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| Myrtle Emma and oldest sister Mary |
I don't have too much to add to these particular stories, so I'll pretty much just let them speak for themselves. I did try to figure out who the Mrs. Bain was in the Easter story, without much success. I'm guessing she was a fancy friend of the family's. Also, I assume the creek they walked down to would have been Pike Creek, just a short walk to the east. And maybe you already knew this (I didn't), but rusks are a type of hard biscuit or twice-baked bread. Biscotte and zweiback (literally, "twice baked") are types of rusks.
The Spring section is another excerpt from a longer chapter entitled, The Seasons. We saw the Fall and Winter part of it a few months back, just before Christmas. Seems like another world now. (If you're reading this at some time in the future, beyond 2020, you still should know why. If you're reading this far in the future, ask your parents.) We'll finish with the Summer portion a bit later. In describing the Spring, Myrtle again recounts the excitement of Easter morning, although interestingly there is no mention of coloring or hunting for eggs. The tradition was certainly around then, but it may not have been as ubiquitous as it is now.
Although I know everyone in the family worked hard and the life was certainly different than what I experienced around here 50 years later, it sounds like it was a magical place to grow up. I did the same buttercup thing as a kid, as do my daughters today. Also, I had no idea that you could find wild asparagus! So, enjoy these pieces, and have a Happy Easter. And here's to a better rest of the Spring.
Easter
Easter morning came with the sun shining in the kitchen window, making pretty patterns on the floor. We had put out our soup bowls—decorated with windmills and waterways and blue trim around the edges—the night before. We found them filled with jelly beans, chocolate rabbits, little pigs with pink icing eyes, and homemade coconut eggs with a bitter chocolate coating. We were delighted, for sweets were few and far between in everyday life. We tasted only our favorite color jelly beans as breakfast was being cooked.
Easter morning you could have as many eggs as you wanted, cooked to your choice. I liked just one egg cooked sunny side up and a thick slice of homemade bread with jam. I peeled the crust off and dipped it in the yolk.
My father like his eggs soft-boiled, at least two and maybe three. He would scoop them out of the shell with his spoon and criss-cross his knife and fork, cutting them into small portions. With salt, pepper, and hot mustard, he was satisfied. The cutting of his eggs brought rhythm to a noisy breakfast.
I would take a red jelly bean and stand in front of the washstand mirror coloring my lips, thinking I looked like Mrs. Bain who came to visit—always wearing makeup and high-heeled shoes. From the laughs of everyone, I guess I looked more like a clown. Mrs. Bain said she could eat a bushel of jelly beans. We laughed at the thought, for we knew what a bushel was, from picking potatoes and apples.
It was a nice day, but a jacket and hat felt good in the spring breeze. We walked down by the creek and saw the willow tree coming into leaf with a pretty light green color. We found violets in a sunny spot. I picked some to decorate the dinner table. Mother roasted a chicken with bread filling. We had mashed potatoes, gravy, and lima beans, baked rusks warm from the oven, and a cake with coconut icing. We enjoyed our family and a sunny Easter.
The Seasons (Spring Edition)
Spring came and went quickly because there was much to do. The house was aired out, and the stove was used only at mealtime. We had a large garden with tomatoes, lima beans, onions, peppers, and sweet potatoes. We worked long and hard in the garden, picking beetles, hoeing, and watering. All our water came from a spring just off the path to the garden. It was fitted with a wooden tub deep enough to dip a bucket in, and it was our life line. Our white potatoes came from our neighbors, the Piersons. Mr. Pierson would plow the potatoes up, and we would pick them and put them in baskets. When the harvest was done, he would deliver our share of the pickings in his truck.
Easter came with wonderment. We would put our soup bowls out for the Easter Bunny to fill. They were rather shallow, with a blue trim around the rim and a lovely picture of windmills and waterways all in blue. We would get jelly beans of every color. I liked them, but the purple ones were not my favorite. We had coconut eggs with chocolate covering, and little pigs made in two parts. We butchered the pigs by pulling them apart and ate the heads last.
We could have all the eggs we wanted for Easter breakfast, because my mother raised chickens in a small building with a fenced-in yard. Mother would wring the chicken’s neck or cut it with an ax. Sometimes it would run around without a head. We always liked to tell our father what she had done, but Sunday dinner was enjoyed by all, with no talk of how the chicken got there.
We had lots of country roads and they were banked. In the spring, we would pick asparagus growing wild. It just had the good taste of something fresh and green. Mother made a cream soup with it. We ate it from the bowls with the blue trim and windmills and waterways. I liked to pick flowers. When the meadow was full of butter cups, I would bring them home and put them under everyone’s chins to see if they liked butter. My chin would reflect the yellow, but I didn’t like butter. The flowers would end up in a small jelly glass to put in the window sill or on the washstand.