I was a lucky little girl, spending most of my summers on my grandparents’
farm. Everything there fascinated me: hanging around the barn morning and
evening to watch the milking, seeing chickens come flying out when the hen house
door opened, riding atop hay loads, picking luscious huckleberries for pies, and
going to the garden to chose my favorite vegetables.
It was a magical time, and the best was the family reunion. All the ladies
outdid themselves in the culinary arts. When we finally got in the three-seater
wagon, each of the aunts, my grandmother and my mother held a special concoction
on their laps, to be unloaded ever so carefully and placed on a table already
heaped high with goodies. My very special favorite among all the delicious
desserts was “Aunt Hat’s” maple sugar cake.
Relatives came from every direction, some on foot and some in wagons.
Occasionally we met a car on the narrow road, causing great consternation. The
horses were terrified by the strange, noisy monster, and might rear up in the
air or take off at a wild gallop. This was in the early 1900’s and cars were a
rarity.
Everyone came to dinner, though the men might leave immediately afterward if
they had hay to cut. They were lucky; they escaped the long business meeting and
entertainment afterwards. Each child had to speak a piece, render a piano solo
or sing a song. I, who loved poetry with a passion, found speaking a horrendous
ordeal, partly from being naturally shy and partly from being so stuffed with
food that I could hardly keep awake.
Almost as much fun as the reunion was the cleaning up the next day. Gathering
a t the Grange Hall, we swept and scrubbed, and I listened avidly to the
grown-up chatter. Best of all was lunch. Each lady brought her specialty, and my
aunt’s was always the creamiest scalloped potatoes I ever tasted and some kind
of fritters with real maple syrup.
Most of these people are gone now. They rest in a little country churchyard.
Strangers own my grandparents’ home. I wonder: do children play on these
familiar lands? Do they search out the rare yellow and white violets down in the
lower pasture as I did? Do they wander, as I did, up the steep hill above the
orchard to sit on the big ledge of rocks and survey the surrounding country… Do
they have the feeling down deep, as I did, that no matter what the future holds,
this is all mine, forever?
