Time was, local communities would pick up a stick and a ball, and play a primitive form of what would one day become the world’s most popular game. Baseball. But, contrary to popular belief, that historic 1839 game in Cooperstown, New York, wasn’t all that historic. It was preceded by an earlier recorded game. The year was 1838. The town was Beachville, Ontario.
Two local teams from Zorra and North Oxford faced each other. It was June 4th. Militia Day. The baseball diamond was actually a square. It had four bases, called byes. The bat was a straight stick of cedar from a wagon spoke. And the ball was made of twisted-yarn wrapped in calf skin sewn with waxed ends. They played their hearts out that day.
These days that field is located in a residential neighborhood behind a church. Nearby, at the Beachville District Museum, housed in a 19th Century home, sits a collection of old bats and mitts from a bygone era. In the back room there’s a table covered in soft hide leather from calves and water buffalo.
We’re given chalk, scissors, and a lemon peel template. Once we’ve traced the template on our chosen leather, we cut our design, punch holes along its perimeter, select a small super ball, tightly wrap it in yarn, wrap that ball of yarn in the leather, and then, sew it together. We’re making baseballs! Save for the super ball, this is how they used to make them. Handmade. Leather. Old fashioned.
It’s like were living an antique experience: sitting in the back of this old house, staring out at the green, and sewing a baseball the way they would have done it back in 1838. It’s disarmingly satisfying. I look over at my son. He’s riveted. He’s never sewn anything before. Torn a lot of jeans on the field, though. The silence of our focus is only punctuated by him telling me how much fun he’s having. Sewing and Baseball! Who knew what an unexpectedly beautiful father-son experience this would be? Crafting the perfect baseball.
In no time flat, we’re done. Amazing. We grab our gloves and a couple wooden bats, and head out to the field. I’m pitching. First swing, he hits it high into the trees. The sound of this ball when its hit by the bat is not like the crack of the bat you hear at ball parks today. This is more like the sound made when you catch a ball in a leather mitt; like the thump of a bass drum; it has resonance.
Playing catch in the country all afternoon, tossing a ball back and forth with my son—and this is his own ball that he made on his own! These kinds of moments are timeless; somewhere between a Norman Rockwell painting and a haiku. It truly is the best father-son sport.
My Dad gave me a baseball glove when I was a kid. I sat on the front steps, rubbing it with glove butter to treat the leather, so we could play a game of catch together. Somehow, it still has that same fresh leather smell today. I slide my hand into it, and watch my son smiling back as he winds up and says, “Dad, catch!” It’s magical.
For more information go to: Beachville District Museum; and while there, check out the Oxford County Cheese Trail!
