Now that the kids are back in school, their parents (and other grown-ups) can start a learning journey of their own.
I know I get the itch to take a class myself once the nippers are back to their routine. But the idea of learning something abstract like calculus or economics holds little appeal when I know I have the option of learning to do something with my hands.
One of the best places to learn a practical skill is in Cooperstown. No, not the Hall of Fame, if only because baseball has never been my sport. Go farther out of town to The Farmers' Museum, which offers more than just sheep, old buildings and barns.
Of course, the new skills that adults can learn at The Farmers' Museum are those that were most popular during the 1840s, the era that the museum strives to interpret.
But a fair number of those skills are coming back into fashion as we strive for a more sustainable lifestyle _ like, for instance, beekeeping or woodcarving.
For those who prefer their classes to involve flames rather than trees and insects, Steve Kellogg might just have what you're looking for.
Just wander past Todd's General Store and stop when you smell smoke.
Kellogg, the blacksmith shop super, has been with the museum for three months. While his tenure in the Field Blacksmith shop has been short, Kellogg has been learning how to shape hot metal since the 1990s.
At first glance, a craft that involves fire, hammers and tongs is not a good fit for your average homeowner. Kellogg insists that the skill is suited for both those with a dedicated shop and those limited to a private home.
"Neighbors would never know and will just think that you barbecue a lot," he says. "A new anvil costs the same as a new computer _ and the anvil will outlast the computer by hundreds of years."
If you, like me, are not yet ready to build a metal shop in your shed, a few of the interpreters at the museum can teach you a more practical art, that of cooking dinner in your fireplace.
The options for fireplace cookery, fortunately, go beyond marshmallows and toast. Some possible dishes for hands-on experience include roasts, hash, potatoes, bread and pie. All classes, in my opinion, are more fun when there's pie and a roaring fire.
In this workshop, a would-be hearth chef learns the basics of building a good cooking fire and of heat management from domestic arts supervisor Gwen Miner at the Lippitt Farmstead. Sadly, there are no plans to teach the farmstead's other observable vocations, which are spinning, knitting and dyeing.
If the domestic arts don't scratch your learning itch, wander up the walk from the Lippitt's house to the pharmacy and its adjacent garden full of medicinal plants. No, you won't learn how to make any interesting drugs _ but you can perfect your skills as a mad scientist as you mix various fragrant waters.
"A 19th-century pharmacy is a lot like a general store that also had cosmetics and perfumes," Patrick MacGregor, the pharmacy's supervisor, says. As he explains what he makes in his workshop, which is rose and lavender waters and hot sauce, MacGregor mixes up a batch of ginger pills that were given as digestive aids in the 1840s.
MacGregor says he has been with the museum for 15 years. "I keep coming back because I love it," he says.
Most of the folks who take his workshop are looking for homemade holiday gifts, he says.
All of the recipes he uses have been historically sourced. Most of them come from the thoroughly named "The Book of Useful Knowledge: A Cyclopedia of six thousand practical receipts and Collateral Information in the Arts, Manufactures, and Trades including Medicine, Pharmacy and Domestic Economy."
Personally, I'm drawn less to the smells of roses and more to the hearty thunks of a letterpress.
Fortunately, I can take a day class from Ted Shuart, who is in his eighth year in the Middlefield Printing Office. Its 1840s Washington Flatbed press was formerly used to print Delaware County's Andes Recorder. Currently it is used to make reproductions of historical posters, like an advertisement for the recreational use of nitrous oxide, which may have also been described in the Book of Useful Knowledge.
Shuart's students are expected to get their hands dirty as they set their own type for either posters or business cards. He has made one concession to the modern age by tracking down an "at" symbol for those who'd like their address on their cards.
"This is what graphic arts were like in the 1840s," Shuart explains as he gestures to all of the flats of type stacked in the front of his shop.
Usually Shuart has enough time to explain to visitors just the basics of how the work was done. But with the class, "people fully understand the process. I enjoy interacting with people and seeing their finished product," he says.
It is that finished product that continues to drive me toward learning a new skill when fall rolls around. When some instructor figures out a way for me to make a home-cooked dinner using calculus, then I'll consider signing up for a class.
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