October 26th brought the first snowfall, a light covering overnight, which transformed our view through Mother’s yellow curtains. It frosted tree limbs, rounded roof lines, and brightened the inside of our cabin with reflected sunlight.
By next morning, the smooth expanse of white was criss-crossed with animal tracks. We recognized the rabbit tracks first, from pictures in one of Seton’s books. Having seen rabbit droppings along little trails in the grove, we knew they were around, but had never managed to spot one. It was obvious now that they wandered freely about our yard and property, like some parallel time-share. I wondered now what they thought about our assault on the dead oak saplings, lawn mowing, and rock-rimmed flower gardens….
We saw The Mother Cat’s resolute trail, heading toward the grove, and behind the barn — her favorite hunting ground. She was, no doubt, stalking members of the rapidly declining mouse population, while purposely ignoring the resident woodchuck who lived in a den nearby. Birds searching for food under hummocks of grass left tiny feathery tracks in the middle of the yard.
Soon there were human tracks to and from the little house, the pump, the wood pile, and the old root cellar where we dumped the slop pail and ashes. These trails marked the paths that would need shoveling after heavier snowfalls. Concerned about her floors, Mother moved the broom to its new winter location, inside the kitchen door, where we could easily reach it to brush off before entering the house.
Walking home from school that day, we counted tire tracks on the road — and noticed that one pair swerved toward our mailbox….
My tracks in the snow were made with warm and dry feet, inside mother’s snug rubber boots. However, John was not so lucky; his water-soaked leather boots were too small. As soon as Mother saw bright red toes, after he managed to peel off his bone-chilling wet socks, she sat him by the fire to warm.
She put his boots by the stove to dry, but not so close they would harden and shrink even more. Before he put them on the next morning, Mother traced their outline on a piece of paper, so Daddy could send him a new larger pair. As a temporary fix, to improve their water repellency, she smeared them with lard. They stayed a bit dryer that day, but were not much warmer, since he really needed extra room for heavy socks.
Like an admiring tourist, Mother saw wonder in the new white landscape, “it is nice and cozy in here this morning and through each window I can see pictures as pretty as any painting.” And, about seeing deer and partridge tracks in the fields near The Big Woods, “It is nice to think of the little wild folk living near so quietly.”
But attractive vistas did not eliminate the realities of our frontier style life. “I’m sorry money is so scarce but I know you are working as much as you can. I’ll send you a list of things to get me if I can’t get to town…Living up here has taught us the value of food–believe me, we don’t waste a speck or drop of anything.”
Despite the troubles at school, we had a Halloween program for the holiday, and John recited a poem:
Whoooooo knewwwww when October came,
a spry little elf without sound,
he sped through the woods,
Jack Frost is his name,
and he rattled the nuts to the ground.
Although we were accustomed to frigid winters in Minneapolis, by the middle of November we were discovering the true consequence of living 200 miles further north. Scanning the horizon through our curtains, it sometimes looked as if the forest was on fire, as the sun set below brilliant red skies. The temperature plummeted, and icy blasts from the Northwest, those bone-chilling winds, met us head-on during the first half of our walk to school. We wore woolen mufflers over our faces, with the tiniest slit to look through. By the time we got to school, there was a thick layer of crispy frost around our breathing space. From glancing at each other, we were aware of how strange our headgear looked; deep inside our scarves, wet wool became the smell of winter.
By early November, the temperature had already dipped to twelve degrees below zero. Our water pail on the wash stand was covered with ice in the morning, and on wash days, we also found ice on the copper boiler, where the white clothes were soaking. We told Daddy about our nightly ritual of piling coats on the bed, over our covers, and sleeping in knit caps to keep warm. According to the calendar — there was still more than a month to go before winter officially arrived.
Each morning, Mother would start a fire in the wood stove, using some of our oven dried kindling. Unfortunately, we had to be dressed for school before the stove was able to heat the whole house. Following Mother’s example, I pulled my arms out of the sleeves of my nightgown and dressed inside this self styled tent — one of the few benefits I could see of being a girl; John was stuck with pajamas.
Drying clothes became a two step process in winter. Mother still hung clothes on the lines outside, where they would lose some moisture and freeze. When she brought them in, flat and rigid, they looked like giant paper doll clothes. They finished drying on ropes she strung across the front room, near the ceiling and safely away from the heater. She informed Daddy that until spring, it would take longer to return his laundry.
There was some compensation for the extra trouble. Freezing expanded the fibers of the fabric, which softened them, and removed most wrinkles left by the wringer. Ironing became easier, and our underwear and flannel pajamas were softer and warmer. We also enjoyed the sweet, fresh scent of line-dried clothes, and the soothing humidity they added to the room.
Soon after each snowfall the road crew plowed our road, so most of our winter travel difficulties involved the temperament of the car, which like a bear, would have preferred to hibernate. Daddy patiently went over each detail about operating the Model-T in cold weather. The little Ford required considerable special attention to start in frigid temperatures. Because the battery had less power when cold, he told her to take it out of the car, and keep it in the cellar between trips to town. The first step prior to any errand, was lugging the heavy battery up the steps and out to the car, setting it in place, and connecting the cables. Since there was no anti-freeze, the next step was filling the radiator. She always heated the water on the woodstove first, in order to warm the engine. Finally, because low temperatures made the transmission stiff, she jacked one of the rear wheels up off the ground, to help the engine turn over more easily. There were no casual outings….
Despite these logistics, she did drive into town for supplies periodically. One time she got coffee, a dozen oranges (.25 cents), a bedspread for John’s cot, (.98 cents) and a dozen eggs (.30 cents). When those eggs were gone, none of the neighbors had any extra to sell, so we did without for awhile. The cake she made was still delicious, and the pancakes disappeared just as quickly as previous batches.
It was a banner day for John when the package finally arrived with his new four-buckle overshoes. Daddy also included some new long-johns and undershirts. As usual, he sent a surprise — the biggest thing in the box — a heavy new blanket. It must have been our vivid descriptions of wearing extra clothes and piling coats on our beds to keep warm on cold nights. His letter that day confirmed he would not make it to the farm for Thanksgiving with us. Counting travel time it would mean three days off, but only one day with us, and he could not afford to miss that much work. Christmas was on the way, and his regular hours had been cut. By coming during our Christmas vacation instead, he could spend more time with all of us, relieve Mother of the heavier work, and we could all be together on our favorite holiday.
Thanksgiving was a difficult day for all of us — our first one apart — but it was an especially miserable holiday for him. While most families were gathering at the dinner table, he spent most of his day at the carbarn trying to pick up some extra work, and only managed to get two hours. With a night run scheduled, he rolled up his coat for a pillow and laid down on one of the benches at the station for a while, and then wrote us a letter. He wondered how we had spent the day, if we had seen any more deer (we had told him about three fawns we spotted on the way to town a few days earlier), whether we had played with the sled in the snow, and how the overshoes fit….
With his two extra hours of work, he made a total of one dollar for the day.
We missed him too, but at least we had some distractions part of the time. The day before Thanksgiving Jensons dumped three loads of firewood in the yard. From all of our reading on frontier life, John and I immediately saw creative opportunities. We each chose a pile for our own, climbed to the top, and set about excavating a hollow in the center. A few cave-ins helped hone our method as we threw out chunks of wood from the middle of our respective piles. With some scavenged boards from the barn to cover the top, leaving a small entrance, we each had a little house of our own.
We played in them on Thanksgiving Day until it was time to help Mother prepare our dinner — which did not include turkey. John ate two pork chops, scalloped potatoes, carrots, two helpings of cranberries, two slices of cake, a piece of candy, an apple, a piece of pumpkin pie and 10 fondant stuffed dates…. Mother and I shared the same bounty — but we neglected to record the quantities.
I never stopped to wonder how she managed to produce the whole feast, with our meager rations, on that tiny wood stove….