As autumn came Father dug the carrots and turnips and potatoes and stored them in the bins in the vegetable cellar. Luscious, wild purple grapes were gathered and either put into a barrel to ferment for wine or cooked for grape juice. The windfall apples were gathered for a huge barrel of cider that stood in the preserve cellar beside the grape wine. The wide shelves in the preserve cellar were heavy with the summer harvest. Barrels of apples also stood in that part of the cellar, and the air was redundant with wonderful smells.

In the spacious old attic with its half-round windows at either end more storing was done. Hickory nuts, chestnuts, bunches of fragrant herbs were stored, and Mother even tried drying sliced cored apples on strings, but they were not too successful. By Thanksgiving time the house was truly stocked for winter. The outer cellar held great stacks of good apple wood and chestnut logs for the furnace; the coal bin was full for the kitchen stove, and plenty of quick kindling had been split and laid in neat piles.

Our first Thanksgiving at “Maplehurst” was complete; for days pies and cranberry sauce and all sorts of luscious things had been made. The day before Great Aunt Delia Hammond from Auburn, Massachusetts, came to spend the festive day with us. I can’t remember the dinner or any of the details until early evening came. A light snow had fallen in the late afternoon, and it was cold outside, but in the parlor all was merry and warm. Some of our good neighbors had come in for a cup of cheer with us. The open fire was burning brightly in the Franklin frame, and Maud sat at the piano playing softly. Then someone suggested we dance. Dear Great Aunt Delia was the first to respond. She picked up her heavy black silk skirts, showing a still slim ankle and pretty shoe. Alone she danced the minuet with all the grace of a young girl. I remember the false hair front piece on her head bobbed up and down, and the heavy gold chain that hung down from her neck caught the light of the open fire. Her merry eyes also danced with fun and mischief, and when she had finished, she had us all up dancing the Virginia reel while Maud played Turkey in the Straw. My heart pounded with delight and happiness, and even Mother forgot it was past my bed time. So time sped on!
Miriam Peabody

This month’s memoir comes courtesy of Gustavo Falla, current owner of “Maplehurst”, the seventh in a nine-part memoir. We’re seeking the remembrances of those who grew up here, or their parents, or grandparents, whatever the era, as well as written “attic treasures” for this monthly column.