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Goldfoot
Farm
Fri., July 24, 1925
We
are laboring like Trojans, trying to keep up with our bosses.
Mrs. G. especially is a human dynamo. When she was younger,
she says, she used to carry 2 one hundred pound bags of
meal upstairs, one on each shoulder--a regular Amazon. As
I am willing to do all the housework, she is free to work
in the fields, which she loves, and is worth three of her
husband who, though tireless, is a putterer, going round
and round in circles. Although this rainy season has provided
much time for repairs, a pleasant day was chosen for Bill
to fix the mowing machine, the "boss" having little
mechanical sense. In fact, besides milking ten of the twenty
cows night and morning, most of Bill's time has been spent
doctoring implements and tools.
Robert, a little boy about 11 years old, whom Mr. and Mrs.
Goldfoot are bringing up, is a most pathetic youngster,
wistful, cowed and overworked. Mr. and Mrs. G. are both
good-natured and kind to him in their way, but they don't
seem to realize that a boy, particularly such a delicate,
sensitive child, needs something besides work, work, work.
He is most inquiring and constantly plies Bill with whys
and wherefores.
It's fun experimenting. Having never made a pie in my life
before, I made two today, a blackberry and a custard as
well as six blackberry tarts. They were darn good, if I
do say so. Let's hope my luck continues for I have not confessed
my ignorance to my boss. Just before leaving The Camp, Mother
tucked a little cookbook into our duffle, thus saving the
day.
Such appetites and so many potatoes! I am sick of them!
We eat potatoes three times a day, sometimes sliced and
fried, sometimes diced and fried, sometimes baked, creamed,
mashed or just plain boiled. Tonight we are having potato
cakes. I wish I could think up some new way to cook them.
I won't french-fry them for this bunch, because I would
be at the stove all night. Yesterday I spent over an hour
frying forty?eight slices of squash. For once I overdid
it, and we had fried squash again for supper.
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