose accent would have been considered “funny” by all those colonists of English descent, he either was one lucky dude, or incredibly shrewd. Perhaps, one of the tacit lessons that his son Paul learned from him was how to convert moments into opportunity.
The third child (and first son) born to Apollos and Deborah, Paul would see the family continually expand; in the end, he was one of twelve children, for whom he took financial responsibility when his father died. At age 19, Paul inherited his father’s silversmith business. Like his father, he seized opportunities; for one, he understood the benefits of aligning himself with his mother’s Hitchborn relatives. They were well-connected and part of the affluent class of Boston merchants. Even so, Paul felt the financial pinch that the British Parliament’s revenue-raising Acts had engendered among the American colonies between 1764 and 1774. Needless to say, he was “all in” with this colonial rebellion stuff.
Paul Revere’s fame comes down to us, not so much because of his skills as a tradesman, which one should not trivialize, but because he was an unrivaled and trusted “express rider”. The colonies relied on an intricate network of postal riders, and—as an express rider—he was part of an elite class of couriers. He was that good.
The Ride
When Paul Revere set out to alert the patriots of Portsmouth in December of 1774, he had by then already earned a solid reputation based on reliable delivery of sensitive information within the Sons of Liberty network. It is unclear how many trips he had completed in service to the colonial resistance movement, but historians generally agree that he had already performed “dozens” of similar missions.
Revere left his home in the North End on that Tuesday afternoon, and, as he usually did, he borrowed a horse upon arriving on the opposite river bank (of the Mystic), and resumed his northward journey along what was known as the “Boston to Portsmouth Highway”. (Depending on the historical vantage point, it went by various other names, too**.) The road he followed owed (and continues to owe) its existence to established native American trails. It conforms (roughly) to what we nowadays know as Route 1-A (the “Scenic Byway” that traces a course along the coast. You know the road; it’s the route you take when you want to shun the barrage of commercial distractions and temptations offered along the younger, slightly more inland Route 1.)
Transportation and—consequently—communication in that era were far from instant. It would have taken him 7-8 hours of hard riding to deliver his message. (Did he switch out his horse for a “fresh” one along the way? Most assuredly, maybe two or three times, given that day’s harsh weather conditions, especially for the horse.) Not to be overlooked, too, was the need to make a quick assessment of matters in Portsmouth, and then make a hasty return trip in order to let his Boston compatriots know the outcome.
On his 60-mile northward flight, Revere would
have traveled without stopping through Lynn,
Salem, Beverly, Wenham, Ipswich, Rowley,
Newbury, and Newburyport. He would have
then turned off High Street and descended into
Market Square. Despite the allure, it is unlikely
that he would have stayed overnight at one of
the available taverns in Newburyport. Rather
than tarry, he continued to Ferry Wharf at the
foot of Fish Street (current-day State Street)
where he would have crossed the Merrimack
River, a 5 – 10-minute ferry ride. It is probable
that he arrived on the opposite shore at March’s
Landing on Ring’s Island, Salisbury. If Revere had left Boston between 1:00 and 2:00pm, it can be estimated that it was sometime between 7:00 and 8:00pm when he set off along Ferry Road.
Ferry Road was yet another native American trail adopted by the English colonists when they settled Salisbury in 1638. Once referred to as the “Road to Hog House” (also “Road to Hook’s Farm”), it led Revere into Salisbury Village. (It’s interesting to note that, heading in a southerly direction, Ferry Road originally ran directly to the landing; it did not bend around Ring’s Island, as we find it now.) With the exception of the cluster of homes on Ring’s Island, Revere would have passed only a few homes along the Ferry Road corridor***. Out of the heart of the village, Revere (following current-day Lafayette Road) then passed through Seabrook (recently incorporated as its own town, having separated from Hampton in 1768), Hampton, and—finally—Portsmouth. He successfully found the intended recipient of his message, Samuel Cutts, wealthy merchant and known associate of Revere. The events that surrounded this emergency rendezvous are referred to as the “Portsmouth Alarm”. It is safe to assume that Revere then signaled to the tavernkeeper at Stoodley’s Tavern on Daniel Street (now part of the Strawberry Banke Museum) to bring him a heated mug of mulled cider****. Mission almost accomplished. He likely stayed near the action just long enough to satisfy himself of the mission’s desired outcome, that of wresting the fort from the Royal guard. He then sprinted back to Boston with fresh news about the patriot victory.
Wouldn’t it be fun to imagine, too, that, on his return trip to Boston, Revere paused in Salisbury before once again crossing the Merrimack? Who’s to say he didn’t step inside March’s tavern on Ring’s Island and converse with the locals, excite their passions about forming their own Sons of Liberty cohort*****? It’s impossible to determine, however, whether our express rider would have interrupted the mission to fraternize. After all, he had responsibilities, and not just those associated with his “trusted courier” assignments for Boston’s Committee of Safety. His wife Rachel was at home, managing a household of eight children, with her youngest only a week old. On the other hand, perhaps knowing that March’s Tavern was a central location for Salisbury militia chatter, he dipped in “for one”, shared selective intel, and continued back to Boston. It’s something worth imagining!
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* Maps of the 18th and 19th century guided my thought process, as did mental exercises using logic. Just in the same way that Col. Benedict Arnold’s expedition (only nine months later) found it most expeditious to follow the well-established Boston to Portsmouth Highway to Newburyport Harbor, Revere would have taken the most direct and swift route up the coast. (By today’s standards, that route would probably be described as “meandering”.) An even more direct route was soon after carved out from Boston north in the early years of the 19th century; we know it as Route 1.) Then, crossing from Ferry Wharf to March’s Landing (rather than upriver), Revere would have saved anywhere from 20-40 minutes, and we can be sure that he wished—as always—to get the vital intelligence to its destination as quickly as possible. Moreover, March’s Ferry was the favored crossing point in that time period, given its proximity to Newburyport’s commercial center. It also provided a shorter crossing than would be had via Carr’s Ferry, one that required an additional short trek across Carr’s Island in between the two river channels. And a final point: by 1774, Carr’s Ferry crossings had become more sporadic, less “on schedule” (due to competition); such unreliability would certainly be a factor for Revere when deciding where to cross.
**The “Boston to Portsmouth Highway” was ordered by the Massachusetts Bay government as early as November, 1639. The directive, as articulated by the General Court of Boston, stipulated that each community must appoint a team of two or three “surveyors” who would coordinate their actions with abutting towns’ surveyors—similarly assigned—on both north and south borders. They would thus be able to create a seamless postal (and stagecoach) route that ran north-south and connected key segments from Boston to Portsmouth. Other names for this road include: Post Road, (Old) Bay Road, Road to the Bay (as in Massachusetts Bay), Salem Road, Country Road, King’s Highway (partially).
***Houses still standing from that time period include Pettengill Farm at 45 Ferry Road and the “Moody” House at 8 Ferry Road.
****His cider would have been heated by means of a mulling iron (also called a loggerhead), which was a long, wrought iron tool kept ridiculously hot in the tavern’s hearth. It was used by tavernkeepers to instantly boil hard cider, beer, or ale. It caramelized the sugar in the beverage and imparted a rather lovely “toasty” flavor. To this day, “mulled cider” continues to be a popular beverage in New England (as elsewhere), but—for obvious liability concerns—you’re not apt to see the bartender wielding a red-hot loggerhead in the vicinity of your mug of cider.
*****This building, formerly known as the Joseph March Tavern, was built in 1690 and still stands at 16 Second Street, Ring’s Island (as a private home). Joseph was the grandson of Captain John March (whose house is also still standing, a short distance away at 11 Second Street). John was a tavernkeeper in Newbury and the original ferry operator of the ferry that ran between Ferry Wharf in Newburyport and March’s Landing on Ring’s Island, beginning in 1687 (long before Newburyport was Newburyport, but rather the riverfront section of Newbury). He also was instrumental in developing the ancient native marsh trail into the Ferry Road corridor (agreeing to split the cost of roadbuilding and bridge construction with the Town.)
Sources & Citations:
•https://historynewburyport.com/marketsquare_statestreet/?utm_source=chatgpt.com
•https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=aeu.ark:/13960/t06x0gc8j&seq=9 includes journal entries of soldiers marching as part of Col. Benedict Arnold’s expedition to Quebec City.
•ChatGPT (image of Revere on horse)
•https://historicipswich.net/2022/12/15/old-bay-road/
•“The Merrimack River”, Wilbur E. Rowell, Essex Institute’s Historical Collection, January 1946.
•The Ride: Paul Revere and the Night that Saved America, Kostya Kennedy
•Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division (use of 1761 Blanchard and Langdon Map of New Hampshire)
•https://newenglandhistoricalsociety.com/paul-revere-rode-new-hampshire/
•“Map of the United States, Exhibiting the Post-Roads, the Situations, Connexions and Distances of the Post-Offices, Stage Roads, Counties & Principal Rivers”. Bradley, Abraham. 1805
•1768 Portrait of Paul Revere by John Singleton Copley (held by Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
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Submitted by Joyce McKenna, Mar. 20, 2026
Paul Revere's Other Ride
Part III Recycled Pewter
Before it was discovered that lead is a poisonous substance, it was one component in the manufacture of pewter. Combined with tin (something not readily available in the Colonies), it imparted the quality of malleability to the object, but also resulted in a shortened life expectancy. With a low melt point, it became an easy matter to melt down pewter to be re-fashioned by American pewterers.
It had long been a source of friction that through trade restrictions, the Colonies were limited in their ability to sell their own manufactured tin and pewter products anywhere in the British Empire. For centuries before our Revolution, England’s highly influential “Worshipful Company of Pewterers” had been enjoying a virtual monopoly on the sale of pewter goods. Given our frugal Yankee sensibilities, it is no wonder that families would have been accustomed to recycling their pewter ware when they wore out. Waste not, want not.
The realities during the Revolution were that soldiers and their families often took it upon
themselves to fashion their own bullets. The time-consuming and rather tedious process—
as would have taken place on our Potlid Square—was the community-wide melting down
of pewter items, as well as other household objects such as lead window weights, in a large
cauldron over a flame. The dross (impurities in the mixture) that would float to the surface
would be removed, and then the remainder would be ladled into bullet molds. Even in
camp, soldiers could make their own bullets with individual bullet molds.
Thus, the melting down of pewter by our Salisbury forebears demonstrates both customary
frugality and pure necessity. No one could bear the thought of our soldiers entering a field
of battle unprepared, unequipped. It takes a village.
~Submitted March 13, 2026 by Joyce McKenna
Sources (Potlid Square series):
https://hoagonsight.com/the-lovely-but-deadly-allure-of-colonial-pewter/
https://www.engr.psu.edu/mtah/essays/pewter.htm
https://www.bidsquare.com/blog/a-brief-history-of-pewter-featuring-bette-melvyn-wolf-744
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4b51w36oEqQ
https://historynet.com/no-guns-no-glory-the-race-to-arm-america/
Part II. A Spirit of Cooperation
Amid Critical Shortage
"Ragtag” has always been a word associated with the Continental Army, and one cannot help but wonder what thoughts ran through the mind of General George Washington when he arrived in Boston in the fall of 1775 and was apprised of the true nature of the ammunition scarcity. Through misinformation, the real numbers representing available gunpowder, lead, and weaponry were radically lower than reported. Washington, in a letter to John Hancock, described the shortage as an “Evil” that would only proliferate when the harsh New England winter set in. Before the military coffers were completely depleted, communities, such as Salisbury, could sell munitions to the army. By the fall of that first year (1775), with little to entice soldiers to re-enlist, the war chest was empty. Families still did what they could, in the meantime, to send their soldier sons and husbands off to war with a modicum of provisions.
The Continental Army’s difficulties were not limited to their ability — or inability — to pay their soldiers. As early as October 1774, Britain had banned the sale and importation of weapons to the American colonies, resulting in a critical shortage of available ammunition — in particular, gunpowder and lead. (Let’s just say the British were not amused at the brazen behavior of those obstreperous Bostonians who made clear how they felt about chests full of tea by staging their own fancy tea party. . .in the harbor at Boston.)
One of General Washington’s challenges was to alert the colonies of the weapons and ammunition crisis without consequently alerting the British. His message, communicated through secret correspondence with Massachusetts’ Provincial Congress*, made clear the critical need for — among other necessities such as winter-appropriate clothing, shoes, and fuel — ammunition. It is natural to suppose that families and the larger community would have banded together and pooled their resources.
*The message that reached communities such as Salisbury must, indeed, have been very secret. No mention in official town records directly underscores the ammunition crisis. And specific mention of soldier needs doesn’t appear in any town meeting minutes until 1778. In March of that year, it was “voted to Supply the Soldiers with Shirts Shoes and Stockings agreeable to the request of the general Court upon the Town’s Cost.” We are, as well, left to interpret the Committee of Safety’s standing directive to “give such encoragement as they shall Judge necessary to Soldiers. . .”
Potlid Square Part I: "Origins"
Sometimes, when you search too hard for something, it has a way of dodging you. Such was the case in my research about Pot Lid Square. It's akin to staring too long at an object; the object ceases to
resemble anything familiar. Several times I even forgot what I was
looking for.
Along the way, however, wonderful discoveries were made. For example, our own “Scenes of Salisbury” quilt now has deeper meaning. We understand the purpose of its creation; it was designed and produced as a fundraiser at the time of our nation’s bicentennial. The timing, of course, should have been a clue, but there’s that thing about staring too long at an object. Salisbury’s celebration of the bicentennial was no meager event; the town threw one bonanza of a celebration and everybody — in one way or another — joined in. Fundraisers included a Salisbury-centered bicentennial coin for purchase (you could buy either a pricier silver version or a bronze one), stationery for sale (designed by local artist Millie Hartson), and chances to win the Parish Women’s quilt (our “Scenes of Salisbury” quilt; for that story, go here: https://www.salisburyhistorical.org/blog). Also there was a flea market, an antiques fair, arts and crafts exhibits and sale, tree planting by students, occasions for colonial “dress up”, a flag raising, and — because a big event that honors 200 years of nationhood would be incomplete without it — a PARADE!
As we approach the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, we — the Town of Salisbury — might do well to reflect on the greater meaning of a humble monument that sits apart from the other testaments to our community’s involvement in major wars and campaigns. The monuments on our Town Common honor those who served in the Civil War, World War I, World War II, Vietnam War, Korean War, Persian Gulf War, and the U.S.S. Thresher Memorial dedicated to the memory of Salisbury citizen Robert Steinel.
At the intersection of Elm Street (Route 110) and Mudnock Road you will find the Pot Lid Square Monument, a bronze tablet mounted on a large, upright granite boulder. Its somewhat hidden location might suggest that it is merely incidental; it is off the beaten path, not easily reached. As our singular, permanent tribute to the American Revolution, it might surprise that it honors the women of the Town who “melted their pewter dishes into bullets that their men might defend their liberties.”
It remains uncertain whose inspiration led to the final handiwork that we know as the Potlid Square monument. We have learned most recently that it was at least funded by Charles M. Pike Sr., a direct descendant of Major Robert Pike. The permissions and various business contracts, as well, seem to have been orchestrated by him. However, the design of the bronze bas relief tablet is credited to Reverend Alvah E. Draper, who was minister at the Methodist church in town from 1923 to 1928, and his son Ralph L. Draper, a graduate of Worcester Polytechnic Institute. When you peruse the elements on the tablet, it’s satisfying to know whose minds — collectively — shaped the image that future generations would ponder. In this case, we can confidently say that two father-son partnerships deserve credit: Alvah and Ralph Draper and Charles Mace Pike Sr. and Charles Mace Pike Jr.
In a letter dated August 30, 1927, Norman Russell, president of the Albert Russell & Sons Company, provided Charles Pike with suggestions (in the form of “rubbings”) regarding the arrangement of the content and other components in his proposal. The Russell Company had an iron and brass foundry on Merrimac Street in Newburyport; they also operated a machine shop and advertised “bronze tablets”. Pike contracted with them to create the bronze tablet.
Several more months passed, and then, on June 2, 1928, Charles M. Pike Sr. was granted a permit by Salisbury Park Commission to erect a tablet on the Pot Lid Square triangle. Soon after, according to a June 18, 1928 receipt in the records held by Salisbury Historical Society, the tablet was “set in” the granite base by yet another business entity, Frank J. Williams “Cemetery Memorials of Distinction”. This business operated on Elm Street in Amesbury.
Evidence suggests, however, that the monument that we’re able to view now (in 2026) wasn’t placed on Potlid Square until ten years later, to coincide with our town’s tercentenary in 1938. Because Charles Pike Sr. had passed away in 1934, the monument was instead erected by his son, Charles Jr.
It’s worth noting that currently no monument stands on Potlid Square. (At the time the Potlid Square tablet was placed there, another tablet — dedicated to Major Robert Pike — was also placed, again through the efforts of Charles Mace Pike.) Our sole Revolutionary War monument was moved sometime later off the triangle and closer to where our town green (with the first meeting house and training field) was originally established. (To visualize this original arrangement, look south-southwest from the intersection of Elm Street and Mudnock Road.)
One final question needs to be addressed. Why the urgency to mark the American Revolution? More importantly, why then. . . at that moment in time? The centennial fervor that began in the late 1800’s and flowed into the 1900’s resulted in many communities reflecting on ways to commemorate and commit to memory the Revolution and the events associated with it.
Based on oral tradition, the colloquial term “potlid square” was beginning to circulate in the late 1800’s; from that point in time, we can find print references to “the Green know as Potlid Square.” However, in the “heat” of the moment back in the late 1700’s, the term did not exist; if women — or families or neighbors — were gathering on the Square to melt down their pewter ware, it was not articulated in such a way. They were more apt to say, “Come, my dear, let us go down to the Green and carry the pewter—they are making shot.”
~ submitted February 17, 2026 (with further edits February 26, 2026) by Joyce McKenna
The Helen and Emily Pike Research Room (a work in progress)
For our full slide presentation of the "Scenes of Salisbury" quilt. . .
"Scenes of Salisbury" Quilt Squares
"Scenes of Salisbury" Quilt
If not for the steady interest and gentle influence of volunteer Judy Watson, the "Scenes of Salisbury" quilt might still be lying — slightly rumpled — on one of the beds in our small house museum. Not exactly inaccessible, but one needs to climb the steep stairway to reach the quieter spaces where you're apt to find treasures just as captivating as in the rooms on the first floor.
The "Scenes of Salisbury" Quilt was a collaborative effort undertaken as a fundraiser in 1978 by the "Women's Parish Club", a group of women connected to the East Parish Methodist Church, a religious affiliation with long-established and historic ties to the East Parish Meeting house in Salisbury Square. The quilt was subsequently raffled off, and the winner, Nicholas Sullivan (along with his wife Mary Anne) donated the quilt to the Salisbury Historical Society at its first annual meeting in October of 1978.
Of course, 1978 was not that long ago. So, why does the "SOS" quilt merit deference. . . appreciation?
The quilter-artisans were — by and large — well-known women of Salisbury who were actively engaged in their community. Their assignment was to depict significant moments of Salisbury history or salient features that are illustrative of our town’s character. Nearly all of the 42 squares contained in the roughly 7' x 8' panel have been identified as to artisan. Sadly, most — but not all — of the contributing craftswomen have since passed away. Residents who can claim generational ties to Salisbury will recognize the names (and once we start naming names, we're compelled to include all): Helen Pollard, Anna Tufts, Mildred ("Millie") Hartson, Alice Currier, Winnie Pettengill, Esther Noyes, Nina Reed, Marie Bird, Yvonne Bamford, Ellen Santos, Mary Ellen Messenger, Annie Spring, C. Taylor, Mary Eaton, Lorraine Pike, Annie Dow, Dot Hitchings, Barbara Dow, Laura Gagnon, Joyce Souliotis, Emily Pike, Shirley Weiss, Alberta Chesley, Olive Swirk, Rachel Twomey, Angie Woodard, and — enigmatically — "CM", "HJ", "AFB", and "Patterson". (Several minds worked together to identify artists who signed only their initials: we are grateful to Jan DeWitt, Arthur Ober, Bev Gulazian, resident Jim Pollard, and, of course, Judy Watson.)
Each 12” block introduces a single event on a white cotton background; nearly all are original needlepoint. (Two are a combination of commercially-prepared design with needlepoint embellishment.) The squares are separated by a border of blue-colored cotton. A slender cord for hanging the quilt was applied along the top border, but to our knowledge the quilt has never been suspended in a vertical space; instead, it has primarily been on full display, albeit with paltry results, on one of the museum’s beds. Alas, it is too big for the bed, so we have to fold it in on itself. It is, likewise, too long to place vertically on a wall. One can't help but contemplate Goldilocks with sympathy in her quest for suitable accommodations. (Our quandary, however, does have a solution.)
Although the current condition of the quilt can be described, in a preliminary way, as “good”, it had been chronically subject to dust accumulation and the effects of sunlight and artificial light, as well as handling by visitors to the museum. In other words, there was never any type of barrier to prevent such potentially harmful disturbances.
It is because of our concerns for the quilt's longevity — and not because it is currently in a fragile state, that our Board of Directors agreed to submit it — firstly — for a professional evaluation. Museum Textile Services carefully studied the quilt, and prepared a detailed report about its condition and supplied helpful recommendations for display and continued conservation. (Handing over one of our "babies" was not an easy thing to do — emotionally. Is it possible that all museum collections managers have twinges of anxiety when they "pack off" a favorite child?)
Following the evaluation, we followed the recommendation to have the quilt professionally cleaned.
The exciting phase for this project will be the subsequent plan, in which we schedule temporary displays in adequate venues in the community.
It is expected that a lot of effort will be expended in raising the necessary funds to mount the quilt in a way that assures (to the extent possible) that no further harm to it will occur. We also see as critical to the project's success the transmission of important history about Salisbury.
Due to a generous grant awarded in December by Mass Cultural Council as part of their "Festivals and Projects 2025" program, the reward will be that viewers one day soon will be able to stand in front of the "Scenes of Salisbury" quilt and not only recognize proud symbols of our town's history, but wonder about — and venerate — the women of the "Parish Women's Club" whose hands fashioned a special work of art.
Updated January 31, 2025 (originally posted December 31, 2024)
How We Chose our Organizational Logo
(A very, very brief history)
Five months after Salisbury Historical Society's first meeting, in February of 1979, members chose three finalists from the 20 submissions by Triton Regional High School art class students. On March 15, the winner's name was announced: Diane Poulin. Over four decades later, we still love our logo.
It's fun to imagine, however, if sentiments were different back then — what alternative might we have chosen. Although missing entries #1 and 19, we can present all the contestants' submissions. What would YOU have selected (or considered a finalist)?
