Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

Page 25 text:

The Augusta Seminary Annual. 19 eniMcli, cinuu ' li, the .ipples are slowly ground. Then the piiin- mies are placed in the trough, the lieavy beam falls upon them, and when it rises every particle of juice has been pressed out. In the meantime at home the tire has been kindled in the husje fireplace, an abundant su})ply of wood has been brought in, and when the wagon returns with the cider, tlie kettle is tilled and hunij in the midst of the llames. By this time night has come, and, provided with knives and plates, all gather around the cheerful blaze and make an attack upon the tub of apples placed before them. The kettle bubbles on in a most satisfactory way ; the firelight flashes over the happy faces, and stories follow one after another until the last apple is peeled and the jars of white quarters are set away to be cooked in to-morrow. It is late, and all go to rest except the one who stays to attend the kettle, and as fast as the cider becomes strong, to take it out and put more in. IVIorning usually dawns before this task is finished; then the kettle is half -filled with the strong cider, and as many quarters are added as the vessel will hold. The stirrer is then put in — a fiat, broad piece of wood attached to a long handle and in shape resembling a hoe. All day long the stirrer goes the rou nds of the kettle, never sto])ping for a single instant, while the one who guides it watches that the flames do not grow too hot. By three or four in the afternoon the butter is sufficiently cooked for the spices to be put in. Shortly after the steaming mass is removed, from the fire, the crocks are cautiously fiUed, and, after they have been allowed to cool, are carefully covered and stored away for the winter ' s use. The shortening days and cooler nights of earl} ' October remind the farmer that it is time to gather his apple crop, and just as the sun is rising from ])ehind the autumn woods the pickei ' s go forth to their work. Here and there they scatter through the orchard, each carrying a bag under his arm and dragging a step-ladder after him. Hav- ing placed their ladders in position, the men fasten the bags over their shoulders and begin to rob the trees.

Page 24 text:

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,

Page 26 text:

20 The Augusta Seminary Annual. Everything is still now save tlie rustling of tlie brandies and the occasional thnd of a falling apple. Sometimes a shrill whistle is heard or a snatch of song, which sends the startled hirds away in terror from the swaying treetops and from the new inhabitants who have taken possession there. Now and then a picker descends his ladder and goes to empty his load of fragrant frnit in the boxes in the cellar. When the snn is high in the heavens, and the air is no longer frosty, the children are permitted to come and watch the work. Now they gather np the fallen ap])les and vie with one another in making the largest heaps, chattering meanwhile like magpies, guessing how many bushels the Belleflower box M ' ill hold; wondering ' ' bout how Ions; it nll take John to finish the ' Wine- saps. ' Xow they play hide and seek behind the trees and scream with laughter as an apple falls alraoston some unccjvered head. Busy all day long are the pickers and the children, and wlien night has come their work is done; while the satisfied farmer turns his key upcjn the well-lilled apple cellai-. First the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear is the thought that comes into the mind as one looks across the ripening corniields. The tassels tliat floated so gaily a few short weeks before are brown and I ' igid, and the blades, which waved gently in the breezes of early summer, clash harshly as tlie strong !Se})tember wind rus- tles through them. Around lie the brown stubble lields, the tields plowed for the autumn sowing, and beyond the forest just tinged bv the earlv frost, where the wilv crows caw lazilv, their eyes lixed upon the corn fields awaiting the time when the corn is to be cut. Nor need they wait long. From the far end of the field comes the sound of voices, and as they draw neai-er and nearer one may hear tlie strokes of the cutters ' blades and see the heads of the tall stalks as they trend le and disappear. And now the ends of the rows are reached and the cutters come into view, their wrists and necks well protected, for the corn does not yield vitliout a struggle, and its dry, rough Idades know how to wound. The line of workers turns, and, as they go back across the field, their voices and the rustling of the fodder die