Fruitlands (3 page)

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.

 

J
ULY
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.

 

J
ULY
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?

 

J
ULY
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.

 

J
ULY
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?”

 

J
ULY
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 writing 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.

 

J
ULY
6, 1843

The truth is I did more than stick my foot in the stream. I hiked up my skirts and waded in it. All the while I was thinking of dear Henry Thoreau. On such a day as this, had we still been living in Concord, I would have been in his company. Though he is a man who prefers the companionship of a woodchuck to that of a human, he allowed me to come along with him on his walks, naming the flowers as we walked. He would give a low, secret whistle, and crows would come to him and feed from his hand. It was as natural for him to walk down the middle of a river as it was for him to walk along a path. He would declare, “I am in the same bathtub as the muskrat.”

Anna and I went to Henry's school in Concord, but I learned more by following him along on his walks. He is not a handsome man; rather, with his long nose, some would consider him ugly. Yet his eyes are very fine and his manner so amusing, there is no one in whose company I would rather be.

Thinking of his walks in the river, I hiked up my skirts and waded in the stream, eating mouthfuls of watercress as I went. The current of the river made the sand slip out from
under my toes. Bright-red cardinal flowers bloomed along the bank. A turtle pulled in its head and wouldn't look at me. A heron waded just ahead, its cruel beak ready to spear any poor frog that happened in its way.

I had meant to keep to the shallows and hold my pantaloons clear of the water, but there was so much to see, I forgot to take care. I had to lay my pantaloons and tunic in the sun to dry while I hid in the bushes.

It was the best day I have had since we came to Fruitlands. Mother tells me that I am a part of a glorious experiment, but I wish someone else had tried it all out before to see if living as we do would really work.

 

J
ULY
8, 1843

We girls went with Mother to visit the Shakers who live nearby. Mother wishes to purchase a few yards of the fine linen they weave. The Shakers broke away from the Quaker church. All I know of them is that they dance and sing and shake away their sins.

There was no shaking when we visited their house, but only a quiet, polite welcome. The women wear
poke bonnets and the men wide-brimmed hats. Mother whispered that she had never seen so spotless a house. There were no ornaments set about to prettify the rooms, only those things needful for everyday living. Yet with nothing fancy on which to feast your eyes, the simple well-made lines of the chairs and tables were pleasant. They have wooden pegs on the wall on which to hang their chairs. With all the chairs fastened to the wall, sweeping the room must be an easy task.

There are seed packets for sale and dried herbs to cure every kind of ailment. There were lovely-smelling packets of lemon balm, angelica, and lavender and bottles of rosewater.

Mother marveled over the cleverness of their bathtub. It is on the second floor, directly over the big wood stove in the kitchen. The tub is filled with water and the water left to warm from the heat of the stove. I will think of the arrangement this winter when we take our shower baths.

On one wall was hung the motto of the Quakers: “Hearts to Pray With; Hands to Work With.” I mean to try to make it my own motto.

When we came home, Mother set us all to work so that we might follow the example of the Shakers' spotless home. Though it took all afternoon, everything shines to Mother's liking. Father says would not our time have been better spent in some effort to rub away the dust that has settled inside of our heads.

 

J
ULY
8, 1843

The Shakers were very kind to us, but I do not think they live as married men and women usually do. All the men live in one part of the house and all the women in another. Also, there was a ladder and a platform in the yard to aid the women in climbing onto a horse so that they would need no help from a man. It is against the Shaker rules for a woman or a man to touch one another. Is that not a strange rule? I asked Mother where Shaker babies would come from. She said the Shakers took in orphans.

Mother gave her shoes to the Shaker cobbler to have a new sole put on. It is to be a secret, for the sole must be leather. Mother dreads having to do her work in canvas shoes. For myself I keep my shoes from wearing out by going barefoot,
but my feet won't stop growing, and now I have trouble squeezing into my shoes.

After the cleaning was done, I made up a game about the Shakers. William and I wore beards made from yarn and played the part of the men. Lizzie and Anna were the women and wore sunbonnets. We danced and whirled about and shook to get rid of our sins. It must not have worked, for I was soon in trouble. Father said he was much displeased at my game, for it was sinful to make fun of the beliefs of others.

I meant it in good fun, for I was truly impressed with the little community and thought their home very pleasant. It is a great weakness in me that I am not serious enough and make fun of everything. Yet I never mind when others make sport of me, and I like to join in the fun.

 

J
ULY
12, 1843

This morning Father repaired the house and the barn. He is as fine a carpenter as anyone. In the afternoon he left off his repairs and built a little hut in the woods of twisted branches and gnarled wood. It looks like elves
live there. Father is so clever with his hands, he has often bartered his skills for food and shelter.

Mr. Hecker arrived today. We are pleased to have a new member of our family.

 

J
ULY
12, 1843

Of all the men who are a part of our family I like Abraham best. He helps Mother with the laundry and in kneading the bread dough. I believe Mr. Lane looks down upon him for doing women's work, but Mother is grateful.

Abraham's is a sad story. He was once confined to an asylum by his greedy relatives who wanted to get at his property. It seems odd to me that after such an experience, he would believe that men could be made perfect. At least with his helping ways he is more perfect than many I could name.