Fruitlands, Page 2

  Anna knew how I felt, and it would have been a kindness on her part if she had shared her berries with me. Then I would have done a good deed and received my share anyhow.

  Another pilgrim has come to Fruitlands, Mr. Samuel Larnard. Mr. Larnard, who is no more than twenty, once lived for a whole year on crackers and another whole year on apples. He frowned at me when I asked for a second piece of bread. Abby May, who has a fierce appetite, doesn’t mind his frowns, and today she reached onto his plate and snatched away a piece of his bread. Father scolded Abby May. Mother put her hand over her mouth so that no one should see her smile.

  This afternoon I took Anna and Lizzie off into the woods with me and said we must pretend we were in the banqueting room of a great castle. We pulled up grasses and scattered them around for rushes. A flat stone was our table. I said the chipmunks and squirrels were our great dogs lolling about waiting for us to throw bones from the table. Everyone told what they wanted for the feast. Lizzie said she would have slices of bread with lots of butter, even if butter did come from a cow. I shocked Anna by saying I would have a huge platter of bacon and eggs. Anna said she would have a dish of green beans. I said the dogs wouldn’t want any of her leavings. She said they would and that the dogs had green fur and ate only vegetables.

  JUNE 21, 1843

  Our day begins at five in the morning with a healthful cold bath at the stream. It is very refreshing. Our baths are followed by songs, exercise, and a nourishing breakfast of bread and applesauce. When I complained that the applesauce was sour, Father explained that we must do without white sugar. The white sugar that comes to this country from the West Indies is the product of slaves.

  Then it is time for our lessons. Mr. Lane teaches us. Today we had a lesson on not eating meat. He explained that the slaughtering of animals brings out man’s cruel nature. We had a little arithmetic and a fine discussion of self-sacrifice, which is Mr. Lane’s favorite subject. Mr. Lane helped me to see that I am selfish, thinking little of others. I must be willing to do without so that my soul may be strengthened.

  JUNE 21, 1843

  Our baths today were the funniest sight you can imagine. First the men bathed in the stream, and when they returned I went with Mama and my sisters for our baths.

  Lizzie asked, “Must I take a bath with frogs?”

  Anna complained, “There are fish nibbling at my toes.”

  The morning was cold, and Mother just splashed the water on her face and hands and did not go into the river at all.

  Yesterday Father gave in and concocted showers for us. A rough wooden frame was placed near the stream and covered with sheets. Anna, Lizzie, and I along with Mother, who held Abby May, stood inside. Father climbed up some wooden steps and poured pitchers of water over us. After a minnow landed on Lizzie’s head, Father poured the rest of the water through a sieve. After she was soaped, Abby May was so slippery and squirmed so, Mother could hardly hold her.

  Mr. Abraham Everett has come to live with us. He has soft brown eyes and long hair which curls at the ends. He is a fine addition, for he says little and works hard, unlike the others who much prefer talk to work. He has asked me to call him Abraham.

  JUNE 24, 1843

  Today is Lizzie’s birthday. She is eight years old. Anna and I tiptoed out of the attic before Lizzie was awake to join Mother and William. It was just dawn and the sky was pink at the edges. The air was full of the smell of sweet clover. There was such a chorus of birdsong, I could not help joining in and whistled as loudly as any of the birds. We hung Lizzie’s presents on a small pine tree. Even Abby May had a present. She had wrapped up a dozen raisins she had saved from her dinner the night before. My present was a pincushion I had fashioned from a bit of bright blue ribbon Mother gave me. I think it the prettiest thing on the tree.

  After breakfast we led Lizzie out into the woods for her surprise. Abraham said he must stay and work and did not go with us. Anna made oak-leaf wreaths for everyone to wear so that we all looked like wood sprites, even Mr. Lane, who wore his wreath cocked on one side of his head. We sang, and Father read a noble poem he had composed. I am sure nowhere in the world were people so happy on this morning as we were.

  JUNE 24, 1843

  I could not have been more surprised. Mr. Lane played his fiddle in such a merry way, he did not seem at all like the sour man he is most of the time. Perhaps his fiddle is like my pen when I use it. Perhaps his finer nature shines forth in his music as I sincerely hope mine shines forth in my writing, though I am afraid that is not always true.

  Lizzie was delighted with her presents and danced about with pleasure. Lizzie has the best nature of all of us. She is cheerful and never cross. Unlike Anna, she does not show off her goodness.

  Mother, who is at her happiest when we are happy, sang in a loud voice. Father stood over us smiling, but I could see he was thinking on some lesson he could make of the celebration so that all our pleasure should not be wasted.

  JUNE 30, 1843

  We are like bees in a hive, all of us busy at our tasks. Lizzie, Anna, and I are up at daybreak to help Mother prepare breakfast. As we eat, Father improves our minds by reading a passage from some great work. This morning we heard the words of the Quaker William Penn, who said we wash, dress, and perfume our bodies but are careless of our souls. The body, he said, shall have three or four new suits a year but the soul must wear its old clothes.

  With those words ringing in our ears, Anna, Lizzie, and I try to be cheerful in our duties. We clear the table and wash the dishes while Mother begins the laundry. Soon we are all at the scrub board, our arms in suds up to our elbows, while Mother boils the bed linens in the copper kettle to get them spotless. There is no finer sight than white sheets spread over green grass to bleach in the sun. It is like a field of snow in the midst of summer.

  Afterward I scour the copper kettle with a teacupful of vinegar and a tablespoonful of salt to make it shine. I smell of vinegar all afternoon.

  The men, even William, are in the fields. They have planted three acres of corn, two acres of potatoes, winter wheat, and much barley, which will be our principal food this winter. Apple and pear trees have been planted and mulberry trees as well. I imagine the fruit trees in the spring with their blossoms floating on a blue sky.

  Mother and I and my sisters have set out our kitchen garden. The only thing better than a tub full of suds is a handful of dirt.

  JUNE 30, 1843

  Abraham helped Mother wring out the sheets. With his long dark hair and great brown eyes and his silent ways, Abraham is mysterious. He is the only one of the men to lend Mother a hand. I think perhaps he is an exiled prince from some far kingdom.

  When he thought no one was about, Mr. Palmer went into the kitchen and made bay rum to comb through his whiskers. I glimpsed the recipe, which called for oil of bay, oil of neroli, alcohol, and water.

  I made a dreadful mistake today and caused trouble for Mother. “Father,” I asked, “how is it we can use soap when it is made from tallow, which comes from the cow?” No sooner were the words out of my mouth then I saw the horrified look on Mother’s face. At once I realized what I had done. As long as nothing was said, Mother might use the soap, but once it had been said out loud that soap required tallow from a cow, all was nearly lost. Luckily Father is first a philosopher and secondly a friend of cows, for he said, “It would be wasteful and discourteous to the cow to throw away the soap we had already purchased before we aspired to higher ideals.”

  Mother breathed a sigh of relief, for she had wisely taken with us a large supply of soap.

  Father also gave in when it came time to plant vegetables, letting Mother put base, downward-growing potatoes, radishes, and turnips in along with the squash and beans and peas.

  I go out each day to see what seeds have sprouted. I am heartily sick of bread and applesauce. When I look at the bare earth, I imagine fat pea pods and dangles of beans so that my mouth waters. The radishes have already begun to form. Yesterday when no on
e was looking, I pulled one and ate it, though it was no larger than a kernel of corn. Afterward I was ashamed of my gross appetite, but it is hard to work when you are famished. Even my stomach growls at its hunger.

  When I complained to Mother, she gently chided me. “If our hearts are willing, Louy, dear, our stomachs will follow.”

  After that I cried and resolved not to complain.

  When our work was finished and our lessons done, I went running up and down the hills. No matter how miserable I am, when I run down a hill, I run so fast my misery can’t catch up with me.

  JULY 1, 1843

  Each morning after our shower we have our singing lesson. Everyone joins in. I wish we might have our breakfast first. I am sure that if my stomach were full, I could sing with a louder voice.

  This afternoon I picked a bouquet of field daisies and put them on the table for our supper. After our meals Mr. Lane leads us in an edifying discussion. Today he kindly noticed my daisies and took them as a subject for our talk.

  “Louisa has put a vase of flowers on the table,” he said. “Let us think whether the flowers are better plucked and placed in a vase or growing in the field.”

  Father: Can we not agree that the field is their natural place?

  Anna: When they are growing in the field, they last longer than they do in a vase of water.

  Lizzie: But we can’t see them in the field. Here they are right before our eyes.

  Father: Is it not better that we exercise our limbs and go into the fields so that we may see the flowers as nature meant us to?

  Me: I am very sorry I plucked the flowers. After this I’ll leave the flowers where they belong.

  I cried and was sorry. It is generous of Mr. Lane to take so much notice of my faults and so help me to improve.

  JULY 1, 1843

  There is so little in the way of food on our table that I thought to put daisies there to keep our minds off of our empty plates. As a result so many words fell upon them, the poor flowers withered before our eyes, thus proving Anna’s point. Anna always takes Father’s side. Mother didn’t say anything, but after dinner, when Lizzie picked some orange hawkweed and put them with my daisies, Mother smiled.

  Mother does not often disagree with Father, but this evening was such a time. While the men were in the fields, a neighbor brought over a sack of hickory nuts. Had Father been there, he would have refused them, for they are neither fruit nor vegetable. When Mother put out a plate of the nuts this evening along with a nutcracker, Father looked stormy, but Mother said we must have them until such a time as more vegetables ripen. “The girls are losing weight, Bronson,” she said.

  Mr. Lane saw that William was staring hungrily at the nuts. His eyebrows met over his nose as they do when he is about to make a pronouncement. In a firm voice he said, “Self-denial is the road to eternal life.”

  Mother is the only one among us who is not afraid of Mr. Lane. She said, “If we are to die of starvation, we will find the road to eternal life soon enough.”

  At last Father gave in and we fell upon the nuts, even William. Only Mr. Lane abstained. Never has anything tasted so good. But even better than the taste of the nuts was Mr. Lane’s defeat at Mother’s hands. I saw William steal an admiring look at her.

  JULY 2, 1843

  This morning Mr. Lane and Father led all of us in a discussion of poetry and how it is one of mankind’s most noble efforts. We discussed our favorite poems. Father chose Mr. Emerson’s poetry, and Mr. Lane chose Milton’s Paradise Lost. I chose Bryant’s “To a Waterfowl,” for it is all about a bird that travels on its solitary way. I am so fond of the line “Lone wandering, but not lost.” I said I thought I was like that waterfowl. Father said I was too young to guide myself like a lone bird but must fly with the flock, following those who are wiser than I am.

  I took a long walk this afternoon by myself. When I returned, I made hollyhock dolls for Abby May.

  JULY 2, 1843

  Father was right! I need others to guide me. I started off like the waterfowl to take a solitary walk. I decided to explore the path to the little town of Still River. When I had gone a mile or so, I came to a farmhouse. It was painted a cheerful yellow and had orange lilies growing along its walk. There was a stone barn with a lovely cow with great brown eyes and long eyelashes. I think Father is right, for I don’t see how you could eat such a pretty animal. While I was looking at the cow, a lady came out and inquired as to my name and where I lived. Though a smile crossed her face when I said, “Fruitlands,” she was very friendly and asked me if I would like a glass of cold raspberry juice. I gladly accepted, for I am hungry all the time. I sat on her porch and drank the juice and ate a large piece of cake. When I exclaimed at how tasty the cake was, she wrote down the recipe.

  Here are the terrible things I ate: butter and milk (from the poor cow), eggs (stolen from chickens who were fenced in), and white sugar (made by the work of slaves in the West Indies).

  Thanking her, I hurried away. I buried the recipe under a stone. To punish myself I did not eat the wild blueberries Lizzie and Anna had picked. Mother looked surprised and I said I was not feeling well. After dinner I was hungry and I thought of how delicious the cake was, eating it once more in my mind. Does that mean I was bad all over again?

  JULY 5, 1843

  I expressed a wish for a lamp so I could read at night, but Mr. Lane told us of the cruel way whales are harpooned to get the whale oil for a lamp. Father says we had better go to bed early and get up early, reading by the light of day. Mother begged for a lamp, and Mr. Lane and Father finally agreed. No one else is to have one.

  By the light of Mother’s lamp, Father read us a story from the journal of the Quaker John Woolman. A man was traveling and, being a considerable distance from his home, planned to spend the night in the home of an acquaintance. But when he drew near to the man’s home and observed the unhappy condition of the man’s slaves, he lit a fire and spent the night in the woods.

  The acquaintance inquired as to why the man had not stopped with him. In answer the man said, “I had intended to come to thy house, but seeing thy slaves at their work and observing the manner of their dress, I had no liking to come and partake with thee.”

  Mr. Lane then talked with us upon the subject that all men are equal. I was rude and impertinent, for I asked Mr. Lane if we are all equal, why should he always be the one to tell us what to do? Even Mother was angry with my rudeness. I cried and begged Mr. Lane’s pardon.

  JULY 5, 1843

  Today we had our first peas from the garden. Lizzie and I shucked them and I confess that as many went into our mouths as into the pot. I believe they are better raw than cooked. Certainly there is more crunch.

  Mother is patient, seldom questioning the decisions made by Father and Mr. Lane. However, I believe winning the battle of the nuts gave her courage. When it grew dark, Mother lit a lamp. At once Mr. Lane said there should be no burning of lamp oil. “The cooking and cleaning and gardening take all my daylight hours,” Mother said. “If I cannot have a lamp for my mending, the mending will not be done.” Whereupon she put the basket away.

  Father and Mr. Lane conferred, and it was agreed that Mother should have a lamp but that no one else should have one. However, we are like moths around a candle, seating ourselves by Mother’s feet to catch a bit of light with which to read.

  I don’t know what made me say such a rude thing to Mr. Lane. I was truly sorry. When she heard me crying into my pillow, Lizzie crept over and put her arm around me. Anna asked, “Louy, why must you always say just what you think?”

  “Should I say what I don’t think?” I countered.

  “You should say nothing at all,” Anna said.

  That is beyond my doing.

  JULY 6, 1843

  The men have traveled to Concord to talk with Mr. Emerson. William went with them. Mother said that after we finish our tasks we may have a holiday! Lizzie dusted, Anna polished the furniture, and I blacked the stove. Now Anna is wri
ting a poem, and Lizzie is making dresses for her dolls. I am resolved to spend the afternoon in the woods looking closely at nature, as Henry Thoreau taught me to do. I have seen him get down on all fours to get a beetle’s view of things. He thought nothing of sitting alongside of a woodchuck a half hour at a time so as to know the creature better. He even spoke to the woodchuck in the woodchuck’s language.

  This is what I observed. First, a woodpecker. The woodpecker was hard to see, for it kept circling the tree trunk to hide from me. The bird is as large as a crow. Its feathers are red, white, and black with a ruff of feathers on its head like a crown. The holes that it makes are large and nearly square instead of round.

  Next I ran after a squirrel, the better to see it. Not looking where I was going, I ran right into a hornets’ nest but escaped with only one sting. I know it is a fault of mine to rush headlong into things. Father has often said so, and now I have the sting on my leg to prove him right.

  Having heard that it was good for stings, I applied some Viper’s bugloss to the sting to ease the pain. The purplish-blue flower with a red center is very pretty, but it has such an ugly name I feel sorry for it. When the sting still burned, I stuck my leg in the stream. There are trout in the stream so quick you are not sure you see them.

  Orange jewelweed grows along the bank and red cardinal flower. The tresses of willows lean over the water like Anna and me when we wash our hair. I found a tiny bird’s nest in an alder bush. It was made of the softest, greenest moss so that I would have been pleased to have been born and raised in it like the nestlings.