The Hen House “play[s] against a canonical sense of the past,” and its value is in its staging of history within an *experiential* register, as it will obviously not be one of the great works of Public History. “Low museums,” such as the Hen House, chronically short of funds, if funds were ever available in the first place, make do with what they have, but aren’t obligated to adjust themselves around the sensitivities of a patron. (They may, like all, be obligated to other social or cultural pressures, but, unlike funding, these pressures aren’t quite as direct.) The low museum candidly exists in its simplicity and authenticity. There’s no calculation, no deliberation, no corporate sponsorship complication: Just some guy and his muddy farm boots pulling stuff together for the sake of his love of local history and his passion for “micro-canonizing” in ways that escape any formalized understanding of public history.
My larger and more personal question around Hen House as a heuristic device is to what extent does (or perhaps should) public history engage with or move into the realm of ontology, the unknown, and the existence of phenomena that escapes or exceeds discursive analysis? Do we want to understand and define the experience of the makers of the Hen House and of the campers who encounter it? Or do we just want to allow it to exist on its own? What motivates us to control, define, and exhaustively categorize history or historical experience? What are the power relationships behind historical codification? In the tension between the epistemic (what we can know) and ontological (the possibility that something is there that cannot be known), the public historian faces the question of who ultimately gets to approve or deny the reality of or access to history. I am reminded of a passage in Carolyn Steedmans’ article, “Bimbos from Hell,” (1994) that speaks to the construction of reality across gender and writing, race and privilege. She pulls from Catherine Hall’s “White, Male and Middle Class” (1992) when she uses Hall’s terminology “colonial discourse:” that “pleasure of speaking for the oppressed.” (Hall, 213) Steedman continues to define the practice of discourse on behalf of others as one that is used by those who own not only things, but also power (Steedman 1994, 66).
My main point in the original post is that the very rugged granularity of this small display, and its seeming lack of sponsorship, is a critical component of the larger, comprehensive effort to understand, share, and experience history. Campers on their summer migration, with their lawn chairs and children and hot dogs and marshmallows, were invited on their turf and their terms to encounter—and experience—history. Contemporary and formalized collections, museums, and displays are by no means the enemy. Nor are public historians or curators. But at Lake Solano Park, the Putah Creek historical display belonged to the everyday camper (whoever that is?). As you suggest, there is a whole universe of historical display—big and small, humble and lofty, relevant and extraneous. In the end, something for all of us.
Referenced: Steedman, Carolyn. 1994. “Bimbos from Hell.” Social History (19)1:57-67.
