What to do with four crates of peaches (and one of pears, I might add)? Well, something had to be done because they don’t last too long—they were pretty close to ripe when I took delivery. Unlike pears, peaches lend themselves very well to freezing, so that was my plan. I froze 2 ½ crates—choosing the ripest ones to process first and leaving the harder ones to ripen for a day or two. No way could I run the inn and freeze four crates of peaches in one day.
Then we took a trip to Minneapolis to visit my 90-year-old Dad. He surprised me with a diary written by his mother (and added to once a week by his dad) of their first year of marriage. The diary was started on January 1, 1917 and led up to their wedding on April 2, 1917. It ended on December 31, 1917. Perhaps the only way I can explain the effect it had on me is to quote from a few passages.
First to set the scene: Grandma lost her mother when she was 9 years old. Her father was an itinerant preacher and musician, so he parked his daughter in the farm home of a family named Mitchell near Dodgeville, Wisconsin. There she grew up as the hired girl for her keep, but ultimately became like a member of the family. I can remember visiting my grandparents and having “Grandma and Grandpa Mitchell” come for a visit. When Harry Dean left Magnolia, Minnesota (down in the southwestern part of the state, near Luverne), to earn his way, he ended up working the Mitchell farm one summer. There he met young Mamie Richards (Grandma). He came back for two more summers to work and also, I gather, to court Mamie. Then he signed on for year-round work on the farm.
January 1, 1917
Weather fine. 16 above. Windy. South wind. Washed clothes and cleaned upstairs. At Baileys for supper. Had roast chicken and spent the evening. Had a fine time. Kissed Harry goodnight and he kissed me and we both kissed together. Time: 10:30.
January 5,
Weather warm. North wind. I ironed today. Harry worked at wood all day. Kissed me before he went to work. I was home alone this afternoon. Harry wrote to his mother tonite. We sat up a little while this evening. Talked about matromoney (sic). Time 10:00.
January 7
Sunday. Weather cold and windy. West wind. We went to Sunday school this morning. No company today. Sat up this eve. Time: 10:00. One of my happiest days.
February 27
Weather warm and clear. Thawed. Harry hauled a load of furnature (sic) for Les Cutler to take up north. I washed clothes and cleaned kitchen floor. We figured up our accounts tonite. Time: 9 o’clock.
March 5
I went to town today and got my wedding garments. Folks all went in too and had their family picture taken. Harry stayed home alone and tended to things. I don’t know how much work he did because I forgot to ask him. We went to Literary practice tonite. Time: 10:20.
April 2 (Harry’s writing)
Big day. Place now Simons Hotel. Time 10 to Nine. Madison. Just got home from picture show. Arrived here about 5, had supper, then found room. We left home about 10 this morning. Was married at 12. Then had dinner at Mrs. Williams. Marie and Lino stood up with us. David was there. Had pictures taken at Fletchers, then walked to Williams. Chas. took us up to train. He and Dave riced us and here we are in our room ready to roost.
April 3. (Mamie)
Second day of our marriage. We spent the day roaming around in Madison. Are at Simons Hotel again tonite. Have had just a grand day. We went to movies tonite. They were good, only too sad. Going to bed now. Time 9 o’clock.
From that point on, the diary is a litany of the work they did. A few examples:
April 21
Harry cut and planted potatoes today. I baked cake, pies and bread, scrubbed floor and cement, planted lettuce, radishes and peppercress and helped make chicken pen. Harry and I went up after the mail tonite. Beautiful evening. I took a bath and Harry is taking one now. Time 9 o’clock.
April 24 (Harry)
Cloudy, quite cool with rain this eve. I plowed all day, Chas dragged. Mamie ironed, cleaned floor, ground horseradish. Time: 8:30, retiring. Everything is war. [World War I]
August: (various entries):
Harry threshed again today. I cleaned and scrubbed. Picked over beans,
Washed, baked bread, picked cucumbers and put some corn to dry. Harry soled 3 shoes and threshed today.
It goes on and on in the same way, threshing, baking, cleaning, making fences, cleaning the granary, hoeing, cultivating, scrubbing, and canning.
What does all this have to do with peaches? Well, Grandma was tragically killed in a car accident when she was 62 and I was 13. But I spent many summers of my childhood at their home in Magnolia. And one of the things that I remember best is being sent down cellar to get something for Grandma. First, the cellar was just that—wooden stairs leading down to a cement block and cement floor basement—all painted in gray marine paint—and clean enough to make her German ancestors proud. And shelves and shelves of gleaming jars filled with beans, peas, carrots, beets, cucumber pickles of all kinds, tomatoes, peaches and pears. I am sure there were other things as well.
Here is how it’s done:
Wash sound, ripe, firm peaches. Be careful not to bruise them. Dip in boiling water till skins slip easily, about 1 minute. Or put peaches in large Dutch oven. Cover with water. Set to boil. When water has come to a slow boil, remove from heat and run cold water over all peaches in pan. Slip skins.
Halve peeled peaches (or slice, if you wish), and drop into a large bowl of water to which you have added lemon juice—or, use lemonade mix, adding about 4 Tbsp. per gallon of water.
Pack peaches carefully into hot, sterilized quart jars, using a wooden spoon handle to gently urge them into the jar, sunny-side-up. Leave ½ inch head space at top of each jar.
Make a light syrup: 2 cups sugar to 4 cups water. Yield 5 cups. Cover peaches with hot syrup, but keep the head space at the top. Use a table knife to chase out bubbles. Wipe jar tops with clean, damp cloth. Put lids on jars; screw down with bands.
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