Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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The Augusta Seminary Annual. 17 boxes of fruit, for now the culling ])egins. As bunch after bunch is carofully held up by the stoiu so as not Xu injure the bloom in cutting oiF the imperfect grajjcs, the merrv chattering of the young folks mingles with the thoughts of wiser heads. And the little tuddlcr, who lias been spending the time in going from one to another with the ap})eal • peas div me some dwapes, claims the office of handing the empty baskets to the packers, whose deft lingers fly so rapidly that, though the cullers do all they can, ever and anon there comes the cry of more grapes. At a little distance the small boy, with an air of the greatest importance, is busily labeling the tops and putting them on the baskets ready for market. At last all is done, and as the wagon drives towards the station I often think how much more would be the pleasure of the purchaser if the grapes could tell their history ; how, in hours of weariness, he would owe to them sensations sweet if, in lonely rooms and ' mid the din of towns and cities, the grapes could carry with them a picture of the vineyard and the laborers. Elizabeth Xewmax. Pastoral Sketches — H. IT is an April morning on a Yii ' ginia farm, and all out of doors is astir. From the tield come the whistle and song of the corn planters ; from the meadows, the soft low of the cattle and the bleating of the »;hecp ; from the orchard, the hum of the busy bees, while the birds work and warble everywhere ; only the light smoke, as it rises lazily on the perfumed air, seems idle. The little ones of the home have caught unconsciously the inspiration and have formed their plans for a whole day ' s work. Who could refuse them as they stand anxiously awaiting an answer to their petition for gardens of their own ? Certainly father can not, and he yields with a smile that each of the little faces reflects, as the four children scamper away to take possession of the plots assigned them.

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16 The Augusta Seminary Annual. fleece would weigh ; now listening to the stories Uncle Simon told of shearin ' times fo ' de war, when Mars James kep ' de long wool sheep ; and now straying off to gather violets, or to trun our hats with the hawthorn blossoms, to rob the bees of the honey in the poplar blooms, or to peep into the sparrow ' s nest, gently rocked in the swaying eglantine. Spring passes into summer and the busy harvest time has come. While the birds are still singing their morning song and the dew is still sparkling on the grass, the voice of the farmer is heard giving directions to the men. Some harness the horses to the binder, while others whet their cradles. Soon all is ready and they go forth to the field. Down on the low grounds the clatter- ing binder goes back and forth cutting the wheat, binding it into sheaves and tossing it to the little boys, who place it in heaps at short distances and convenient to the shocker. Up on the hill, too steep for the binder, the reapers, forming a long line, swing their cradles and sing their weu ' d, plaintive songs. Kow and then there is a lull in the music as the workers rest for a mo- ment and then begin again with redoubled energy. They are fol- lowed by women who, binding and shocking the grain, remind one of Kuth as she gleaned among the sheaves in the field of Boaz long ago. Now here, now there, the happy children chase the little rab- bits, driven from their beds by the reapers, or hunt for the par- tridge ' s nest full of the pretty white eggs, or, at last, tired of play, throw themselves on the grass beneath the shady old walnut tree. Harvest is past, and the farmer ' s eyes are now turned towards the vineyard. lie watches the grapes with care, as, from day to day, the blush becomes more rosy until it deepens into a red or purple. Then the merry laborers, carrying boxes and scissors, go to the sunny hillsides where the luscious fruit hangs in clusters from the trellised dnes. First each boy and girl chooses a row, and then the work begins in earnest. Clip, clip, clip, go the scis- sors until the boxes are full, and then they are carried home where, under the dense shade of the osage-orange and the locust, the busy workers, their broad-brimmed hats pushed back on their heads or thrown upon the grass beside them, form a picturesque group as they sit on benches, chairs, and stools in reach of the

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18 The Augusta Seminary Annual. How rapidly tlie eager lingers pull up weeds, pick out the stoues, break up the clods and mark out the boundaries of their several territories, while the busy tongues chatter merrily. At length the ground is ready, and once more father is appealed to ; this time with the requests, Please, papa, just a handful of peas, Just six cabbage plants, Just a teensy-weensy bit of lettuce seed. The gardens are planted at last, the resting place of each seed is marked by a tiny stick, and each young owner is at leisure to view his own work with satisfaction, and to criticise that of his neighbor. How the three older children laugh, as the l)aby tells, in her baby way, of how she put all her seeds together and covered them up ; and the heap of earth in the middle of her plot verifies her story. Long they linger, gazing with pride upon the work of tlieir hands until birds and bees have ceased their work ; and then the mother comes and calls her weary children in to dream of their gardens until the morning. On a farm in the Valley of Virginia, one of the great events of the season is the apple-butter boiling, which usually takes place some time during the months of Septeml)er and October, the apples being then sufficiently matured. It is a two days task, and one the older and more experienced members of the family look forward to with anything but pleasure, but which the younger people liail with delight. The day comes at last, merry voices from the orchard tell that busy hands are rapidly filling the sacks with the fallen fruit, and every one knows that the careful housekeeper is just as busily, though more quietly, attending to the cleaning of barrels, crocks, and of the huge copper kettle. By dinner time the apples have been loaded upon t he wagon, together with tubs, barrels and buckets ; the horses have been harnessed up, and then comes the ride to the cider press. After the apples have been thoroughly washed, they are placed in the hopper and the great crank begins to turn. The mill screeches and groans, while with a most unpleasant crunch,