Glimpses of ante-bellum life in Kentucky, part 1

I rose early, disturbed by the storm. I wanted to crawl back in under the blankets but knew I had much to accomplish this day. Mindful that guests were expected, I took extra care while dressing my hair. I made my way to the summer kitchen and found the logs had already been stacked and lighted. It was already hot, the rain had done nothing to cool the house.

Breakfast finished, I went to the cellar to retrieve the various things for the baking I had before me. Back in the kitchen, I began to stir the ingredients in the heavy bowl. First butter and eggs, then sugar and blackberry jam, now soda, spices and flour. I poured the mixture into the two ready tin pans, and placed each in a heavy dutch oven on the hearth. I retreated to the garden for a walk trying to refresh myself from the heat. I found no breeze in the garden, and so returned to my labors.

Now for the tea biscuits; butter, cream, sugar and flour. I mixed the ingredients with my fingers. I patted and rolled the dough until it was just the right thickness and then cut out the biscuits with a water glass. The tea biscuits would cook quickly, but might still be warm when the guests arrived. I thought that I might serve them with apple butter. I hurried to lay the tea things out on the table.

Growth Charts

It occurred to me last night while I was picking blackberries, that I can age my daughter by her role in the blackberry picking. Some people have growth charts hanging on their wall. That'd just be too easy.

The summer Anna was two, she was fearless and ferocious in her quest for the purple fruits. Briars were no match for Miss Anna. She dove in head first. She ate most of the berries she picked and about one third of the ones I put in the bucket. She giggled and bounced like Tigger during the blackberry adventures.

When Anna was three, she was more of a pointer. "There's one, mama." Older and wiser, she left the scratches and pricks and the bramble bites to me. She understood well what became of anyone who got too close to the limbs of the blackberry bush. Mind you, she still managed to return to the house with a purple ring around her mouth.

This year Anna is four. She picks a few berries and then talks a lot. She eats a few berries and then she talks a lot. She points out a few berries and then she talks a lot. She is four now, and, oh so good at it. She only dumped the berries on the ground twice. And, yes, she came back in the house sporting a lovely blackberry juice moustache. She claims that she only eats the berries that she picks.

Eventually, she'll figure out like her brother and sister, that you can shirk the blackberry picking and still get to eat cobbler. That's okay. I imagine picking blackberries quietly might be a nice change.