Chapter 2: Winter Days and Winter Nights

"The snow kept coming till it was drifted and banked against the house. In the morning the window panes were covered with frost in beautiful pictures of trees and flowers and fairies.

Laura and Mary were allowed to take Ma's thimble and made pretty patterns of circles in the frost on the glass. But they never spoiled the pictures that Jack Frost made in the night."

Winter is tightening its grip in the vast expanse of the Big Woods. Pa spends his days walking the trap lines, gathering wild creatures while their fur was thickest and most valuable. He never leaves his gun behind because the woods are still a dangerous place and you never know when you'll need to defend yourself. Each evening he comes home with icicles hanging from the ends of his mustache, chilled and ready for the warm, cozy fire.

Ma and the girls do the housework during the day; each day of the week has its own chore to do:

"Wash on Monday,
Iron on Tuesday,
Mend on Wednesday,
Churn on Thursday,
Clean on Friday,
Bake on Saturday,
Rest on Sunday."

After a day of busy work by every one in the family, Ma sews by the light of the kerosene lamp (lucky Ma) while Pa sings, plays games with Laura and Mary, or tells them stories of the old days.

After reading Chapter 2, I had two options for my experiment this week. I could either make butter or be chased through the woods by a panther. I chose to make butter, even though the second option would have been more exciting for my readers, I'm sure. I couldn't even find a cow to milk; dairy farming has gone seriously out of style in this region of the country. I could have tried to milk a wild range cow, but it turns out I do not have enough love to do that for you.

"Laura liked the churning and the baking days best of all the week."

My butter making supplies were somewhat different than Ma would have used, but the core process is still the same. Milk the cow, separate the cream, or go to the store, buy a container of (vastly over-priced) cream, and draw a picture of a cow on it so you don't feel so bad. Then you're going to need to agitate the cream by some method.

In the olden days, a churn was used. And used. And used. A more modern method is to use an electric mixer, just as if you were making whipped cream. In fact, I found out my own grandma, farm cook extraordinaire, occasionally turned her whipped cream to butter by beating it a smidge too long. I tried both methods, but lacking a churn, used a glass jar and a whole lot of energy shaking it.

I poured part of the cream in the jar, covered it with a plastic baggie and a rubber band, and started shaking it. My family provided moral support by putting on music to shake by, telling me I needed to shake faster, and laughing at me. Five minutes into it I was finished---unfortunately, the butter was not. It was another five minutes before I even began to see a change in my fluffy cream. However, having begun to change, it shifted rapidly, and another minute showed why you never want to over-beat your whipped cream.


"At first the splashes of cream showed thick and smooth around the little hole. After a long time, they began to look grainy. Then Ma churned more slowly, and on the dash there began to appear tiny grains of yellow butter."

Within 15 minutes of shaking, with breaks for taking pictures, I was looking down at a beautiful glob of creamy yellow butter swimming in thin buttermilk. I took it out onto a wooden board and began to work the buttermilk out of it.

Then it was time to try the modern appliance way. I tried the blender first, but all that did was whip it up too thick for the blender to work. So I poured it into a bowl and started mixing it with the mixer. It went much faster, and I had butter within 8 minutes. And it was much thicker butter, too, with more of the buttermilk worked out. I mixed the two batches together and added salt.

"Laura and Mary watched, breathless, one on each side of Ma, while the golden little butter-pats, each with a strawberry on the top, dropped onto the plate as Ma put all the butter through the mold. Then Ma gave them each a drink of good, fresh buttermilk."

I didn't have a butter mold, but made do with squishing the butter into a little glass bowl. Then it was time to clean up the rather large mess I'd made. Who would have thought innocent, little butter would be so untidy? My wonderful mom did all the dishes I'd gotten dirty, so a special thanks to my "Ma." Motherhood hasn't changed all that much since pioneer days--moms still get stuck with all the jobs nobody else wants.