Chapter 23: Indian War Cry

"The drums seemed to beat in Laura's head. They seemed to beat deep inside her. The wild, fast yipping yells were worse than wolves. Something worse was coming, Laura knew it. Then it came---the Indian war-cry."

The morning after the prairie fire, Pa goes whistling out to his plowing. When he comes back for lunch, he is black with soot, but very happy. The long, prairie grass doesn't bother him. Now it is easy to break the sod.

But there is something funny going on with the Indians down in the creek bottom. Every day there are more and more Indians, and every night the noises they make get louder and louder. Pa brings Jack into the house, shuts the door, and pulls in the latch string. No one may go outside until daylight.

All night, every night Laura listens to the Indians yelling and the drums beating. One evening before he goes to bed Pa gets out his bullet mold and begins to make bullets. He melts the lead and pours it into the bullet molds. He doesn't stop until all the lead is used up and his pile of bullets is very big.

Laura and Mary lie in bed and watch him. "Why are you making so many bullets, Pa?" Mary asks.

"Oh, I have nothing else to do," Pa says. But Mary and Laura know that Pa is tired. He has worked all day and could go to bed. But instead he sits up and makes more bullets than they have ever seen him make at one time before.

Laura and Mary wonder. No Indians come to the house anymore. Pa and Ma look worried. Mr. Scott and Mr. Edwards come to the house and talk to Pa about building something called a "stockade". But when Laura asks questions, the grownups never answer them.

One night Laura sits up in bed and screams. Something woke her up. Something terrible. And then she hears it again. It is loud and terrible. It makes her feel like she is falling down forever. She screams to Pa, "What is it? What is it?"

"It's the Indian war-cry, Laura," Pa says.

Pa explains that the Indians are talking about war by yelling their terrible war cry. They dance around their fires and beat the drums and talk about war. But Pa says Laura should not feel afraid because Pa and Jack are there, and the soldiers are at Fort Gibson and Fort Dodge.

Laura still feels afraid.

The war-cry goes on and on, but once there is a new sound in the night. Closer and closer comes the sound of galloping hoof-beats. Laura looks out the window and sees a black Indian pony running past with an Indian brave on its back. Then the Indian is gone.

Pa sits up all that night, listening and watching. He listens and watches all the next day, and all night the next night. During the day the prairie is quiet and still, but no one goes outside. At night the Indians dance and yell their war-cry. 

Laura and Mary are so tired that they fall asleep sometimes, but the war-cry always wakes them up again. Pa and Jack stay awake watching, but one time during the daytime Pa is so tired that he falls asleep right while he is sitting up at the table watching. He only sleeps a moment, and then wakes back up again.

"Don't let me sleep again," he tells Ma.

That night is the worst of all. The Indians yell back and forth, getting louder and louder. Up and down the creek, the drums beat and the Indians call their war-cry. Pa says they are quarreling with each other. Just before dawn, the war cries stop and Laura falls asleep.

When Laura wakes up, Ma is cooking lunch and Pa is sitting in the open door watching a big party of Indians head across the prairie. Two large groups have already gone past while Laura slept and Pa says they have broken up the group. They will not go together to hunt the buffalo. 

There are no Indian drums that night. No war-cry to keep Carrie, Laura, and Mary awake. Everything is quiet. Even Jack sleeps soundly on the floor of the little cabin. 

The next day Pa decides it is time to go exploring. Things have been quiet for a whole night so clearly there is no danger. He is gone all day, but when he comes back he has good news for everybody.

"The Indians did fight with each other. They wanted to go on the war path and kill all the settlers in Indian territory, but the Indian brave that rode past the first night argued and convinced the Osages not to fight the settlers. The other Indians didn't want to fight the Osages, so they all left."

"That Indian brave is one good Indian," Pa says.

Thoughts: Boy, that Pa! It's a wonder he survived as long as he did. If I was Ma, I surely would have clanged him up the side of the head with a frying pan long before this. And I love the parents' belief that the children would somehow fail to notice the whole "warring nation" thing going on next door. Let's just not talk about it so they won't worry. There are some things I am glad modern life has helped to change.

But what to do for this chapter?

North Dakota is rather free of wars right now. 

I mean, Canada isn't exactly a hotbed of aggression at the moment. And Minnesota and Montana have been at peace with us for many years now. Like...forever. Has ANYONE ever been mad at North Dakota? Even if there was any conflict, I'm pretty much a peace-lovin' gal myself, so can't say that war appeals to me as a hobby choice.

"One evening Pa took his bullet-mold from the box under the bed."

However, it just so happens that I know a dedicated practitioner of the ancient art of the mountain man. Someone who would be able to guide me through the old-fashioned process of lead bullet pouring. Thankfully, these mountain man-types are usually very happy to have someone take an interest in their craft and I was able to spend a fun afternoon learning about bullet-making.

Lown Schipman runs Mountain Man Fishing from his home. The local tire shop provides him with buckets of wheel weights that he melts down and turns into fishing weights and handmade lures to be sold in the nearest fishing town. 

Each time he gets a fresh bucket, the tire weights are cleaned and melted down into lead bars.

 After that, it is time to melt and pour. First the molds are heated over the melting pot for a while. If the mold is too cool, the molten metal won't have time to fill the whole cavity before it hardens. Once the mold is hot it goes under the pot, you pull the lever on the side, and out pours the lead.

Definitely a big improvement on the old by-the-fireplace method.

But the fishing weights are just for business. This mountain man also has bullet molds for pleasure---and of course he has the muzzle-loading gun to match each mold.

When I was there, he was making bullets for a .44 pistol.

I think.

I am not a mountain man, so it's like a foreign language to me.

"Pa sat for a long time on the hearth, melting lead and making bullets."

After watching him demonstrate his craft it was my turn. Nothing intimidating at all about plunking my butt down to handle molten metal. Nope, all in a days work for this girl.

Yeah.

The bullet molds are smaller than the fishing weight molds and you have to put the mold right up to the spigot of the melting pot. This means you can't see how full the mold is getting. I was worried that the lead would overflow, but it just goes to the top of the mold and stops. Unless you take the mold away while the lever is still down, it's not going to spill.

In fact, the lead hardens a little and you have to break it away from the pot.

The bullet is cool enough to leave the mold almost as soon as it is poured. When you hit the top of the mold to release it, it knocks the excess off and leaves a nice, round bullet behind.

Lown could do it in one quick tap, but I had to flail away at the mold several times to knock the top piece of the mold loose.

 "Laura and Mary lay awake and watched Pa. He had never made so many bullets at one time before."

Beautiful! My very own home-made bullets! I had planned to fire some of them off today, but sadly, that didn't work out this visit. The fact that it was snowing and no one wanted to go outside might have had something to do with it. And mountain man thought he may be, Lown is not down with shooting in his living room.

Actually, Lown might be, but Mrs. Mountain Man would definitely have something to say about it if he ever tried.

But he did show me the pistol my bullets are used for and how it is loaded. I don't want to get too technical, but it involves bullets, powder, and firing caps. The hammer of the gun hits the cap, which makes a spark, which lights the gun powder, which explodes, which propels the bullet from the chamber.

Pretty amazing, actually.

As I learned about different bullets, guns, and how each one functioned, I was thankful I had the luxury of being mildly interested in a scientific chain reaction and not dependent on it for my survival! The thought of those chunks of lead ripping through my flesh, causing pain, damage, and death is not the most pleasant one.

Far better to use it for target practice and pleasure shooting.

I'm just glad I have that option!

Chapter 21: Indian Jamboree

"Winter ended at last. There was a softer note in the sound of the wind, and the bitter cold was gone. One day Pa said he had seen a flock of wild geese flying north. It was time to take his furs to Independence....

Before dawn the next morning Pa hitched Pet and Patty to the wagon, loaded his furs into and drove away."

It is almost time to plow the fields and plant a garden. Spring is in the air and Pa needs to go to town. He will buy the things they need, plus a plow and some seeds. Ma is afraid to have him go because of the Indians, but she knows that he must.

After Pa leaves, Laura and Mary count off the days until he'll be home again. It takes one, two, three, four day, and maybe on the fifth day Pa will be home. Laura and Mary play outside waiting for him. They want to see him as soon as he comes out of the creek bottoms.

Suddenly, both girls stop playing.

"What's that?" asks Mary.

Laura has heard the strange noise, too. "It's the Indians," she says.

It is such a funny sound, floating on the breeze. It doesn't sound like any song Laura has ever heard, but she can tell it is made by many, many Indians. They don't sound angry, but the song goes on and on.

Ma calls both girls inside and pulls in the latch string. Jack is in there, too and they all stay in the house for the rest of the day. When it is time to do the chores everyone helps. Mary brings in wood and Laura helps Ma to feed and water the animals. All the time the strange singing continues, faster now and louder.

The sun sets and the prairie is shadowed and gray. Ma cooks supper over the fire while Laura and Mary watch out the window. They both want Pa to come home tonight. How Laura shouts when she hears the wagon coming!

Ma makes both girls stay in the cabin while she helps Pa carry in the packages. He has already put the new plow away in the barn, but there are many other fascinating bundles to explore. Laura and Mary jump on Pa as soon as he comes in and he hugs both of them before going out to unhitch the horses.

Then it is time to open the packages. Pa has brought brown sugar, a little white flour, some cornmeal, salt, and all the seeds they will need to plant. He also brings out a box of crackers and a tiny jar of little green pickles. Ma's face shines. She has been longing for pickles and Pa remembered.

Pa unwraps one more package and it is a piece of pretty calico, enough for a dress. "Oh, Charles, you shouldn't! It's too much!" Ma says. But she is beaming and Pa beams back at her. Then Pa looks at Laura and Mary out of the corner of his eye. He takes off his jacket and hat and stretches out by the fire.

Laura can't wait any longer and climbs onto Pa's lap. "Where is it? Where's my present?" she says, beating him on the chest.

Pa laughs and brings two beautiful black rubber head bands out of his pockets. One has a blue ribbon and one has a red ribbon. He gives the blue one to Mary first because she was patient. Then he gives Laura hers and both girls put them on. They have never seen anything so pretty.

While they eat their supper, Pa tells Laura and Mary about the seeds. He has brought every kind of seed they need to grow a garden.

Pa also mentions to Ma something he heard in town. "They say that the Indians have been complaining about the settlers on their land and the government is going to make all the settlers leave."

"Oh, Charles, no! Not when we have already done so much work!" Ma exclaims.

"I'm sure they won't do that. They'll just make the Indians move on again. The government always lets the settlers keep new land. We don't have to worry."

After Laura is in bed, she lies awake and listens to the Indians singing and singing. She thinks about what Pa said.


Thoughts:
When I decided to do this post about gardening I never expected it would include the entire process from seed to harvest! But this has been a very busy summer for our family. We made 3 trips, including one to Wisconsin for my grandfather's funeral after he passed away at age 98. So I haven't had a lot of extra time for blogging.

But now it's fall and time to get ready for another Long Winter. Break open the books and start up the computer. Summer's chores are over!

Now I just have to deal with all of Winter's chores...

I began my garden with a bag full of hope, with packages of possibilities. I intended to have a big, beautiful garden this year because next summer I'm planning to keep things simpler with a smaller one. 

"Pa told Laura and Mary about all the seeds. He had got seeds of turnips and carrots and onions and cabbage. He had got peas and beans. And corn and wheat and tobacco and the seed potatoes. And watermelon seeds."

I always start my own seeds; I did that even back in California. There I could plant my seeds outside in my driveway as early as the beginning of March. I covered them with plastic to keep the frost off at first, but that never lasted long. Soon the beautiful spring weather chased off winter's chill.

The plants I grew were always very strong and healthy. I never had any planting shock with them because the seedlings were already acclimated to the outdoors.

When I moved up here, my methods had to change a little bit! Most people start their seeds late March/ early April, but indoors only, please. There's still snow on the ground in April and 2 more months to go before the last danger of frost. Plants tend to turn out a little spindly if you don't have a fancy growing set-up with lights and well-spaced racks.

Which I don't.

And this year I didn't even get my seeds planted until May. Caleb and I made a trip to Seattle, WA in April, and what with one thing and another, it was May before I got around to doing my seeds. That was way too late to be starting, but hope springs eternal in this breast, at least. I hoped I'd be able to plant them in early June and they could catch up with the rest of the world through my tender care and loving ministrations.

So, that didn't happen either....

 My grandpa passed away in June and I didn't get my plants in the ground until the beginning of July. Part of what slowed me up was waiting to get the ground plowed. I know a sturdy pioneer girl would have gotten out there with a shovel and made it happen, but I'm only an imitation pioneer, not the genuine article.

I waited for someone to plow it for me.

Finally my dad took pity on me and went down to Williston to buy an attachment for his beloved tractor. Or...it had very little to do with me because it doesn't take much for my dad to find a reason to get more tractor equipment.

"Ma said, "But, Charles, you didn't get yourself a thing!"

"Oh, I got myself a plow," said Pa. "Warm weather'll be here soon now, and I'll be plowing.'" 

Whatever his motivation, the end result was a beautifully tilled garden spot. Surely things were looking up for food production on the prairie....

Over a month over-due for planting, my seedlings were leggy and weak, but I was able---finally!---to get them in the ground.

What a beautiful sight! All those seed trays empty at last!

I had row after row of tomatoes planted. I always over-do the tomatoes a little bit. It's sort of a family tradition with me, and there are so many good varieties I just have to plant some of all of them. Things can get pretty ugly once they all start to ripen, but I usually try to sell some of my excess.

"Pa said to Ma, "I tell you, Caroline, when we begin getting crops off this rich land of ours, we'll be living like kings!'"

That didn't happen this year. My plants grew, all right, and even produced lots of green tomatoes. But with their late start, they'd missed too much of the heat of summer. A tomato needs nice hot temperatures in order to ripen and my plants never got enough warm weather. I ended up with a lush jungle of vines laden with bushels of green, green tomatoes.

Now that it's fall, I've been picking them. Tomatoes will ripen after being picked, and the wise tomato farmer will pluck the last of his harvest and store it inside. This enables him to enjoy ripe tomatoes through November or even December.

The key here is to pluck the last of the harvest. I am harvesting an entire season of tomatoes that ARE ALL GOING TO RIPEN AT ONCE! And where to store all of them in the mean time, I don't know.

I foresee much experimentation in green tomato recipes!

Thankfully, not all of my seedlings turned out to be such divas. My flowers bloomed beautifully, covering the side of my house with brilliant blossoms all summer long and I had lush pots filled with fragrant herbs for cooking.

I always plant pumpkins, squash, and gourds in my garden because I enjoy growing them so much. I don't enjoy eating very many of them, so they usually end up being given away to good homes.

Last year I had a family out to the house to pick their very own pumpkins from my patch. There aren't very many U-pick pumpkin patches in our area (like, none), so it was a fun treat for them, and of course fun for me as well. I'll probably do it again this year, too, though my pumpkins never had the chance to grow very big.

Gardening is certainly a lot of work, but to me, it is well-worth it. At least, I think that at the end of the season. And in the middle of winter when all the world is white and cold. And when the first signs of spring peek over the horizon.

But ask me on a hot day in July, and you might get a different answer!

Chapter 17: Pa Goes to Town

"Before dawn, Pa went away. When Laura and Mary woke, he was gone and everything was empty and lonely. It was not as though Pa had only gone hunting. He was gone to town and he would not be back for four long days."

Laura and Mary stay in the house with Ma all morning. It is too big and empty outside with Pa gone. At noon Laura and Ma goes outside to move the cow's picket line to fresh grass. Then they go back inside until evening chore time.

Ma is just putting on her bonnet to go milk the cow when all the hair stands up on Jack's back and he rushes out of the house. They hear a yell, "Call off your dog! Call off your dog!" It is Mr. Edwards. Pa asked him to come by each day and check on Ma and the girls. He has come at chore time so he can help with the chores.

But now he is on top of the woodpile with Jack growling and trying to get to him. Ma makes Jack let Mr. Edwards down, but Jack keeps an eye on him the whole time he is doing chores.

That night everything is dark and lonely. A wolf howls out on the prairie, but Laura is not afraid. Ma has pulled the latch string through the stout door and Jack is in the house with them. Nothing can get to them; they are safe.

The next day is empty and long like the first one. Mrs. Scott comes to visit and talks to Ma. She says interesting things about massacres, but Ma changes the subject. Later Ma says Laura will have to be older before she can know what a massacre is.

Mr. Edwards comes again to help with chores and Jack chases him up the wood pile again. Laura and Mary think about Pa, camping that night in the town of Independence. Tomorrow morning he will shop and by tomorrow afternoon he should be on his way home again!

The wind blows bitterly cold for the next two days. Pa must travel into the wind to reach the little log cabin. On the second day, Laura and Mary begin to watch for Pa. They wait all afternoon and all evening, but Pa doesn't come. Only the wind blows and blows and blows.

Ma lets them stay up and wait for Pa, but finally Laura falls asleep sitting up on the bench. She falls right onto the floor and Ma says they must go to bed. Ma sits by the fire in her rocking chair waiting and waiting.

Laura doesn't even know when she falls asleep again, but next thing she knows, Pa is standing in the cabin. His clothes are cold and his boots are caked with frozen mud. He is very tired, but he wraps Laura and Mary in Ma's shawl and takes them on his lap. He is glad to be home.

Pa drinks a cup of nice, hot coffee and shows Ma and the girls the treasures he has brought from town. First he shows them a flat, square package wrapped carefully in brown paper. It is full of eight small squares of glass for their window! Ma is so pleased; now they will be able to look out the window this winter.

Pa also shows them a little paper sack full of pure, white sugar. Ma puts it away carefully to be used when company comes. Pa has also brought lots of nails, salt pork, tobacco for him, and cornmeal for corn bread. It is so nice. Now they will have enough of everything all winter long.

Thoughts:
It's kind of interesting to read this chapter just as I'm gearing up for another monthly shopping trip. Once a month I go buy out Walmart and haul home hundreds of different kinds of items---pet supplies, groceries, household items, etc., etc. You know, just the simple necessities for modern life. Perhaps I should surprise Caleb by coming back this time with only cornmeal and sugar. Wouldn't he be excited!

Now, I know that the cornmeal Pa picked up in Independence was already ground at a mill somewhere. Even in those pioneer days, women had risen up in rebellion against the ancient method of hand milling. In fact, grist mills date back before the Roman Empire. Those ancient housewives must have been feisty!

But I wanted to try grinding corn the OLD-fashioned way. It seemed more authentic. More real. More in touch with history. More like I had no mill to use.

So I went out in the bitter cold and selected two nice rocks. It was a complicated selection process with stringent requirements----mainly I had to be able to kick them loose from where they were frozen to the ground.

Then they went through an important seasoning process where I scrubbed off all the dirt and dead vegetation. There was a limit to the amount of crunch I was willing to accept in my corn muffin.

I dried the rocks and placed a handful of popcorn kernels on the bottom rock. Popcorn kernels are smaller than regular grinding corn, but still work.

Then I started to grind the corn. Turns out dry corn is pretty hard...the kernels went flying and suffered no noticeable damage in the process. But I kept at it, though I did mentally downsize the amount of cornmeal I planned to get.

It was around this time that Caleb got home from school. Slam! "I'm starving, Mom! What's for dinner?"

He walks into the kitchen and sees me with my two rocks, grinding away at the corn.

"I'm making supper as fast I can, Sweety."

"Are you kidding me!?"

Have you ever seen a teenage boy cry?

My dad also stopped by, but somehow didn't want to stay for dinner. I don't know why---cornbread and chili beans is one of his favorite meals. He did let me know a fascinating historical fact: Old-fashioned stone-ground grain had powdered bits of rock in it and actually ground off people's teeth over time.  

Hmmmm. Maybe I'll just mix the cornmeal in only ONE special  muffin!

I worked at it for about twenty minutes before I got bored.  My family never would have made it back in ancient times! Or they would have learned to like REALLY crunchy bread. By the time I finished, I had quite a bit of powder on my grinding rock-----but still mixed in with large chunks of hardened corn. So I mentally downsized my expectations yet again and ran it all through a colander.

I ended up with about a tablespoon of extremely....hearty cornmeal. And I think almost half of it was actually corn!

Fiesta Surprise Cornbread:

2 1/2 c flour
2 c cornmeal
1/2 c sugar
4 t baking pwd.
1 t salt (I think I would increase this by at least 1/4 t next time)

Mix together

2 eggs
2 1/4 c milk
1/2 c melted butter
1/2 c frozen corn
1 4-oz. can green chilis
1 can sliced olives

Mix in separate  bowl and fold into mix; add small amount of water if needed.  Pour into greased pan and bake at 350  35-40 minutes until done.

That's an OLIVE, not a rock.....

Ready to eat the delicious "special" muffin that has the homemade cornmeal mixed in it......

First bite......

Mmmmmmmm! Tastes good.

But even Caleb can hear the chunks of corn? grinding in my mouth....

Delicious! I would recommend this recipe to anyone.

Though you may want to leave out the authentic stone-ground part......

Just a suggestion.

"Everything was alright when Pa was there. And now he had nails, and cornmeal, and fat pork, and salt, and everything. He would not have to go to town again for a long time."

Chapter 16: Fire in the Chimney

"The prairie had changed. Now it was a dark yellow, almost brown, and red streaks of sumac lay across it. The wind wailed in the tall grass, and it whispered sadly across the curly, short buffalo grass. At night the wind sounded like someone crying."

It is fall. The days are growing shorter and cooler. It is time for Pa to go to town. He couldn't go during the heat of summer because it would have been too hard for Pet and Patty. Pa gets the grass-hay cut and stacked by the barn, ready for winter. Now all he has to do is go hunting so Ma and the girls won't run out of meat while he is gone.

The next morning Pa takes his gun and heads down into the creek bottoms. There are lots of geese and wild ducks by the creek, resting on their way south. Laura and Mary hear a shot echo in the woods and they know Pa has got some meat.

That afternoon the wind is cold and fierce. Pa is still not back from hunting, but Ma calls Laura and Mary into the house. Ma builds up the fire and sits rocking Baby Carrie. The wind blows and blows.

Laura hears a crackling noise in the chimney. Ma hears it, too, because she leans forward and looks up the chimney. Then she gets up, puts Baby Carrie in Mary's arms and pushes her into the rocking chair. Ma hurries outside and Laura runs after her.

The whole top of the chimney is on fire! The chimney-top is made of sticks and mud, and all the sticks are burning up. Ma grabs a long pole and starts hitting the burning chimney, trying to knock it away from the house. Laura grabs a pole too, but Ma tells her to stay away. Burning sticks are falling all around them and Ma doesn't want Laura to get hurt.

Laura runs back into the house. Burning sticks are falling down the chimney and the house is full of smoke. One big stick rolls off the hearth and right under Mary's skirts. Mary is too afraid to move, but Laura grabs the great, heavy rocking chair and pulls it backward, moving Mary and Baby Carrie to safety. Then she grabs the burning stick and throws it back into the fireplace just as Ma comes in.

"That's a good girl," says Ma. She pours water all over the fire in the fireplace. Soon there is nothing left but a very smokey house. When Pa comes home, he finds the fire out and the house very cold. He goes to cut green sticks and builds the chimney up again so Ma can roast the four fat ducks he brought home.

Soon the house is snug and warm again. Pa says he will head for town early the next morning. Ma is happy. Now she can mail a letter to the folks back in Wisconsin. They can write back during the winter, and she might even hear from them as early as next spring.

Thoughts:
Well, another challenging chapter. When is Laura going to do something like read a book, do a demure sewing project, or play on the computer? All this death-defying stuff wears a person out!

What a narrow escape they all had! It would be bad enough to have to fight a fire now, with hoses and water, and the fire department on the way because you called them on your cell phone. But Ma and the girls were out in the middle of a (dry) prairie with no resources except what their own efforts and ingenuity could provide.

And then to do all of that in a long dress and heavy petticoat. It's no wonder so many women suffered horrible burns or lost their life after their clothing caught fire. But for Laura's quick actions, Mary and Carrie might well have been buried out there on the windswept Kansas prairie.

So what to do for this chapter? I had no intention of lighting myself on fire, no matter how educational it might be. But there was no reason not to light someone ELSE on fire. Especially someone like Flamin' Fanny.

I started by going to the thrift store to find a dress I wouldn't feel bad about burning. It had to be ugly enough to deserve incineration and made of a cotton-type material, similar to the highly flammable calico that most pioneer dresses were made out of.  I found one that fit both criteria nicely. And a big thank you to the kind-hearted thrift store ladies who tried to find something nice to say about it.

"My. That dress is....interesting, Mabel."

"Yes, it is, Nancy. You don't see something like that every day. It's...........pretty."

Ladies, I'm going to burn it alive. You don't have to try so hard.

The dress wasn't quite long enough, so I added to its splendor by sewing a panel of brightly colored sheet material around the bottom. Lovely.

Then I had to wait several days for the temperature to get out of the minuses and the wind to die down. I had no intention of suffering while I burned Miss Fanny. At last the day dawned with mild enough conditions go conduct my little...experiment.

Because this is a family blog...

Fanny was constructed by Caleb out of a couple of 2x4's with an attractive pumpkin head. She was dressed in a full cotton sheet for a petticoat to give her those extra layers of combustible comfort. Then we fitted her dress over the top and fixed her hair. Voila, Flamin' Fanny, the Fearless Frontier Female.

The idea was to build a small fire at the feet of Fanny, then document her dress catching fire....perhaps smoldering a bit first, then a finger of flame licking up her gown, and finally, the tragic conflagration. That was the idea, anyway.

Didn't quite work out that way....

I built the fire alright, using cardboard and old shingles. I lit it in a couple of places, but the wind was still brisk and the little flames guttered and went out. It's 15 degrees outside, and I don't have much time to lay a pretty fire and coax it to life.

Time for the gasoline.

I am actually a HUGE chicken when it comes to fire, and while a male-type would probably splash some carelessly from the can onto the little firelet, I wasn't about to do any such thing. I poured a little bit on a shingle and laid it on the fire.

Let's just say it "caught".

By the time I could take 3 steps back from the fire, grab my camera, and turn it on......well, Fanny was already fully involved. It wasn't just because of the gas. She was actually starting to go before I even got the shingle over there. It was just that her dress went up SO quickly.

If she were a pioneer woman, she would have had 10 seconds or less to respond and get the fire out before it got critically bad.

So here is the first shot I got off of poor Fanny...

At this stage, I think she could have still been saved. Some quick thinking and some stop-drop-and-roll, and she could have gotten the fire out. The same things that made it so dangerous---her thick petticoat and long dress---would help to protect her in those first few seconds...which I imagine were usually spent running and screaming; perhaps trying to tear the dress away.

"'Don't cry, Laura," Ma said, stroking her hair. "Were you afraid?"

"Yes," Laura said. "I was afraid Mary and Carrie would burn up. I was afraid the house would burn up and we wouldn't have any house. I'm--I'm scared now!"

The next sequence of photos (and the video that follows) were all taken during the same minute---the last minute of Fanny's life.

Her hair went fast.....

VERY fast!

As you can see, she was not only in flames within a minute, but her dress was almost wholly consumed in those 60 seconds.

It was a very thrilling and educational experience, but one that was sobering as well. For too many women, Flamin' Fanny's fate was a terrifying reality; maimed or killed in the line of duty---by the very uniform required of their sex. It was a graphic reminder that nostalgia is a whole lot more romantic than actually living during "the good ol' days".

Poor Fanny!

Chapter 15: Fever 'n' Ague

"'Charles, do look at the girls," she said. "I do believe they are sick."

"Well, I don't feel too well myself," said Pa. "First I'm hot and then I'm cold, and I ache all over. Is that the way you feel, girls? Do your very bones ache?"

Mary and Laura said that was the way they felt. Then Ma and Pa looked a long time at each other and Ma said, "The place for you girls is bed.'"

Blackberries are ripe, and every long, hot afternoon Laura goes with Ma to help pick them. They grow in the brier-patches down in the creek bottom. Clouds of mosquitoes follow Ma and Laura wherever they go in the bushes. The mosquitoes like to suck the sweet juice from the blackberries, but they like to bite Laura and Ma just as much.

It is hard, itchy, pokey, sticky work, but every day they bring home pails full of berries to dry in the sun. And every day they eat as many berries as they want. Next winter they will have blackberries to stew.

Mary stays with Baby Carrie because she is older. There are hardly any mosquitoes in the house during the day, but at night, if there is no wind, the mosquitoes come in swarms. Pa burns smudge fires of damp grass to keep them away, but a good many come anyway.

Pa can't play his fiddle in the evenings because of the mosquitoes. Mr. Edwards does not come visiting anymore because of the mosquitoes. Pet and Patty and the colt and the calf and the cow are miserable because of the mosquitoes. And Laura is covered in mosquito bites.

"This won't last long," Pa says. "Fall's not far away, and the first cold wind will settle 'em."

But one morning Laura doesn't feel good. She feels cold even in the hot sun. Mary feels sick too. Ma feels Laura's cheek. "You can't be cold," she says. "Your face is as hot as fire."

Pa says he feels sick, too. Ma puts the two girls to bed in the middle of the day. Laura doesn't really go to sleep, but she doesn't feel awake either. She hears voices talking. Ma feeds her broth from a spoon. She feels Pa's hand shake while he gives her a cup of water. The water runs down her neck and the cup rattles against her teeth. She feels Ma's hand brush against her cheek and it's as hot as fire.

"Go to bed, Caroline."

"You're sicker than I am, Charles."

At last, Laura opens her eyes and sees bright sunshine. She hears Mary crying for a drink of water. Pa is lying on the floor by the big bed and Jack is pawing at him and whining. "I must get up. I must. Caroline and the girls." Pa tries to raise his head, but it falls back again.

All the time, Mary is crying and crying for water. Laura sees Ma's red face looking over the edge of the bed. "Laura, can you?" she whispers.

"Yes, Ma," Laura says. Laura gets out of bed, but she falls down. Jack licks her face and Laura grabs him to pull herself up again. She crawls all the way to the bucket and all the way back again. Mary drinks the whole dipper full of water and stops crying. Laura falls into bed again.

The next time Laura wakes up, she sees a coal-black face above hers. The face smiles and a deep voice says, "Drink this, little girl." Laura swallows the bitter medicine and falls asleep again. When she wakes up, she sees a big woman stirring the fire. It is Mrs. Scott and she stays with the family until they feel better.

Later, Mr. Tan comes. He is the black man that Laura saw and he is a doctor to the Indians. He was on his way north to Independence when he came to Pa's house. Jack, who normally chased away any strangers, came out and begged the doctor to come in. He did and he found the whole family more dead than alive. Mr. Tan stayed and helped them, then helped the other settlers up and down the creek who were all sick.

"It all comes from eating watermelons," said Mrs. Scott. "If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times..."

"What's that?" exclaimed Pa. "Who's got watermelons?"

Mrs. Scott says that one of the settlers down the creek has grown some. As soon as Pa feels better, he rides away and comes back with a big watermelon across his saddle. Ma doesn't want him to eat it, but Pa just laughs and gets his knife. It goes into the watermelon with a delicious sound. The green rind splits and shows the bright red inside with little black seeds.

Pa eats and eats, but Ma will not taste it or allow Laura, Mary, or Baby Carrie to have any. But Pa eats slice after slice.

Thoughts:
Poor little girls. How awful to be deprived of watermelon! Especially when your Pa is eating it right in front of you. I guess he didn't believe in suffering with the team...

I happen to love watermelon, but I don't think that a blog about me eating a slice of watermelon has much readability. Besides, winter watermelon is gross. I was feeling a bit under the weather for a few days, but nothing that compared with malaria. And it's the middle of winter, so mosquitoes are in pretty short supply---no trying out home-made pioneer repellent.

But this chapter did have one very strong possibility. Berry picking!

Berry picking, you say? In the middle of winter? Why, yes. As it so happens, I put in a few berry bushes this year. They produce the majority of their berries in summer, as you'd expect, but a few hardy berries can still be found in January if you know how to look for them.

So this morning I dressed and went out for a little winter berry picking....

In the middle of my berry patch---no mosquitoes!

"Now the blackberries were ripe, and in the hot afternoons Laura went with Ma to pick them. The big, black, juicy berries hung thick in brier-patches in the creek bottoms. Some were in the shade of trees and some were in the sun, but the sun was so hot that Laura and Ma stayed in the shade. There were plenty of berries."

 Actually, it is a little cold to go berry picking in winter. And snow gets down your boots. But it was worth it, because I was able to find enough blackberries for a small batch of jam.

Of course, you have to expect your fruit to be frozen when you pick it in January, so it's best to let it thaw before using it to cook with.

I used to take my kids out into the California heat every August and pick wild blackberries. I'd make jars and jars of jam, and some years that was the only jam we had. As a result, I got heartily sick of blackberry jam and my youngest got wildly sentimental about it. Now we live in a climate too cold for blackberries, so I have to buy them if I want to make any jam.

That was another reason for making jam for this chapter...it's my first home-made blackberry jam in years, and Caleb is eagerly awaiting the green-light to try some. (Not until the photography's done!)

There are lots of recipes for making jam---I used the one that came with the Sure-jell---but basics are the same. Start with everything clean and in good condition---no chipped glass or rusty, bent rings. The ratio of sugar and fruit is pretty important, so make sure you have the right amounts. I didn't have enough fruit for a full recipe, so I used only half a packet of pectin.

You can make jam without any powdered pectin. I usually do, but then, I usually use large amounts of  fresh fruit with lots of natural pectin in it. This was my first time using frozen fruit, so I elected to go with more of a sure bet than trying to guess the Shangri-la of "The Jelling Point".

I mashed my berries, taking care to leave hearty fruit chunks. It's not jammy enough if you can't see some berries.

Then I mixed the pectin into the berries and heated the mixture up on the stove. The whole thing has to come to a rolling boil before you can add the sugar.

 Once it was boiling hard enough that stirring didn't stop the boiling, I added the sugar in all at once and stirred it in. After that I had to watch it pretty closely; it only has to boil for 1 minute.

Once the one minute was over (plus a little more...I'm not good at watching closely), I scooped out the jam and filled my jars, taking care that the rims were clear of any jam. If there's anything in the way of the rubber ring on the lid, the lid won't seal properly. Oh, good, there was plenty left over to eat right away.

I had to process the jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes (give or take...I'm also not good at keeping an eye on the clock), but I'm sure it's safe.

 Really.


Of course, once they came out, there was the traditional death watch to see if the jars sealed, but both of them did. Now they are good for a year of shelf-life, but I don't think they'll make it that long around here, especially with Caleb around!

While the jam was brewing, I made batch of whole wheat bread, because there is NOTHING---and I mean NOTHING better with homemade jam than fresh baked bread. Plus bread is really photogenic  when you're doing a jam photo shoot...

Who knew food photography could be so fraught with danger?

Back, you FIENDS!!!!!!!!!

"Laura's fingers and her mouth were purple-black with berry juice. Her face and her hands and her bare feet were covered with brier scratches and mosquito bites. And they were spattered with purple stains, too, where she had slapped at the mosquitoes."

At last it was time to dig in and test the jam. Sorry if I look a little wild-eyed. That's really my sexy jam-eating face, in case you couldn't tell. 

Oh, yummy! So good. This really would be ruining my diet if I had ever bothered to start one.

It's fun to spend an afternoon making a delicious treat to eat. But it wouldn't be fun to do all the time because you had to, not because you wanted to. (I found that out just in the few years I canned all the family's jam in order to save money.) Now I can go to the store and get 10-12 different kinds of jam if that's what I want to do. I don't have to pick the fruit, clean it, peel it, cook it, or can it. I just open the jar, and if the lid sticks, I complain about that.

Truly, we are blessed in our modern lives. That's one reason I like to take some time to try things "the old-fashioned way". For one thing, should I ever NEED to know how to do this kind of thing, I'll be glad I learned. But mostly, it's just good to be reminded of how fortunate I am every minute of every day simply because of where----and when---I live.

Chapter 12: Fresh Water to Drink

"Next morning Pa marked a large circle in the grass near the corner of the house. With his spade he cut the sod inside the circle, and lifted it up in large pieces. Then he began to shovel out the earth, digging himself deeper and deeper down."

Pa needs to make his trip to town, but before he can go, he must dig a well so Ma will have fresh water while he is gone. Pa cuts the circle into the earth and begins to dig and dig. Laura and Mary must not go near the edge of the well while Pa is digging, but they can see the shovelfuls of dirt that he throws up over the edge.

At last the well is so deep Pa can't throw the dirt high enough to reach the top. He will have to have help from here, so he takes his gun and rides Patty over to Mr. Scott's house to ask him to lend a hand. The next morning at sunup, Mr. Scott arrives to help.

Pa and Mr. Scott make a windlass over the well. It has a handle that turns, and one bucket goes down, and one bucket comes up. They take turns going down into the well to dig; in the morning Mr. Scott digs, and in the afternoon it's Pa's turn.

Every morning before Mr. Scott goes down into the well, Pa sends down a lighted candle. As long as the flame stays lit, Pa knows it is safe to breathe at the bottom. Mr. Scott thinks it's a bunch of nonsense, and one morning, when he arrives before Pa is outside, he begins work without checking the air.

Ma, Laura, and Mary are working in the house when they hear Pa shout, "Scott! Scott!" Then he calls, "Caroline, come quick!"

Ma runs to where Pa is tying the rope firmly around the windlass. He is going after Mr. Scott, who has fainted at the bottom of the well.

"No, Charles! Don't," Ma begs.

"We can't just let him die down there. I won't breathe until I get out."

Ma begs some more, but Pa is firm. He swings into the well and slides out of sight.

After what seems like a very long time, Ma pulls at the windlass and Pa comes up out of the well, hand-over-hand. He climbs out of the well and sits on the ground. Ma sends Laura for some water, and when she gets back, Pa and Ma are both turning the windlass. Slowly the other bucket comes up and Laura sees Mr. Scott slumped over the bucket.

Pa pulls Mr. Scott out onto the grass. He feels Mr. Scott's wrist and listens to his heart. "He's breathing," Pa says.

Pa and Mr. Scott take it easy the rest of the day. The next morning, Pa takes Laura out to the well. He drops some gun powder into the well and lights it. There is a muffled bang and smoke comes up out of the hole. "There, that will drive the gas out of the hold," Pa says.

It takes many more days of digging, but finally there is water in the bottom of the well. When the water comes in Pa almost gets sucked into the muddy slime, and he has to climb out quickly. Soon the well fills with fresh, clean water. Pa makes a strong wooden cover to go over the hole, and Laura and Mary are told they must never touch it. But whenever they are thirsty, Ma lifts the cover and draws a dripping bucket of cool water from the well.

Thoughts:
Gather round, children. It's time for family fun with methane! Oh goody!

Sadly, in the complete absence of volunteers lining up to be nearly suffocated, (I'll just take you to the brink. I promise!) I was forced to look elsewhere for inspiration. It wasn't hard to find; I only had to go as far as the real hero of the story----the lowly candle.

It was the candle that kept everyone safe, and it was in failing to use the candle that Mr. Scott found his life in danger. Candles must have oxygen to burn, and if the well-pit was full of gas, the candle would be snuffed out. Much cheaper than a canary, and not as cruel. Pa Ingalls, the first animal rights activist.

I had a bag of wax shavings that someone gave me, but I was missing a few other key ingredients. Like wicks and something to melt the wax in. In looking up candle making online, I was strictly warned never, NEVER to melt wax without a thermometer. It's best to have a special kettle with the thermometer built in, but at least have a good candy thermometer to avoid over-heating the wax. Which will then burst into flames.

Well, no candy thermometer, and I'm pretty sure that Campbell's soup cans don't come with thermometers built in. But at least I used a double boiler!

Ssh, don't tell anyone, but I got the wick from breaking open a 12" taper I already had. I could have tried to make my own, but I didn't have any Borax on hand. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I began melting the wax at a very low temperature since I was paranoid it was going to burst into flames at the first opportunity. Which it didn't. It didn't even melt, really, besides forming a gloppy mass in the bottom of the can.

Building a log cabin would have been faster. It was time to bring the heat.

Once I turned up the heat to a decent level, the water started boiling and the wax started to melt.

When everything was melted I began the tedious process of dipping the wick into the wax. It was even more tedious than usual because for a while I forgot the important step of dipping the candle in water between each dunking. Because the wax was staying hot, it just slid off each time I dipped it again.

I hadn't done this since summer camp about 20 years ago, OK!

After I started cooling the candle each time I dipped it, the wax started accumulating very quickly. "Very quickly" being a relative term....as in quicker than knitting the Taj Mahal with your teeth.


Ah! Done at last. Sure, the candles could have been a bit bigger, but who wants over-weight candles, anyway? I like my candles slim and delicate. Ethereal, almost.

Since I still had quite a bit of wax in the can, I decided to make a snow candle. It was just for fun, since I didn't have a wick to put in it, but I wanted to see what it would turn out like.

Not good.

Evidently, you're supposed to dig a hole in the snow before you pour the wax.

  

 Well, now I'll know for next time. In the meantime, my parents have some lovely yellow snow in their front yard! I'm sure they'll be thanking me any time now.

"Every morning, before Pa would let Mr. Scott go down the rope, he set a candle in a bucket and lighted it and lowered it to the bottom. Once Laura peeped over the edge and she saw the candle brightly burning, far down in the dark hole in the ground. 

Then Pa would say, "Seems to be all right," and he would pull up the bucket and blow out the candle."

Time to take the candle for a test drive. Was the air in our house fit to breathe? Well, that's debatable in any house inhabited by a teenage boy, but the candle burned, so I guess the air hasn't gotten too rank yet.

You never could have proved it by me....