Sarah Steel's Diary
1857 Victorian England
Monday, August 12, 1857
Sometimes I feel that I am going as crazy as grandpa. Gramps was missing this morning when I woke up, so I had to put off my morning chores. This time he had taken the last twine and he had tied one end to a post and the other to his wrist, so he couldn't get lost in the "blizzard."
I asked him what he thought he was doing out, and he yelled, "We must get to the cows!" You see, Gramps is insane. Some days he is fine, but some days he lapses back into the year 1816, the year without a summer.
I assured him that the cows were fine, and that it felt like it was seventy degrees outside.
"Get the snow shovel, Marilyn!" he bellowed at me, grasping at the side of the barn.
"I am not Marilyn, my name is Sarah!" I told him. "And there is no snow!"
Gramps is not really my grandfather, he is my father-in-law, but everyone calls him Gramps, even my husband James. I eventually talked Gramps into coming inside, but it still took a big chunk out of my day.
Mary, our four-year-old daughter, was crying because she was hungry, Justin, our fourteen-year-old son, was preparing to leave with James. Our twelve-year-old daughter, Amanda, was trying to feed Mary. I went to wake up David, another son of ours who is nine. Everyone finished up their oatmeal and James and Justin left for the fields. Amanda is growing old enough to work the loom by herself, so my chore load was that much lighter.
I packed a cow Jim slaughtered yesterday in salt, cooked dinner, cleaned house, and finally found time to write in this diary.
Monday, August 12, 1857
Sometimes I feel that I am going as crazy as grandpa. Gramps was missing this morning when I woke up, so I had to put off my morning chores. This time he had taken the last twine and he had tied one end to a post and the other to his wrist, so he couldn't get lost in the "blizzard."
I asked him what he thought he was doing out, and he yelled, "We must get to the cows!" You see, Gramps is insane. Some days he is fine, but some days he lapses back into the year 1816, the year without a summer.
I assured him that the cows were fine, and that it felt like it was seventy degrees outside.
"Get the snow shovel, Marilyn!" he bellowed at me, grasping at the side of the barn.
"I am not Marilyn, my name is Sarah!" I told him. "And there is no snow!"
Gramps is not really my grandfather, he is my father-in-law, but everyone calls him Gramps, even my husband James. I eventually talked Gramps into coming inside, but it still took a big chunk out of my day.
Mary, our four-year-old daughter, was crying because she was hungry, Justin, our fourteen-year-old son, was preparing to leave with James. Our twelve-year-old daughter, Amanda, was trying to feed Mary. I went to wake up David, another son of ours who is nine. Everyone finished up their oatmeal and James and Justin left for the fields. Amanda is growing old enough to work the loom by herself, so my chore load was that much lighter.
I packed a cow Jim slaughtered yesterday in salt, cooked dinner, cleaned house, and finally found time to write in this diary.