0 COUNTRY GIRL STORY; part 2; 1915; From Her "Beloved Southland'

It is evident that her share in the housework is not a small one. She does the sewing and much of the gardening, taking entire care of the flower-garden. She does marvels of canning; she keeps the accounts; she straightens up the rooms, and helps with the cooking. She runs the errands, waiting on the father, who is permanently disabled. To facilitate her work she has a sewing machine, an oil stove, a pump near the door, and a wheel-hoe. What she desires in the way of equipment in order to make her housekeeping easier are these only—her thoughts for herself have not flown very high!--a kitchen cabinet and a clothes wringer. Since they eat a great deal of cream cheese and lots of fruit and vegetables raw, she does not feel that they need a fireless cooker; but she does greatly need a canner.

The recreations of this hard-working girl consist of reading, going visiting, walking, studying nature, making a flower garden, and writing letters. She also naively includes going to Sunday School among her recreations. She takes an excursion to the shore once in a great while; but only seldom has she the time for that. In her community there are perhaps twenty-five young people. They have a dance once or twice a month and a picnic twice a year; and there is a school social every two months. The village has a hall with a platform, a two-roomed school house, and a tennis court, as facilities for a social center.

With delightful frankness this efficient County Girl recounts her financial endeavors. Her chief way of earning money is by raising vegetables for the table and by cutting down expenses by careful planning of the diet. During one year the family of four had only to pay out $71 for bought groceries.

In her earlier girlhood her father paid her a salary of ten dollars a month for her household assistance. That first money she earned, she saved. She let it accumulate for a time and when she had a good opportunity she bought a lot with it. After a while she moved a house upon the lot and fixed it up. The family lived there for about a year and then she sold it, making a good profit. During that time they owned a garden and a cow. The garden was held to be her own special property; but her enthusiasm for the whole farm project was no doubt to a good extent the result of the training in responsibility she had received at the hands of her wise parents.

Detail: COUNTRY GIRL STORY; part 2; 1915; From Her "Beloved Southland'

0 COUNTRY GIRL STORY; part 1; 1915; From Her "Beloved Southland'

The following account is written by a single woman in her early twenties. She lives in her “beloved Southland” on a farm of two hundred acres, twenty-five of which are cleared. The nearest village, which consists of twenty or so houses, is three miles from her farm. This is the way the farm looked when she first saw it:

“Around the house was an old-fashioned flower garden planted years before. The woods and creek were beautiful. The day we arrived, after we had crossed the creek and were inside the clearing, what we saw made us forget the long drive through black stumps and fallen trees. The oaks were just coming into leaf. The dogwoods formed a semi-circle around the place and were white with bloom against the green of the pines, while the wisteria hung in great clusters and the bridal wreath was one heap of white flowers.”

This was the first entrancing glimpse. But any one who knows about farm work, realizes that this view of a run-down, neglected old place means a long struggle. Nature has reached out hands to pull the whole cultivation back into the wilderness. In that tangled fragrant clearing was waiting a severe test for a trained farmer, not to say, for a beginner. But this girl was determined to live on the farm, and she stood ready to face all difficulties in the attainment of her desire. That neglected garden was typical. She soon had it cleaned and the bulbs reset, and it was not long before there were flowers for every month in the year. All difficulties seem to have been met with a spirit of determination and of cheer. “We were crazy,” she declares, “to live on a farm and determine not to fail; but as soon as one problem was solved, another would bob up. There was never a day without some unexpected happening, and adventures were plentiful.”

An average day of her life on the farm is a busy one. She says:

“The sun wakes me up in the morning, or maybe it is the mocking-birds singing. I work in the garden gathering the vegetables, picking the flowers, or cultivating, until breakfast time. After breakfast I make the beds and straighten the bed-room; then I work in the garden again until about 9:30 or 10:00 o'clock. Then I come in and help with the dinner or sew or study or write, and if it is bread-baking day I always knead the bread and prepare it for the oven. As we have breakfast about five-thirty o'clock we get so hungry we have dinner about 11:30. After dinner we rest a half hour either by reading or by lying down. In the afternoon after a bath I study or sew until it is cool enough to work in the garden. For supper we only make coffee and warm over something left from dinner. We have supper at five o'clock, but usually have a bowl of clabber or a glass of milk before going to bed. I work in the garden until dark; then we talk a while and go to bed about nine o'clock. In the winter we talk or read after supper until bed-time. However, in canning time the study, the sewing, and a good part of the reading are put aside.”

Detail: COUNTRY GIRL STORY; part 1; 1915; From Her "Beloved Southland'

0 CAMPING ON THE FARM--1926

Apparently in times past, not every Girl Scout was a part of a "Troop." This article was written for the many "Lone Girl Scouts" living in 1926.

Every Lone Scout will, I hope, take her younger sister or older brother or neighbor, or visiting cousin, out this summer to spend at least one day "in camp," in some lovely spot not too far from home--probably right on the farm, but seemingly very far away.

Those who have already had the delightful experience of camping out for a day or more by a lake or river, or in the mountains, or down by the creek in a corner of the orchard (away from the house), will never forget the rich flavor of a crust of toasted bread, or the tantalizing smell of bacon cooked on a sharpened stick over hot coals!

I look back with great satisfaction upon the memory of days spent on grandmother's farm. We youngsters used to cook out-of-doors a great deal. Almost always we went down to one certain pasture where there was a lovely elm tree and a creek.

My grandmother always had plenty of tomatoes ripening in a row on the kitchen window sill. The dish we prepared most frequently was stewed tomatoes. We skinned and quartered the tomatoes, brought them to a boil, and then stirred in, for thickening, a little milk and flour mixed into a thin paste, some salt and pepper. When done we served them on toast. Buttered toast, if you please. Our bread was home-made and was toasted on sharpened, forked sticks before the fire. Sometimes we spread the bread with butter before we toasted it. This made it toast delightfully brown and taste particularly delicious.

 

I wonder if any of you have tried anything like this? A fork, spoon and cup, a small frying pan or a quart-sized stewing pan, and a pocket knife, are all the equipment you really need. You, too, can cook tomatoes, or you can toast bacon on peeled green sticks and scramble or fry eggs. If you are quite ambitious, you can try pancakes, with brown sugar syrup. It doesn't matter what meal you go out to cook. Simple dishes are best any way.

As far as I am concerned, I still think there is nothing on earth more fun than getting up when everything is dusky and dewy, and going off to cook a breakfast of bacon and eggs as the sun rises. Do try that sometime. Again, try gathering your equipment and food supplies together for a noon meal. Make a list the night before. See if you can get everything all ready before you start off so you won't have to go back for a single thing. Check with your list in hand. Then, leave the house promptly at ten o'clock and go down into the orchard by the creek for the day. Plan where you are going to put your things so they won't get messy. Here is a nice stump, or there a flat rock that will do for a table. Plan to gather your wood, build your fire, set your "table" and get your lunch ready by twelve o'clock.

After your fire has been going steadily for several minutes, put your skillet on with two or three strips of bacon in it. When the grease is melted out, lift out the bacon and drop in your eggs. Baste the eggs with the sizzling bacon grease. That will make them turn white on the top. I leave it to you to judge when a perfectly good fried egg is done, and to finish it by serving it on toast or making an egg sandwich.

After lunch, clean every dish and pot, and prepare to leave no trace of your occupation behind you. Burn all fruit or vegetable skins or papers in your fireplace. Girl Scouts are clean campers. Before you leave, see that your fire is positively out. One spark left might cause inestimable damage.

Now, lie down awhile on your back and watch the clouds go by. What shapes are they? Have you ever read any poems about clouds? How many colors do you see about you? Any birds? Walk over to the top of a knoll for a lovely view, if possible. Wade a bit, if the brook is shallow. Look closely at a handful of wet sand. What is it like? Model a little skillet or a bird out of clay, if your soil is clayey.

When it comes four o'clock, gather up your equipment and start home. Arrive home by four-thirty and put your equipment away in a suitable place, all clean and ready for next time.

Detail: CAMPING ON THE FARM--1926

0 A Dose of Youth, by "Eighteen" from West Virginia, 1934

Ever since I was a little girl, people,--my teachers, friends, relatives--have talked college to me. We never did have much money but still it always seemed to us that when the time came I would go to college. Now I have been out of high school a year and we are practically certain I cannot go.

It is harder on Mother and Dad, I believe, than on me for people talk to them as if they should sacrifice everything just to give me an education. Goodness knows they have already sacrificed enough! And besides, I honestly do not believe that education is everything.

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to write. That is why they advocate college so strongly. But there are heaps of things to write about--farm and village life, for example. I could not feel about a city as I do about our valley--a deep dish scalloped round with hills with the sky for a cover. I could not love city crowds the way I love Mrs. Brown who has five children and who wears a little blue hat she has worn for three years because her husband says "it matches her eyes," and because--well her husband hasn't been doing well.

When I get to thinking about the dreams I used to have (I thought being grown up would be heavenly!) it hurts, so I have to slip off to the haymow and cry a little, but I get over it. I think growing up must be hard any time. There are so many hurts and perplexities that one must hide. I would almost die before I would admit some of the things I think, or some of the funny little things that make me want to cry. It hurts to be young and uncertain. It is doubly hard to be young and want to so something--and not know what.

I have always wanted to be happy--and gallant. Maybe I can learn to be with all this time I am going to have.

There will still be the fun of putting on an old slicker and walking with my face upturned to the rain. It is easy to make Mother happy; I can think of loads of things to do for her. Dad is tickled pink when I am interested in the things he likes. This winter I am helping my sister with her lessons. I can still study people and imagine stories about them. If I just forget myself I think I can be happy. Perhaps I am just having a dose of Youth.

Detail: A Dose of Youth, by "Eighteen" from West Virginia, 1934

0 AMERICAN COUNTRY GIRL; 1915

The following account is of a nineteen year old girl who lives on a hilly farm in Idaho. The farm consists of 160 acres and they live six miles from town. A friend of this young woman asked her to write an account of a single working day of her life.

"One bright morning in early July I was awakened by my mother who told me that it was half-past four. I arose immediately for I had had a good night's rest and did not feel sleepy. I dressed in my riding habit and went to the barn and waked my brother who was sleeping in the hayloft and asked him to come and saddle my pony, 'Daisy.' He saddled her and I mounted and went to the timber for the cows. The air was fresh and cool. It filled me with joy and seemed to affect Daisy the same, for she threw her ears forward, listened a second for the cows, and hearing the tinkle of the bell she started out on a gallop. After about a half hour's ride I found the cows and drove them home. When I had taken the saddle from Daisy and given her her breakfast and a few loving caresses I left her and went to the house, arriving just in time for breakfast. After breakfast I told my two sisters I would do the housework myself while they washed. I had an early start, was in high spirits and ready for the day's work before me. It did not take me long to plan my dinner, which I decided should consist of baked potatoes, creamed carrots, greens, and radishes, all fresh from the garden. For dessert I made blanc mange with cocoa sauce. I had plenty of fresh butter, cream, and light-bread at my disposal. The first thing I did on entering my kitchen was to mix up my light-bread. It did not take me long to clear off the breakfast table and put the dining-room in order. When I came to the kitchen I did not find it so easy; but my greatest delight being to set a kitchen in order I did not mind the task before me; but before starting it I did up the milk work which only took me half an hour, there being no churning that morning. I had my kitchen in order and the bread molded by ten o'clock.

I then cleaned myself up and read a short story in the Sunday School paper before starting my dinner which I did at ten-thirty. My dinner was a success or at least my father pronounced it so when he had finished eating a not small portion of it.

The following account is of a nineteen year old girl who lives on a hilly farm in Idaho. The farm consists of 160 acres and they live six miles from town. A friend of this young woman asked her to write an account of a single working day of her life.



Detail: AMERICAN COUNTRY GIRL; 1915

0 CHUMMY CHATS FROM OUR GIRLS, Part 2; 1931

Letter #1 We still have girls with the pioneer spirit! Isn't this a new idea? Lucy Frederick's (Wisconsin), ambition is to be an employee of a government or state game preserve. She says, “I have always been interested in the out-of-doors and its inhabitants. I have always had animals around me, both domestic and wild to feed during the winter months. Of course, I know it's strange for a girl to want such a position; yet I don't see why one in good health with a good education and a desire for out-door life cannot do it.”

Letter #2
In April the country girl is in her glory. She sees the first crocus come through the soft ground and watches the daffodils open up their faces to the sun. She spies on Robin Red Breast to see where she builds her nest, and she delights in the croaking of the frogs. What fun to watch the lambs and calves kick up their heels in the pasture! And better still, to make each of them a jolly pet!

Letter #3 “Advice Column”
At school I feel miserable because I am lonely and my classmates go by themselves. I am left alone for the recess and noon periods to read, write, or do something else which I do not enjoy. I have to do this to keep from getting lonely. All this makes my head ache terribly, and my heart ache, and makes me ill-tempered and feel like doing something terrible. I think the trouble is that my desire to join in their games and sports is too great, and because I do not get enough exercise during the day. I never smile because I am too unhappy. I am 14.--A miserable 6^th Grader, Michigan.

Little Sixth Grader, won't you give me your name and address, so I my answer your other questions personally? Will you promise to do one thing even if it is hard? From the time you get up in the morning until you go to bed—smile!! Do it until your face hurts from over-exercise, and the “achey” feeling around your heart will be forgotten. Say something jolly to all your school mates. The minute the bell rings say, “Let's go play,” and be one of the first ones out. Above all, never feel sorry for yourself. Play hard and be a good loser. What I have suggested will be the hardest thing you ever did, but it will be worth it.

Detail: CHUMMY CHATS FROM OUR GIRLS, Part 2; 1931

0 CHUMMY CHATS FROM OUR GIRLS, Part 1; 1931

Mildred Draper of Ohio seems to be one of our lively girls who doesn't miss a thing. She says, “I'm just another girl who has no particular problem—just wanted to write 'for fun.' I have come to the conclusion that I haven't any hobby. Instead I have hobbies!--many of them. I cannot decide what I like to do best, write letters, or poems, draw pictures, ride, drive a car, read or play the piano.” Mildred collects poems and writes them when she's “in the humor,” and she also has a box of pictures she has drawn besides many which she has collected. She enjoys riding--”in anything from a Lizzie to a Pierce-Arrow (or a wheelbarrow!!!)”

Gertrude Anton, North Dakota, enjoys her community. She says they have a party nearly every month. “We always enjoy ourselves at these parties, and they give us something to look forward to. One always feels better to have a little pleasure mixed in between the working days. We like coasting and skating, too. If it is too cold to go out, we stay indoors to play games and pop corn.”

Elizabeth Wilson of Indiana didn't waste time in writing to our page for she wrote the first day she found it. At first you'll feel sorry for her when she says, “I live on a poor farm!”--but at that she likes it. “My father is superintendent of the Infirmary (Note from Laurie. Perhaps this was an "old folks" home?) and my mother is matron. We have an apartment in the same building with the inmates. With the 102 inmates we have quite a large family. I enjoy it here as something new and exciting happens every day.” Perhaps some other time Elizabeth will tell us about “the old negro lady who is over 100 years old.”

What a good way to spend Sunday afternoon Dellora Glebe, Minnesota, tells about. "Five girls and six boys gathered at a neighbor's one afternoon. When tiring of other games we tried impromptu dramatics. We dressed up in clothes to impersonate various people and each one put on a little act. We had the best time!"

Detail: CHUMMY CHATS FROM OUR GIRLS, Part 1; 1931