The Farm-House Kitchen Page #3

"The Farm-House Kitchen" by Sarah Orne Jewett is a charming exploration of rural life and domesticity in 19th-century New England. Through rich descriptions and thoughtful anecdotes, Jewett captures the essence of farm life, emphasizing the importance of home-cooked meals and the connections formed around the kitchen table. The book intertwines recipes with personal reflections and stories, celebrating both the culinary traditions and the simple joys of country living. With a focus on community and the nurturing aspects of cooking, Jewett's work showcases the heart of farmhouse kitchens as places of warmth, creativity, and togetherness.

• Short story

								

tendin' to the child'n, but I started to go out o' the door and found
it had come on to rain hard, and I said to myself I wouldn't go out to
the woodpile and get my clothes all damp, 'count o' Ad'line, and the
candle end would last a spell longer, and he'd be home by that time. I
hadn't a least o' suspicion but what he was dallying round up to the
Corners, 'long o' the rest o' the men, bein' 't was Saturday night,
and I was some put out about it, for he knew the baby was sick, and I
hadn't nobody with me. I set down and waited, but he never come, and
it rained hard as I ever see it, and I left his supper standin' right
in the floor, and then I begun to be distressed for fear somethin' had
happened to Dan'l, and I set to work and cried, and the candle end
give a flare and went out, and by 'n' by the fire begun to get low and
I took the child'n and went to bed to keep warm; 't was an awful cold
night, considerin' 't was such a heavy rain, and there I laid awake
and thought I heard things steppin' about the room, and it seemed to
me as if 't was a week long before mornin' come, and as if I'd got to
be an old woman. I did go through with everything that night. 'T was
that time Dan'l broke his leg, you know; they was takin' a deck load
of oak knees down by the packet, and one on 'em rolled down from the
top of the pile and struck him just below the knee. He was poling, for
there wan't a breath o' wind, and he always felt certain there was
somethin' mysterious about it. He'd had a good deal worse knocks than
that seemed to be, as only left a black and blue spot, and he said he
never see a deck load o' timber piled securer. He had some queer
notions about the doin's o' sperits, Dan'l had; his old Aunt Parser
was to blame for it. She lived with his father's folks, and used to
fill him and the rest o' the child'n with all sorts o' ghost stories
and stuff. I used to tell him she'd a' be'n hung for a witch if she'd
lived in them old Salem days. He always used to be tellin' what
everything was the sign of, when we was first married, till I laughed
him out of it. It made me kind of notional. There's too much now we
can't make sense of without addin' to it out o' our own heads."

Mrs. Jake and Mrs. Martin were quite familiar with the story of the
night when there were no candles and Mr. Thacher had broken his leg,
having been present themselves early in the morning afterward, but
they had listened with none the less interest. These country neighbors
knew their friends' affairs as well as they did their own, but such an
audience is never impatient. The repetitions of the best stories are
signal events, for ordinary circumstances do not inspire them. Affairs
must rise to a certain level before a narration of some great crisis
is suggested, and exactly as a city audience is well contented with
hearing the plays of Shakespeare over and over again, so each man and
woman of experience is permitted to deploy their well-known but always
interesting stories upon the rustic stage.

"I must say I can't a-bear to hear anything about ghosts after
sundown," observed Mrs. Jake, who was at times somewhat troubled by
what she and her friends designated as "narves." "Day-times I don't
believe in 'em 'less it's something creepy more'n common, but after
dark it scares me to pieces. I do' know but I shall be afeared to go
home," and she laughed uneasily. "There! when I get through with this
needle I believe I won't knit no more. The back o' my neck is all
numb."

"Don't talk o' goin' home yet awhile," said the hostess, looking up
quickly as if she hated the thought of being left alone again. "'T is
just on the edge of the evenin'; the nights is so long now we think
it's bedtime half an hour after we've got lit up. 'T was a good lift
havin' you step over to-night. I was really a-dreadin' to set here by
myself," and for some minutes nobody spoke and the needles clicked
faster than ever. Suddenly there was a strange sound outside the door,
and they stared at each other in terror and held their breath, but
nobody stirred. This was no familiar footstep; presently they heard a
strange little cry, and still they feared to look, or to know what was
waiting outside. Then Mrs. Thacher took a candle in her hand, and,
still hesitating, asked once, "Who is there?" and, hearing no answer,
slowly opened the door.
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes