December 27, 1935- With the childrens help the house has been tidied and cleaned, for we are expecting guests to a roast goose supper tonight. The vegetables are prepared, the lamps cleaned, the goose stuffed and placed in the oven. Jello is made, applesauce cooked. And then Buddy and I start out for the village, Buddy with his new Christmas skates under his arm, for he wants to try skating on the bog from the bridge to Elmwood. Word has come that there is a box of Florida fruit at the express office in Danbury. It is two degrees below zero, a sharp wind is blowing and the car refuses to start, so hike is the order of the day. When we reach the bridge over the bog, Buddy gets his skates on and sets off across the ice, amazingly well for a beginner, and I follow behind carrying his boots, skidding a bit uncertainly occasionally, but warm in spite of the icy wind, in ski pants, boots, and sports coat, a homemade affair which is the combination of a 12 year old coat top for the front, the bottom of the same coat for the back, the lining rescued from another derelict, and the inner lining contributed by an old gray wool dress. A bright elastic on the lower edge gives a snug fit and a gay and jaunty air to the black coat. We reach the village, we call for our box of fruit, and strike out for home again, and before long we have made the four miles--the wind had turned bitter cold and Buddy did not care to skate back part of the way. At 5:30 we are quickly arranging our Florida kumquats and avocados in a pretty green basket as a centerpiece for the table, twining leaves and kumquats both around the handle. Soon our guests arrive in cutters, the horses are stabled and blanketed and at 7:30 we all sit down to a homegrown supper of roast goose with dressing, gravy, mashed potatoes, mashed turnips, succotash, mixed pickles, spiced beets, apple sauce, crab apple jelly, bread and butter, tricolored jello with whipped cream, and homemade pfeffernusse, coffee and milk. The children whisk back and forth, eager to help, always delighted with guests for meals. We sit at the table until ten, the Greenwoods and Bassetts and Ottos, eating and talking and eating some more. The dishes are done, and with the genius Doris Bassett has for getting dishes out of the way, with Edith and Hazel Greenwood wiping the scalded dishes while Mother puts the food away, before many minutes have passed, the end of the task seems in sight. Calla and Buddy listen to the debates of the men, while Gen sits on Daddys lap reluctant to go to sleep and yet unable to keep her eyes open, and before long she is laid on Daddys bed. Calla gets the dish of red and green Turkish delight candy, mint and rose flavored, and the women settle about the brightly blazing fire in the living room, in which stands the Christmas tree sparkling and shimmering in the firelight. The children display their many Christmas gifts. Where are the fortunes, Mom, the ones we didnt use at Halloween? Calla is always eager for games and larks and the fortunes are hauled out of the lower drawer in the bookcase where the Halloween decorations had been laid away. What peals of laughter the silly fortunes and dire predictions bring forth--and the men, without much urging try their luck with Dame Fortune, faring no better than the women for the same slips are used, to be drawn from Callas hand. We toast marshmallows with none too great success, we eat sparkling cold MacIntosh apples which Buddy brings up from the cellar. And as the hands of the clock near twelve, our five guests bundle into warm wraps while the men go out to hitch up by lantern light. We shout our goodbyes and happy new years, and sleighbills jingle off into the cold, snowcoated night. Buddy and Calla take a last look at the Christmas tree, still bright by the last glow of the fire, and tramp upstairs to bed. Genevieve is undressed, still asleep, and is carried up to her bed. Quiet night broods once again over the Lazy T. Ranch House, peace and quiet. With love in our hearts we go to sleep, grateful for the simple pleasures of life, for friends steadfast through long years, sending to the Ragged Mountain home exotic fruits, grateful for friend and pleasant acquaintance alike. From Ragged Mountain Days: An Adventure in Living by Irma C. John Otto
Posted on: Fri, 05 Dec 2014 00:00:07 +0000
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