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 soulâs 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 thisafternoon 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 cowbirdâs 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 ofa 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.
Â
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 canât get all the dirt from my fingernails.
Today we were upright, picking the last of the blackberries. I am sad that there wonât be any more berries to pick until next June. Picking wild berries is my favorite thing. I like it because Mother puts on hersunbonnet 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.
Â
A UGUST 23, 1843
We are more happy when we are away from Mr. Lane. Out in the woods I donât 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
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 thisafternoon 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 cowbirdâs 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 ofa 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.
Â
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 canât get all the dirt from my fingernails.
Today we were upright, picking the last of the blackberries. I am sad that there wonât be any more berries to pick until next June. Picking wild berries is my favorite thing. I like it because Mother puts on hersunbonnet 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.
Â
A UGUST 23, 1843
We are more happy when we are away from Mr. Lane. Out in the woods I donât 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
Similar Books
