Last September, I attended a dinner party hosted by family friends in Annapolis. The host, an avid traveler from an older family, considered amassing collections part of his life’s work. His were of primarily Venetian blown glass, but also included curiosities from the world’s hidden corners: a diorama molded out of baleen and ivory from an Alaskan village, a carved Egyptian box of unknown age found first in a pyramid, a blowgun and mask that were gifts from a South Seas chief, but he stopped me in front of a simple silver spoon displayed on the wall. “This is the jewel of my collection” he said, “do you know what it is? It’s a spoon from the forge of Paul Revere.” My reaction was immediate and spontaneous: I reached out and touched it. It was still a simple spoon, but somehow, by touching it, I felt midnight rides and redcoats, lanterns and belfry arches, and a shot heard ‘round the world.