And In One Fell Swoop Became . . . A Walking Ironic T-Shirt!

From Colonial Williamsburg to . . . Colonial Williamsburg:

It is hereby noted that a cooper — a maker of wooden buckets, tubs, butter churns, and, above all, barrels — came to town a few weeks ago from Williamsburg, Virginia, for purposes of “cross-promotion,” a distinctly modern concept that is nevertheless familiar to Williamsburg’s Colonial citizenry. To honor the upcoming quadrennial celebration of the nearby Jamestown colony, the one-and-thirty-year-old cooper was installed beneath a tent at the South Street Seaport for several days, along with some of his compatriots, to entertain people with knowledge of practices and places obsolete.

. . .

Feeling a pang of homesickness, he doffed his waistcoat and cravat, packed his barrels into a rented van, and, after some brief confusion getting out of downtown Manhattan, drove across the river to a different Williamsburg. (Same name, different namesake: Brooklyn’s Williamsburg was named for Jonathan Williams, who surveyed the area; Virginia’s was named for King William III.)

The cooper and his wife found a parking spot on Havemeyer Street and stopped at a bagel shop for lunch. The cooper looked up and pointed at a wooden water tower on a rooftop. “That’s cooperage!” he said. “I think they’re beautiful. I suppose to the average New Yorker they’re an eyesore. Kind of archaic.”

. . .

On Bedford Street, the cooper and his wife went into an apothecary. He surveyed the soap aisle; his wife bought a pack of Spree. Back on the street, they passed a branch of American Apparel and a few coffeehouses, but there was nary a wigmaker or a silversmith in sight.

. . .

The next stop was Mugs Ale House, which, lo and behold, had a decorative barrel in its back room. The cooper offered a critique. Pointing to one stave, he said, “This part here is pretty ugly. You see how the grain is really twisty?”