Fruitlands (6 page)

Father scolded me, saying I was making fun of our noble project. I cried and apologized.

Anna now has her very own room.

 

A
UGUST
12, 1843

Father has taught us to use our heads and reason out everything, so I have reasoned out why Anna should have her own room. Here are the reasons. 1. She is older than I. 2. She is bigger than I am by an inch and therefore needs more room. 3. She is better behaved and more thoughtful of others and ought to be rewarded. 4. Father thinks her a better person than I am.

Setting down the reasons does not make me feel any better. I would have given anything to have my own room where I could think my own thoughts and scribble away whenever I wished. Reasons are all very well, but there are ever so many inches between my head and my heart.

 

A
UGUST
14, 1843

This morning at the breakfast table Father asked, “What is the purpose of imagination?”

Anna said, “To reach for things more beautiful than those we see in the world.”

I said, “To amuse ourselves when we are bored.”

Father said Anna's answer showed more spiritual growth than mine.

William and I picked the wild mint that grows by the river. We crushed it and let it soak in water to make a refreshing drink. The tadpoles have their front feet now. The jewelweed that grows along the river's edge has gone to seed. When you touch the plant, the seeds jump out at you. I wish Henry Thoreau were here so I could show him.

Mother is teaching us how to knit. We will be able to make our own wool stockings against the winter.

Today Samuel Larnard left. Also there was trouble with Mr. Bower.

 

A
UGUST
14, 1843

Because he does not believe in clothes, Mr. Bower keeps to himself in his room during the day. At night he dons a long, loose white garment that is very like a nightgown and wanders about so that looking out the window you think you see a ghost. Last night he wore no garment at all but went wandering down the path in a state of nature. A neighbor saw him and chased him with a broom through a blackberry patch. Today he is sulking in his room, much wounded with scratches. Mr. Lane is afraid Mr. Bower's behavior will make people believe Fruitlands a strange place.

I do believe that even Mr. Lane's strict rule was not strict enough for Sam Larnard. It was Mr. Larnard's greatest pleasure to do without. We all stood at the door to see him off and waved him on his way. I believe as he got ready to leave, he began to regret his going, but he is a stubborn man and would not turn back. As he left he clasped Mother's hand and held it tenderly, a gentleness I would not have expected in so rough a nature. Father is troubled because we have lost three people now and there are no new prospects.

I felt downhearted and asked Mother what would happen if Fruitlands was a failure.

“Whether we succeed, or whether we fail, Louy, does not matter,” Mother said. “It is the attempt that is important. Who can fault us for aspiring to so noble a dream?”

 

A
UGUST
16, 1843

William, Lizzie, Anna, and I found a patch of wild grapes. They were only a little sour. We made wreaths of the vines and togas from sheets and played at being Romans. When Father saw us he was much amused and made us sit down and discuss whether the Romans or the Greeks had the greater civilization. With the sheets wrapped around us and the vines on our heads it was very hot. We all cooled off in the river, Father as well. While in the river Father asked us to consider how the settlement of America has followed the course of rivers. We stood in the river and talked of geography until our toes were wrinkled and numb.

Miss Page left Fruitlands this evening.

 

A
UGUST
16, 1843

I know I should be sorry that Miss Page is gone, but I'm not. She scolded me for not singing in tune. She never did her share of work but sat and watched Mother and the rest of us labor away, never lifting a finger to help us.

She was expelled from Fruitlands for her sin as Adam and Eve were sent from the Garden of Eden. It happened in this fashion. Miss Page had visited a nearby farm. There she was offered some fish and she ate it! When Mr. Lane and Father accused her, she said she ate only a small bit of the tail. Mr. Lane said even so, all the fish had to be killed that she might have the tail. Though she sobbed most terribly, she was ordered to leave. I believe that Mother could have saved her, but Mother had grown tired of waiting upon her.

Along with my relief that she is going I have a terrible worry. What if it were discovered that I had eaten a piece of cake? Would I be sent from Fruitlands, never to see my mother and father and sisters again? The worry kept me awake all night. I listened to the screech owl and stood at the window looking out. There was a full moon, and I watched the bats dive for mosquitoes. I imagined myself cast out and living in
a woods with nothing but owls and bats for company and was very sorry for myself, which made me feel better.

 

A
UGUST
18, 1843

Mr. Parker Pillsbury came from Boston to tell us of the fight against slavery. The people of Boston have taken up the cause. Articles appear in all the papers. Even poets like Mr. Whittier are speaking out. I remember Henry Thoreau saying that it is wrong to pay taxes to a government that does nothing to end slavery.

People are learning of the miserable conditions under which the slaves live and how they are bought and sold like cattle and their families broken up. The merchants and cotton exporters who owe their living to slavery are the ones supporting its cruelty.

Mr. Pillsbury says the battle has just begun. He told us of an abolitionist who went about preaching against slavery. One day he received a package from the South. When he opened the package, he found a dried ear and a length of rope. The ear had been severed from a slave who attempted to escape. The length of rope was
meant for the abolitionist if he ever attempted to go to the South.

Slaves who have been helped to escape are to be found on any Boston street. Many of the homes in Concord have a special room where escaped slaves are hidden. Now there is talk that a fugitive slave law might be passed. Such a law would punish those who help slaves to freedom. Mr. Pillsbury says one day there will be fighting in our country between those who support slavery and those who wish to end it. I would gladly fight in such a war. But what of the Quakers, who are against slavery but are opposed to all fighting, even for so noble a cause?

Tonight Abraham Everett left.

 

A
UGUST
18, 1843

I wrote a play about slaves and masters. My sisters and I were the slaves. William would agree to be the cruel master only if he could also be the one to free the slaves. After we were freed, we ran into the woods and hid and would not come out until Mother called us for supper.

After supper Abraham went up to his room and came down with all his things. He has been quiet these last days, spending more time by himself. I believe Mr. Pillsbury's talk today about slavery set him to thinking. While having Mr. Lane and Father over him is not slavery, still I believe he grew tired of being told what to do. After having been shut up in an asylum by his relatives, I think his need for freedom is very deep. My sisters and I cried when he left, and so did Mother. He has been the only one to help her. I have heard her call him “son.”

No one is left now but Mr. Palmer, who is living at his farm and comes here each day, and Mr. Bower, whom you can't really count. How will we manage with so small a community?

 

A
UGUST
20, 1843

A needy family appeared at our door, a father and mother and two girls near the age of Anna and me. Their house has burned down and they have no food or clothes. Mother was much moved and gave them a basketful of vegetables from the garden, dishes, Father's
trousers, Anna's blue dress, and my lavender cotton muslin with lilac sprigs and a ruffle at the hem. The girls looked very pleased and snatched at the dresses in a way I thought ill-bred. I was sad to see my dress disappear down the lane on the arm of one of the girls. I know we no longer wear the dresses, but sometimes I took my dress out and looked at it. Lizzie ran after the girls to give them one of her dolls.

I had the care of Abby May this afternoon. She is good-natured as long as she gets her way. So she is usually good-natured, for it is hard to deny her anything. She is so comely, with large blue eyes and golden curls.

We found a praying mantis sitting on a twig. It looked so much like a stick, you could hardly tell it from the twig. With its sharp elbows and knees it looked like Ichabod Crane in “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”

In an alder bush along the river I showed Abby May a sparrow's nest. It was made of grass and moss all cleverly woven together and lined with feathers. In the nest were three small greenish-blue eggs and one large white egg speckled all over with freckles of brown.

We let a beetle, green as an emerald, crawl up and
down our arms until it got tired of the pastime and scampered away.

 

A
UGUST
20, 1843

Today Father measured us. I have grown an inch, Anna an inch and a half, and Lizzie nearly two inches. It was hard to make Abby May stand still, but Father says she has grown nearly two and a half inches. He keeps a notebook with all of our measurements. He says that our soul grows just as our bodies do and that he marks the soul's progress down as well. I am sure my soul did not grow much today, for I was unhappy that Mother gave away my dress. I know that was selfish, but as long as I had the dress, I could believe I would not have to spend the rest of my life in coarse brown linen.

It is frightening to me to think my soul is looked at, even by Father. It is as if my soul were not my own but something to be handled and turned this way and that.

It is this habit of always examining all we say and do that makes me most unhappy. Here is an example from a conversation that took place this evening.

Louisa (with pride): I took Abby May out for a walk this
afternoon and showed her pretty things in nature.

Mr. Lane: What did you show her?

Louisa (still showing off): A praying mantis.

Mr. Lane: The praying mantis is a most unusual insect. The female of the species bites the head off the male.

Louisa: Ugh!

Mr. Lane: What else did you see?

Louisa: We saw a nest with three greenish-blue eggs and one large speckled white egg. I thought that very curious.

Mr. Lane: Do you know who put the large white egg there?

Louisa cautiously shakes her head.

Mr. Lane: A cowbird lays its egg in the nest of a smaller bird and then flies off, leaving the small bird to hatch the egg and feed the young cowbird. The cowbird's egg will hatch first. The young cowbird will eat so much that the young of the smaller birds may perish. What else did you see?

I was almost afraid to mention the beetle for fear Mr. Lane would make the beetle unpleasant too, but the beetle was so small I did not see how that was to be done.

Louisa: We saw a shiny green beetle with some red on it and a horn in the middle of its head.

Mr. Lane: That was a dung beetle. It lives in the filth of
a manure pile, forming a bit of the manure into a ball, which it then buries, later laying its eggs there. What lesson do you draw from my comments, Louisa?

Louisa: Not to tell what I have seen.

Father was cross with my answer. He said that I was impudent and that Mr. Lane was trying to point out that nature is neither pretty nor ugly, but always interesting.

I was glad Abby May was already asleep and did not have to have her afternoon walk spoiled as I did. There do not seem to be as many pleasant days as there were when we first came to Fruitlands.

 

A
UGUST
23, 1843

Every one of us was on his knees yesterday, as if we were all in church, but we were digging potatoes and not praying. My knees are sore, and I can't get all the dirt from my fingernails.

Today we were upright, picking the last of the blackberries. I am sad that there won't be any more berries to pick until next June. Picking wild berries is my favorite thing. I like it because Mother puts on her
sunbonnet and goes out into the woods with me and my sisters. Sometimes, as we did today, we pack a lunch and spend the whole day filling our pails. We sang songs as we picked and recited our favorite poems. Even Abby May picked some blackberries and ended up with her mouth and fingers all purple. I would like to live in the woods like a dryad, sleeping under the sun and moon, wearing flowers in my hair, climbing trees, and living upon wild berries.

 

A
UGUST
23, 1843

We are more happy when we are away from Mr. Lane. Out in the woods I don't feel his critical eye on me. I am sure he is a very good man, but he is not a pleasant man. The only time I see him smile is when he plays his violin and sings along with it. Music makes him nicer than people do. The difference between him and Father is that Mr. Lane thinks you cannot have happiness unless you spend a lot of time being miserable. Father wishes us to be happy all the time.

We ate the last of the peas yesterday and the beans are dwindling. We still have cabbages and squash and pumpkins,
so I guess we will have enough to eat for a while. Father says we can depend on the barley crop to see us through the winter.

Father and Mr. Lane leave tomorrow for New York City to try to interest more people in joining us.