19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Sunday, November 29, 1914: Rufus had company today. Took their pictures over on the new bridge.
Recent photo of a small bridge near the Muffly farm
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
Grandma—Do tell, was your sister Ruth’s company male or female? (It’s been a long time since you’ve called her Rufus. Are you just a little bit jealous?)
And, did you take their picture on the bridge that goes over the creek that flows by your family’s farm? I can picture a really old bridge. Maybe it was new a hundred years ago–though I suppose that it’s been replaced several times over the course of the last hundred years.
19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Saturday, November 28, 1914: <<no entry>>
Source: National Food Magazine (November, 1910)
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
I recently came across this hundred-year-old description of soy milk. Since Grandma didn’t write anything a hundred years ago today, I thought you might enjoy reading it.
19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Friday, November 27, 1914: <<no entry>>
Source: Good Housekeeping (November, 1911)
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
Thanksgiving, 1914 has already come and gone; but, since this is Thanksgiving Day in 2014, I thought that you might enjoy this hundred-year-old picture story.
19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Thursday, November 26, 1914: Thanksgiving. Have been having quite a long vacation. We had a Thanksgiving dinner for one thing. My taster was lacking due to a cold and I didn’t enjoy it as much as I might have. Carried a sassy goose down from town last Monday. The remains are in the pantry awaiting further digestion for the morrow. Wonder if that goose will keep me awake tonight.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
Happy Thanksgiving, Grandma—
You carried a sassy (live?) goose home from town?
How the heck did you do that? A goose must weigh at least 10 or 12 pounds—and a cage would make it even heavier.
I’m not sure where you got it, but you live a mile and a half or so from both McEwensville and Watsontown. That’s a long walk.
And, then I suppose you had to help butcher it –and then cook it. And, you probably also had to make some other foods for the big meal—maybe mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, pies. . . .
Whew, I’m tired just thinking about all you needed to do to prepare for Thanksgiving.
I hope that you feel better soon, and that your “taster” is back by tomorrow. After all your hard work you deserve to enjoy at least some of the goose’s “remains.”
19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Wednesday, November 25, 1914: <<no entry>>
Source: Milton Evening Standard (November 23, 1914)
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
Since Grandma didn’t write anything a hundred years ago today, I thought you might enjoy this advertisement for carving sets. It appeared in Grandma’s local newspaper, the Milton Evening Standard.
Are you prepared for Thanksgiving? You won’t want your guests to think that your turkey was tough just because you don’t have a good carving set. 🙂
19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Monday, November 23, 1914: <<no entry>>
Source: Milton Evening Standard (November 23, 1914)
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
I always find it interesting to see what national news made headlines in central Pennsylvania. This article was the top center headline on the front page of Grandma’s local newspaper, the Milton Evening Standard, a hundred years ago today.
What a sad story—So many lives were lost due to the extreme weather. .
It makes me think about another, more recent, November maritime disaster on Lake Superior—the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald on November 10, 1975 which was memorialized in the song by Gordon Lightfoot.
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
