I confess at first I was terrified of the cows. They are so big and solid and bony, and would do what they like rather than what I wish them to, shifting and stamping and pushing at me. I was frightened that they would step on my foot and break it, and was always jumping out of the way. Even when Judith gave me the more placid cows, I found it hard to master the technique. My hands are small and my arms are not strong. (Judith and Dorcas’s forearms are as thick as fence posts!) For a time it took me twice as long to milk a cow as the others. I think they despaired of me, especially as I wasted so much milk from the cows kicking over my pail.
It is an odd thing to touch a cow’s udders. At first it did not feel right, and I thought it would upset them. But Dorcas taught me to spit on my hands so that I would not chafe them, and the cows seem not to mind. Little by little I have become more confident, and in the past week I have not had one pail spilled. Perhaps my arms are stronger, for now I can milk a cow in fifteen minutes. That is still slower than the others, who take only ten minutes. But I am persevering. I have even begun to enjoy the milking: there is something calming about leaning against a cow’s flank and coaxing milk from her. Sometimes I even have that sinking-down feeling that I get at Meeting.
I am glad to be able to help. Indeed, I must help, if the farm is to grow. Each year the Haymakers try to add a cow to the herd, if they have brought in enough extra hay to support one. Jack is very pleased that we managed three good crops of hay this summer, which means that we can afford to keep the calf born last month.
I can picture thee now, smiling at my talk of cows and hay and crops. I too never thought I would live such a life. If thee could see the pantry here, thee would be amazed at the rows and rows of jars filled with all the food from the garden: beans and peas and cucumbers and tomatoes and squash. The cellar is full of potatoes and turnips and carrots and beets, and apples and pears. The cherries and plums are in syrup or dried. We are now making apple sauce, apple butter, and drying apple rings as well.
Of course back home we put up our garden too, but not as extensively as here. We must have five times the produce that Mother put up. It was a great deal of work, and I stank of brine and vinegar, and have burns on my hands and arms from hot syrup or the wax we used to seal the jars. At times I thought of the ease of going to the shops in Bridport and simply buying what we needed. But here we haven’t the money. Moreover, the Haymakers-indeed, everyone-take great pride in being self-sufficient. It is satisfying to look in the pantry and see it brimming. And the hay is topping the haymow; the corn crib is full of dried corn. The pigs are fattening fast and will be slaughtered in a month or two, the chickens will be bottled (yes, they put them in jars!), and Jack is going hunting for deer. In short, the farm is ready for the winter, which they say is long and very cold. I do not think I will mind it-I prefer snow to the suffocating heat. Actually I am enjoying the autumn here-fall, they call it, for the falling leaves. It has been quite mild, though the nights are sharp, and there was a frost two weeks ago. The leaves are glorious colours, far more vivid than any I have seen in England: bright red and orange maples, so plentiful here, gold birches, purple oaks. The sight makes my heart glad.
I am getting on a little better with Judith and Dorcas, now that they see I can be useful. I have learned to defer to Judith and let her tell me what to do, for if I go my own way I always err, in her eyes. It is wearying at times, but easier than trying to justify my methods. And, by submitting to her, it gives me more freedom, as she does not scrutinise me quite so much. Also it lessens the strain I feel at times with Jack, that he is being pulled between us. It is not easy, joining another family.
I am afraid that I have failed in my cooking. They do not like it; they say it is too delicate. Indeed, the ingredients here do not respond as I would like them to. When I try to make a posset, the milk burns rather than curdles. The flour is so coarse that my pastry falls apart. The beef is tough and I don’t know how to make it as tender and tasty as English lamb. There is no lamb-cows fare better here than sheep. The ham and bacon are so salty I can barely eat them. The Dutch oven is too hot and burns everything. And whatever I cook tastes of corn, whether I am using it or not. Now I simply do what Judith asks of me-chopping, scrubbing, sweeping.
The one thing I am truly valued for here is my sewing and quilting. Judith has handed over all of the sewing, and I have happily taken it. At several of the frolics I have been asked to quilt the central panel, as that is the one most noticed on a bed.
I am now working on a quilt for Dorcas to replace one of those she gave me for my marriage-the first of three I owe her. I am making good progress on it. Dorcas has settled on an appliqué pattern they call a President’s Wreath, made of circles of red flowers and green leaves on white fabric arranged in repeated blocks. They are bordered first in solid red, then with an outer border of a trailing green vine, with more red flowers all around. The colours, being complementary as well as standing out against the white, are very bold. The effect is striking but much less subtle than what thee and I are accustomed to. I drew it out for her, with her changing her mind several times about the details-vines in green or red, the size of the wreaths, daisies alternating with tulips or not. Then she changed her mind again after I had already cut out the pieces! I thought I would have to throw away a great deal of cloth, and be considered wasteful, but for once Judith came to my rescue and told Dorcas to let me decide what is best. In that one area, then, I am my own mistress.
I did manage to convince Dorcas to let me use printed material rather than plain, so the red has tiny blue dots, the green tiny yellow. That way the appliqué will look less flat. It was one small victory, and makes me more willing to work on the quilt. Then, too, appliqué does go much quicker than patchwork, so at least I will not be working on this one for too long. By the time I make the next, perhaps I will have persuaded her to allow me to make her an English patchwork quilt, even if it takes much longer.
I wonder sometimes why I don’t make quilts for myself and simply give back hers when they are done. We have not used them yet anyway-at the moment Jack and I are sleeping under my signature quilt and the whole-cloth white quilt made for us the week before our wedding. I have not suggested this idea to Judith, however, for I sense that she and Dorcas would not like the suggestion. Mine will be the better made, and Dorcas would prefer that, as long as she gets the pattern she wants. I look forward to the quilting, as she has fewer opinions about that element of the work, and I can quilt the patterns I prefer. I think I will quilt a running feather border, though it is more difficult than other patterns. Then when one looks past the red and green wreaths and flowers, one may see that bit of sewing which is truly me.
I expect by now Mother will have asked thee for the Star of Bethlehem quilt I gave thee before leaving for America. I was ashamed to have to ask for it back, but I know my dearest friend will understand. Circumstances have led me to marry much sooner than expected, and I was not ready, in terms of quilts-and other ways too. I hope one day to make another quilt and send it on its long journey to reach thee.