Early Modern Nitpicking

By Lisa Smith

Robert Burns was inspired to write an ode “To a Louse” (1786) when he observed a cheeky louse running over a woman’s bonnet during a church service.

Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly.

Robert Hooke, Micrographia or some physiological descriptions of minute bodies made by magnifying glasses with observations and inquiries thereupon (1665). Image of a louse under a microscope.

The ode reflects on the social meanings of lice, a great leveler that might affect beggars and beauties alike. And once those “ugly, creepin, blastit wonners” arrive, they are dashed difficult to destroy–as Laurence Totelin made clear earlier this month. Like Laurence, I was inspired to investigate the treatment of early modern lice after the crowlin ferlies dared to take up residence on my family. The lived experience of suffering from lice today has many parallels with our early modern counterparts: the social stigma of living with vermin, the desperate methods of trying to kill them, and the physical intimacy of catching and removing them.

After catching lice, my little one described feeling ashamed and dirty, despite the lice spreading like wildfire through the entire class and our reassurances that it was normal. An internalised message of dirtiness is potent indeed—and it is an old message, as Lisa Sarasohn discusses. The Bible, for example, indicates that lice were among the ten plagues sent by God to punish the Egyptians for not letting the Israelites go. The metaphor of lice was also often used in early modern society to describe any group that threatened the social order or to represent internal moral degeneration. Lousy people were akin to the vermin who inhabited their bodies.

Of course, as Karen Raber points out, lice sometimes had positive meanings. In the Renaissance, suffering from lice could be an aid to religious contemplation, offering a chance to reflect on social status and vanity, or a form of penance. By the seventeenth century, however, lice were associated with a moral failing. If cleanliness was next to godliness, the presence of lice suggested that one was neither clean nor godly.

Medical explanations for lice also emphasised a connection with dirt. Lice, which could infest the head or the pubic region, were seen as transmissable through sexual intimacy (Sarasohn); they were filthy critters in more ways than one! Early modern medicine drew on ideas from Antiquity (Fornociari et al.). Aristotle, for example, considered lice to be creatures spontaneously generated from decaying matter on animals, while Galen explained that lice were created through warmth and excess humidity below the skin. By the late eighteenth century, moreover, army physicians increasingly understood that there was a connection between typhus and lice (Willingham).

Early modern remedies were based on humoral theory or methods of suffocation, poisoning, and containment. All six lice treatments in The Vermin Killer (1680) included ingredients such as hog lard, butter, smashed apple, olive oil, or wax; these would have suffocated or immobilised the lice. Vinegar and salt water, with their drying qualities, also appeared, as did the poisonous sandarac (sulphide of arsenic) and quicksilver (29-31). The twelve remedies in The Compleat English and French Vermin-Killer (1710) were similar, but also introduced a common herb for treating lice: stavesacre (also known as lousewort or Delphinium staphisagria). This could be put into hair powder or mixed with other ingredients. The 1710 edition also recommended containment, whether by ensuring that the patient wore a cap during treatment or had a hair cut (20-22). By 1777, the fourteen remedies of The Complete Vermin-Killer (1777) remained the same. But the new presence of a recipe that included oil of mustard suggests that humoral explanations for lice still underpinned treatments (5). Culpeper, for example, indicated that mustard was good for resisting poison and drawing out bad humors.

In looking for early modern remedies, I was surprised to find so few (digitally searchable) manuscript recipe books in the Wellcome Library or the Folger Shakespeare Library that had lice treatments. Perhaps this is explained by the wide range of published remedies, which were included in books such as Nicholas Culpeper’s The English Physician or The Vermin Killer—both reprinted many times in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

The manuscript remedies reflect both the familiar, domestic location of treatments and the growing use of global commodities—sometimes in the same book. There are two lice-related recipes in Elizabeth Jacob’s “Physicall and chyrurgicall receipts” (c. 1654-1685). One “To Quite your selfe of Lice” recommends taking a piece of linen cloth, used by a goldsmith to wipe an object during gilding, then placing it under one’s arm pits and neck. Jacob explained the logic: the goldsmiths used quicksilver in the gilding process, which was a very effective lice killer (143). Quite clearly, this was a thrifty remedy that recycled a trade-related material rather than purchasing new ingredients from the apothecary. Significantly, it also suggests that this was an urban household with easy access to the tools of goldsmithing.

From Elizabeth Jacob (Wellcome MS 3009). Image Credit: Wellcome Library, London.

The Jacob family must have been well-connected to global trade, too. Another “receipt to kill lice” used “Endicockle berys from the Apothecarys”, which were to be powdered and strewn in the head (fol. 56).

From Elizabeth Jacob (Wellcome MS 3009). Image Credit: Wellcome Library, London.

Endicockle berries do not appear in the Oxford English Dictionary or in any books in the Historical Texts database. It was only when I looked up “fish berries,” mentioned in another remedy “For Scabs & lice in ye head” (Wellcome MS 635, 94), that I discovered they also went by the name Cocculus Indicus; endicockle, then, is a phonetic version of India Cockle berries. John Hill described the berry in A History of the Materia Medica (1751) noting that it was highly poisonous and came from Asia. It had been known for anti-lice properties in England since the late seventeenth century (504). The Jacob family benefited from their urban location in another way: an opportunity to learn about newly-imported global remedies.

John Hill, A History of the Materia Medica (1751) , p. 504.

The most effective remedy, both then and now, however, is the time-consuming process of combing and nitpicking; if catching lice is a mark of intimate relations, so too is this remedy. But it is not one found in a recipe book. The first time I discovered lice in my child’s hair, I combed and searched for over two hours. This was no mean feat with a wriggly small child. Subsequent combings have been shorter, but they take longer than a regular hair-brush. Often, she watches TV, but other times we chat.

Bartolomeo Pinelli, La famiglia dei pedochiosi. Image credit: Wellcome Collection, London.

Early modern images of nitpicking suggest a similar intimacy—the family grooming each other that Pinelli depicts or Piloty’s old woman examining the child’s head. During a lice infestation, it is, quite literally, all hands on deck (as Pinelli shows). The casual intimacy in the images is striking; the child leans against the woman’s legs, the husband places his head in his wife’s lap. Lice removal might be time-consuming, but the physical intimacy brings a pleasure of its own.

An old woman picking fleas from a young boy’s hair. Lithograph by F. Piloty after B.E. Murillo. Image Credit: Wellcome Collection, London.

Or is that intimacy animal-like? Dogs often appear in images of delousing, blurring the animal and human worlds; indeed, lice itself blurred the two worlds. The natural rambunctiousness of small children is also, perhaps, animal-like. Piloty’s young boy plays with the puppy and eats a chunk of bread; the smallest child in Pinelli’s picture is chained to the wall, straining against confinement. This reflects a reality: small children have little patience for the process of nitpicking and need to be entertained or constrained. But it also places the children and their families close to the animal world.

A nitpicking monkey — a handy labour-saving solution, though it brings the animal world even closer. Image Credit: Arthur Pond (eighteenth century), British Museum U,1.215.

The co-existence of lice and humans is intimate indeed—no wonder Burns’ louse was so bold. The experience of lice historically and today has many similarities. Sufferers still feel embarrassed, despite the commonness of the complaint, and we still try a range of remedies to poison or suffocate the vermin. Above all, the most effective method remains the same: physical removal of the crowlin ferlies. Family closeness is nice, but even nicer when the lice are gone.

Further Itchy Reading

Evans, Jennifer. “Feeling ‘Louzy’”. Early Modern Medicine, 24 September 2014 (https://earlymodernmedicine.com/creepy-crawlies/).

Fornaciari, Gino, et al. “The Use of Mercury against Pediculosis in the Renaissance: The Case of Ferdinand II of Aragon, King of Naples, 1467–96.” Medical History 55, 1 (2011): 109-115. (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3037217/)

Raber, Karen. Animal Bodies, Renaissance Culture. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013.

Sarasohn, Lisa. “The Microscopist & Voyeur: Margaret Cavendish’s Critique of Experimental Philosopy,” pp. 77-100 in Sigrun Haude and Melinda Zook (eds) Challenging Orthodoxies: The Social and Cultural Worlds of Early Modern Women. Farnham/Burlington: Ashgate, 2014.

Willingham, Emily. “Of Lice and Men: An Itchy History.” Scientific American, 14 February 2011 (https://blogs.scientificamerican.com/guest-blog/of-lice-and-men-an-itchy-history/).

Wolfe, Heather. “Early Modern Head Lice Remedies.” The Collation, 15 May 2018 (https://collation.folger.edu/2018/05/early-modern-head-lice-remedies/) .

British Beef, French Style: Robert May’s Braised Brisket

By Marissa Nicosia

This recipe was developed by Marissa Nicosia for the Folger Shakespeare Library exhibition, First Chefs: Fame and Foodways from Britain to the Americas (on view Jan 19–Mar 31, 2019), produced in association with Before ‘Farm to Table’: Early Modern Foodways and Cultures, a Mellon initiative in collaborative research at the Folger Institute. You can learn more about the series of recipes that Marissa updated on her site Cooking in the Archives and read a version of this post on the Folger’s Shakespeare and Beyond blog. Marissa gives special thanks to Amanda Herbert and Heather Wolfe for their help.

And if you are near D.C., you should check out the First Chefs exhibition (co-curated by RP editor, Amanda Herbert) before it closes on March 31!


Credit: Teresa Wood. All rights reserved.

The British are known for their beef. Although poultry, lamb, pork, game, fish, and shellfish abound in British cookery books from the early modern period, beef stands out. Beef is also a perennial refrain in Shakespeare’s works: The Duke of Orleans mocks King Henry’s army’s distress in the middle of Henry V by saying they are “out of beef”; Shylock ponders the difference between a pound of human flesh and that of “muttons, beefs, or goats”; Prince Hal addresses Falstaff with the moniker “sweet beef”; and in Twelfth Night louche English suitor Sir Andrew Aguecheek proclaims, “I am a great eater of beef” (Henry V III.vii.155; Merchant of Venice I.iii.172; 1 Henry IV III.iii.188; Twelfth Night I.iii.82). Both as sustenance and cultural signifier, cooking and eating beef was associated with British identity in the Renaissance.


First opening of May’s book. Credit: Folger Shakespeare Library, LUNA.

Robert May’s The Accomplisht Cook was first published in 1660 and went through multiple reprint editions in subsequent years. On the title page he promises recipes “for the Dressing of all Sorts of FLESH” and in the pages of this cookbook he certainly delivers. Under the engraved portrait of the chef, a few verses promise that May will provide “in one face / all hospitalitie” of the nation and his recipes will inspire “tables” groaning with “Natures plentie.” For British chefs this certainly meant how to prepare tempting beef dishes.

Recipe in May’s The Accomplisht Cook. Credit: Folger Shakespeare Library, LUNA (p. 115 and p. 116)

My brisket recipe updates May’s recipe “To stew a Rump, or the fat end of a Brisket of Beef in the French Fashion” for use in a twenty-first-century kitchen. The following text is from the 1685 edition, but the recipe is also in the first edition from 1660 (I3v-I4r).

To stew a Rump, or the fat end of a Brisket of Beef in the French Fashion

Take a rump of beef, boil it & scum it clean, in a stewing pan or broad mouthed pipkin, cover it close, & let it stew an hour; then put to it some whole pepper, cloves, mace, and salt, scorch the meat with your knife to let out the gravy, then put in some claret-wine, and half a dozen of slic’t onions; having boiled, an hour after put in some capers, or a handful of broom-buds, and half a dozen of cabbidge-lettice being first parboil’d in fair water, and quartered, two or three spoonfuls of wine vinegar, as much verjuyce, and let it stew till it be tender; then serve it on sippets of French bread, and dish it on those sippets; blow the fat clean off the broth, scum it, and stick it with fryed bread. (K2r-K2v)

In the French Fashion

You may be asking why I’ve turned to a recipe with the descriptor “in the French Fashion” after talking about the British and their beef. Importing wine from France was a long British tradition. May’s recipe specifically calls for “claret-wine” or French Bordeaux especially made for export to the European market. As Paul Lukacs explains in Inventing Wine, in the fourteenth century British demand for claret was so high that the British imported eighty percent of Bordeaux’s exports. Desire for French claret was “so strong that the Bordeaux wine fleet sailed twice a year—first in the fall, when the ships were filled with as much of the new harvest’s wine as they could carry, and then again in the spring when they transported what was left.” Anglo-French relations had quite a few high and low points between the fourteenth century and the seventeenth century when May was writing. Nevertheless, French claret was a mainstay of British drinking and eating culture.

Credit: Teresa Wood. All rights reserved.
Credit: Teresa Wood. All rights reserved.
The Cooking Team. Credit: Teresa Wood. All rights reserved

Moreover, stewing or braising beef in wine was an effective way to transform tough cuts like “rump” or “brisket” into tender stews. In Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat, Samin Nosrat explains the science behind these slow braises. Put simply: the acidic compounds of wine and the low-slow heat tenderize the tough muscle by breaking down its collagen proteins. The addition of acidic capers, wine vinegar, verjuice, and cabbage later in May’s recipe amplifies the potency of the cooking medium. As chef Fergus Henderson shows in his Nose to Tail Eating, it is a very British thing to make use of the whole animal and to use the most effective cooking techniques to render each cut into a delicious dish. A British “Accomplisht Cook,” like May, must make do with the ingredients and methods available to him even if they are, in many ways, French.

Credit: Teresa Wood. All rights reserved.
Credit: Teresa Wood. All rights reserved.
Credit: Teresa Wood. All rights reserved.

Ingredients

  • 2 pounds brisket
  • 2 cups sliced yellow onion
  • 1 tablespoon salt
  • 1 teaspoon black peppercorns
  • 1⁄2 teaspoon whole cloves
  • 1⁄4 teaspoon mace
  • 1 bottle red wine (750 ml; ideally, French claret or Bordeaux)
  • 4 cups sliced cabbage
  • 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
  • 2 tablespoons capers
  • 1⁄2 baguette or other bread

Preparation

Preheat your oven to 325°F. Pat the brisket dry and then place it in a large pot fitted with a cover. Add onions, salt, black peppercorns, whole cloves, and mace. Pour in wine, cover, and place in the oven for 1 hour. After the brisket has cooked for 1 hour, carefully flip it over. After it has cooked for 1 1⁄2 hours, add cabbage, vinegar, and capers. Check it at the 2 1⁄2 hour mark. It should be tender when poked with a fork. If not, give it more time. If the cabbage is crowded, rearrange as necessary for even cooking. To serve, cut your bread into cubes and arrange them on a platter. Remove the brisket and set it on a cutting board to rest. Remove the cabbage and onions and place them on top of the bread. Reduce remaining cooking liquid for ten minutes until it thickens. Slice the brisket thinly, and place on top of the cabbage, onions, and bread. Pour the reduced sauce over the whole dish. Serve immediately.

Notes

This satisfying dish will serve four to six people. The cubes of bread that May calls “sippets” are a common ingredient in meat dishes from this period. They efficiently and deliciously soak up the rich, flavorful sauce.


Learn More

Albala, Ken. Food in Early Modern Europe. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2003, especially pages 164–184.

Appelbaum, Robert. Aguecheek’s Beef, Belch’s Hiccup and Other Gastronomic Interjections: Literature, Culture and Food among the Early Moderns. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006.

Wall, Wendy. Recipes for Thought: Knowledge and Taste in the Early Modern English Kitchen. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015, especially pages 35-38.

Something to Share: Food from Home to Home

By Megan Daigle, with Maria Wilby and Iman Mortagy

Food brings people together. That simple idea is what underpins Something to Share, a cookbook produced in 2018 by Refugee Action—Colchester, a small but mighty voluntary organisation that works to help newcomers settle into the town, access services, and feel at home. There is, of course, a broad base of research demonstrating that cookbooks shape notions of belonging and community, from the local to the national—and all the more so for social justice groups seeking to promote inclusion and fund their work.[1] When we set out to produce Something to Share, however, what interested us was what we had seen in action ourselves.


Refugee Action—Colchester’s cookbook, Something to Share, is available to order online. Thanks to generous support from Linklaters LLP, all proceeds in their entirety go to support RA–C’s work and clients. The cookbook would also not be possible without support from Firstsite.

Since 2016, RA–C has operated the Syrian Pop-Up Café, which sees local refugees catering for community groups, churches, colleges, weddings and birthdays, the University of Essex, the Roman River Music Festival, and local arts venue Firstsite. The first café took place at the opening of Gee Vaucher’s Introspective exhibition at Firstsite, and Gee later came on board to design our cookbook. We now run regular cafés and cookery classes, with the goal that these will become self-supporting and refugee-run enterprises. Food and recipes have thus helped RA–C to build bridges of all kinds, and they have been a catalyst for integration, solidarity, and togetherness for our refugee chefs.

We hope that Something to Share makes a meaningful contribution to how Colchester sees itself as a welcoming and multicultural town. This book brings together family recipes from local refugees, asylum-seekers, and volunteers, placing them alongside personal stories of memories connected to food, long and difficult journeys, and the building of new homes and friendships. It presents an image of Colchester as a place with a long history of welcome and the courage not to look away from those in need.

Below, you will find an excerpt from the book where two of RA–C’s founders, Maria Wilby and Iman Mortagy, reflect on how food and recipes underpin everything they do.

The Transformative Power of Food: A Conversation

Maria: Everyone says the kitchen is the heart of the home, meaning what gets created in the kitchen. Food nourishes people, and not just physically. I think it’s a really important element of what we do at Refugee Action—Colchester.

Iman: Cooking and the kitchen are important to me too as part of my spiritual journey on the Sufi path. […] I think others may relate to this too. In the tradition and writings of Rumi, seekers need to be ‘cooked’ themselves in order to be matured into purer and tastier beings! […] In Sufism, there’s an emphasis on being very present in anything we do, treating it like a meditation, with reverence. The idea is that the cook transfers her or his energy into the food that’s being cooked. In fact, Rahaf [whose recipes appear in the book] tells me that her mother also does a prayer while she’s cooking, the same one that I do while stirring the pot. She will silently chant Ya Wadud (literally, ‘Oh Source of Love’). It’s all about love really, isn’t it? Interestingly, many people have commented that the food at the Syrian Pop-Up Cafe is very good because it’s made with love.

Maria: It’s similar to British culture where, traditionally, families used to say prayers before meals. I noticed with the Syrian community that there is a deeper reverence for the food and an absolute understanding of what they’re cooking and how flavours work together. There are regional variations in their recipes that I realise personalise their dishes.

Iman: When you’re preparing a meal in the Middle East, it’s about honouring the guest. For thousands of years, one of the most important values in Middle Eastern culture has been generosity. There are so many proverbs and poems that tell you to bring everything out of the cupboard for your guests. What I present to you on the table is a testament to what you are worth to me.

Maria: In one of the cookery classes, Dalchah [another contributor] made a biryani and it was huge. One of the participants wrote it all down, and when she made the recipe at home it turned out to be enough for about 23 people. So she phoned up everyone in her road and had an impromptu party because she said, ‘What could I do? I had to share it.’ One of our chefs once said to us, ‘For me, cooking is a noble thing. It’s not something I feel embarrassed about doing. To be able to do something that makes people happy like this shows me that I still have something to give and something to share.’

Iman: I think we all bring our own backgrounds and experiences to the table when we’re making food for the Pop-Up Café.


[1] Jen Bagelman, Maria Astrid Nunez Silva, and Carly Bagelman, “Cookbooks: A Tool for Engaged Research,” GeoHumanities 3, 2 (2017): 371–372; Sidney W. Mintz. Tasting food, tasting freedom: Excursions into eating, culture, and the past (Boston: Beacon Press, 1996); Priscilla Pankhurst Ferguson. Word of mouth: What we talk about when we talk about food (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2014).

Religion Mixed with Food: Turrón de Doña Pepa

By Michelle M. M. Hancock

A palette of colors, scattered like confetti decorate a signature Peruvian dessert. The flavored pastry, called the Turrón de Doña Pepa or Ms. Pepa’s Nougat, contains basic ingredients such as flour, water, shortening, butter, sugar, salt and eggs. A range of ingredients including anise, cinnamon, cloves, oranges, apples, figs, limes quince (similar to pears), sesame seeds and candy sprinkles amalgamate to create a unique flavor in this sticky October treat. The dessert originated near the capital city of Lima. According to legend, an Afro-Peruvian slave named Josefa Marmanillo, who suffered from paralysis in her arms and hands, created it in the 1700s. On a personal journey, she left her home in Cañete Valley (south of present-day Lima) to visit a black Christ painting in Pachacamilla just outside of Lima. The image, known to heal believers and grant miracles, cured Josefa. She created the dessert as an expression of gratitude to God.

Turrón de Doña Pepa dessert. Image credit: www.cooked.com July 2018.

History of Cristo Moreno (Black Christ)

Cristo Moreno’s own history emerges from Lima’s local spiritual landscape. In particular, Africans, both free and enslaved, revered his image. During the colonial era of the 1500s in the coastal city of Lima, Afro-Peruvian slaves worked the land and some converted to Christianity. As was common in the colonial era, churches and patrons often paid indigenous and African artists to paint portraits used to decorate colonial churches. In homage, artists rendered several images of Cristo Moreno. These paintings “were believed to please the spiritual forces that controlled the frequent earthquakes in the region”.[1] According to folklore, in 1651 an Afro-Peruvian slave, named Pedro Falcón from Angola, painted an image of a black Christ on the wall of slave quarters in Pachacamilla.[2]

Las Nazarenas Church in Lima, Peru. Image credit: Rafael Gómez, Flickr.

An earthquake hit the area in 1655 destroying churches and houses. In a sea of rubble the wall with the image of the black Christ remained. By 1687, locals built a chapel around the iconic image. That same year, another earthquake shook the city leaving the chapel in ruins. The image survived unscathed and endured a further earthquake in 1746.[3] These events signified a miracle and ignited a stream of devoted followers. Even King Charles II (1661-1700) of Spain issued a royal order calling the painting El Señor de los Milagros or Lord of Miracles.[4] The original painting stands as the centerpiece of the main altar at Las Nazarenas church in Lima.

El Señor de los Milagros procession in Lima, Peru. Image credit: USI.

Housed in the same church is a replica of the painting weighing two tons and is carried in a 24 hour procession once a year in October. Worshippers from all social classes dressed in purple singing hymns and praises “…accompany the image on its rounds through the oldest streets of Lima.”[5] Karsten Paerregaard states most Peruvians of African or indigenous heritage identify with the black Christ because white people have remained a minority in Peru since the Spanish conquest.[6] Processions of believers paying tribute to the image began in October 1687 and continue today as one of the largest Catholic ceremonies in the world.

Josefa Marmanillo

Josefa Marmanillo holding the Turrón de Doña Pepa dessert. Image credit: Wikimedia Commons, October 2008.

Founded in 1556, Cañete Valley, named after Don Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza (Spanish noble Marqués de Cañete), became a key site of black culture.[7] As with Pachacamilla, Afro-Peruvian slave labor dominated the agricultural valley during the colonial period. Josefa, cursed with paralysis in Cañete Valley and healed in Pachacamilla, had a dream of visiting saints. They left her with a dessert recipe that she shared with others. Prepared, sold and ate during the purple month of October, the Turrón de Doña Pepa compliments the celebrations of El Señor de los Milagros. Today, a number of bakeries, such as the Panadería las Nazarenas in Lima, sell the treat year round. It is known for its strong taste as the anise flavoring is similar to black licorice. For many it tastes better homemade. Religion mixed with food brings Peruvians in all shades of skin color to come together in October and celebrate Peru’s month of purple, passion, procession and pastry!


[1] Karsten Paerregaard, “In the Footsteps of the Lord of Miracles: The Expatriation of Religious Icons in the Peruvian Diaspora,” Journal of Ethnic & Migration Studies 34, no. 7 (September 2008): 1075.

[2] Cesár Ferreira and Eduardo Dargent-Chamot, Culture and Customs Latin America and the Caribbean: Culture and Customs of Peru (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 2003), 42.

[3] Paerregaard, “Footsteps”, 1075.

[4] Ferreira and Dargent-Chamot, Culture and Customs, 42.

[5] Ibid., 42.

[6] Martin Mejia-Associated Press. “AP PHOTOS: Peru Venerates Lord of Miracle in Big Procession.” AP English Worldstream-English. Associated Press DBA Press Association, November 2, 2017.

[7] Roberto Sánchez, “The Black Virgin: Santa Efigenia, Popular Religion, and the African Diaspora in Peru,” Church History 81, no. 3 (September 2012): 637.

Michelle M. M. Hancock is a graduate student in the Historical Resource Management Master’s program at Idaho State University. She has a Bachelor of Arts-History from Idaho State University (2018) and an Associate of Arts-Biological Science from Arkansas State University-Beebe (1993). This blog post was written for a class with Dr. Kathleen Kole de Peralta.