There's an article in today's New York Times that describes the fate of many historic house museums across the United States (you can read the article, "Homes sell, and history goes private" at http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/31/us/31preserve.html?ex=1325221200&en=d1a820285e884ee7&ei=5088&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss).  For many, admissions and support are down, and the need for costly repairs is rising.  Many of these homes are being offered for sale to private owners, and may never open to the public again.

As someone who has rarely enjoyed touring house museums, despite my job in the preservation field, I admit, I have mixed feelings about this.  I'd rather read the book than follow a docent around for an hour or two.  I enjoy seeing the house, and I enjoy learning the history.  I like being in the places where history happened.  I want to learn the story of the people who lived there.  But it's been my experience that most house tours turn into furniture tours, dish tours, etc.  The story of the people is almost always separated from the stories of their stuff.  Too often, well-meaning museum staff have filled a house with items of the period, to give you a "sense" of what it was like to live at a different time.  We, as visitors, get so lost in the details of the hand-carved furniture that we lose the track of the story.  And the rules -- please stay behind the rope, please stay on the mat, please don't touch anything, please stay with the group.  As a professional, I totally understand why all these rules are necessary, but they sure kill any effort at good storytelling.  And, because of all the artifacts, good curatorial policy dictates that exposure to light, especially sunlight, be limited, so drapes and shutters are closed, or windows are covered with filtering material that distorts or limits the view.  At that point, every historic house museum becomes just like every other historic house museum to me.  Wake me when it's over.

One of the best house tours I ever had was in the mid-1980s in Seneca Falls, NY.  I visited the former home of Elizabeth Cady Stanton.  The house had recently been acquired by the National Park Service as part of the Women's Rights National Historic Park.  I knew very little about Mrs. Stanton and her role in the mid-19th century quest for women's rights, but as I stood there in her living room, the ranger described her life.  The only furniture in that room was her piano.  But in my mind, I could see people in that house -- the Stanton kids (I think there were nine!), the help, Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, even their occasional visitors.  I could imagine Mrs. Stanton writing at a table, or fixing dinner, or taking care of a toddler's skinned knee.  Her story came to life for me without a houseful of reproduction furniture and window dressings.  I could walk around the room, I could look out the window, I could stand in the doorway -- in fact, I could move around the room like the Stantons had.  I experienced their house a little more like THEY did.  I didn't have to worry about the rules, because the house wasn't filled with museum pieces and other artifacts, the floors weren't covered with period carpets, the windows were open and the sun could come in.

Maybe that's the problem with house museums -- they can't be both houses and museums.  Either you get the story of the people, or you get the story of their stuff.  Perhaps if they picked one or the other . . .