A Winter Day The temperature outside is ten degrees Fahrenheit and almost that cold inside the house; the fires were not kept burning in the stoves during the night. The stoves are cold, the water in the water bucket is frozen, and the cold north wind is blowing underneath the house, coming up through the cracks in the floor and lifting the linoleum off the floor. My mother takes the corn-cobs that have been soaking in the kerosene and puts some in each stove, puts some wood on top of that, and lights the fire. Then heavier wood is put on top of that. She soon has a roaring fire burning in each stove. She then makes a trip out to the fruit cellar to retrieve the food that she put in there last night to keep from freezing: milk, eggs, butter, vegetables, and fruit. Should she have left them in the house, they would have been frozen solid this morning. She makes and bakes biscuits. Then starts frying eggs, ham, bacon, sausage, or whatever there is available for us for breakfast. After we all eat, she bakes more biscuits for the children that are going to school. Between one biscuit might be a fried egg, a piece of ham, a piece of bacon, or whatever she has that’s leftover from breakfast. And the other biscuit might be sorghum or jelly; she then wraps these lunches in newspaper. The more prosperous farmers have newspapers delivered to their mailbox by the rural route mail carrier. The papers are saved and given to us for this purpose. Before the older ones head for school, there is wood that has to be carried in from the woodshed and water to be carried from the well. If this is to be a wash-day, a cast iron, black water boiler that we have is brought in from the shed and placed on top of the stove. The water boiler is about a foot deep, a foot wide and maybe two feet long, an oblong affair. Two wash-tubs are brought in from the shed and put on a bench along with a washboard. Water is carried from the well to fill these tubs and that water boiler on top of the stove. After that, the older ones that have their lunches fixed will go to school-walk over one hill, across a dirt road and up to Moore school; again, a one room school, one teacher, eight grades, no water, no electricity, a coal burning stove in the middle of the room for heat, and outside toilets. While the older ones are at school, my mother starts washing clothes. She washes them on a washboard using lye soap. After she washes a piece, maybe overalls, or whatever, she wrings them out by hand , puts them in the other tub, rinses them, wrings them out by hand again, and puts them in a basket to carry them out to the clothesline. As each one is hung out on the clothesline, it immediately freezes. It’s a mystery to m e how she dries these clothes. Should we ever have freezing temperatures here in Plaquemines parish, I’m going to take some wet clothes and hang them on the fence and see if I can solve this mystery as how to dry them. While she’s doing this wash, she’s caring for three small children: me --an infant--, J.B. --just over a year old --, and Dorothy-- almost four. When the school day ends, Norman at six years of age, and Ethyl at fourteen years of age, remains at the school and do the janitor work. Norman can’t recall how much the school board paid him, but he’s sure, it wasn’t much. When they all arrived home from school, there were other chores that have to be done. More wood had to be carried in, more water carried from the well, chickens to be fed, eggs to be gathered then my mother bakes s more biscuits and fried, maybe a chicken, pork chops and perhaps some mashed potatoes and milk gravy. After every one eats the night meal and the dishes are washed and put away, then everyone gets around the kitchen table with a kerosene lamp and their school work with that short nub of a pencil and do their homework. Then they wash their hands, their face and their feet and go to bed.
Posted on: Sun, 30 Jun 2013 09:55:02 +0000
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