Madeleine slit the tops of the plump Pippin pies in a swhirl of repeating "Ss". Her days were long, but not so much longer than any other woman in the countryside who lived servantless. The sugar mice required time and patience, and a cautious and deft process. The sugar syrup needed to be boiled hot and steady to get the temperature to the proper degree. The two wee children helped with scooping the dry granules, but once the pot set to boil, Madeleine made sure there were other activities to keep them safely away from the stove. Kainoa, the boy, near a man before his time really, watched as his mother turned flour, lard and a pinch of salt sprinkled lightly with water into balls of pastry for crust. "A light hand on the pastry, Kai. Always light on the pastry ...but heavy on the fillings," she winked at her assistant busy with his hands mixing the sliced Pippins with the sugar and cinnamon mixture. Mounds of fruit heaped into her largest pin tins reminded Kainoa of mountains that seemed a dream-like memory. No mountains surrounded the cottage or village of his home. But, somewhere there were mountains. Memory was funny he thought to himself, and then the thought persisted and became a thought uttered.
Madeleine looked from her pie-making, pushed a tendril of black hair from her eyebrow. "Memory is a funny thing, young man. And, as you grow Kai memories will stretch making it possible to include things, people, who were not part of the memory in the first place." She looked at her son for a read on the idea and saw that it had already crossed the boy's mind, his experiences so much broader than boys his age. Boys. Hmmm. The two continued with their joyful endeavor. Kai memorizing the steps for making pastry crust that would hold just perfectly any filling, yet melt tenderly under the pressure of the fork on its way to an eager mouth. He watched how his mother rolled and lifted the heavy wooden rolling pin across the balls of dough. There was a technique to it, an ease and dancing sort of movement. "Mother," he said before all eight balls of dough were rolled. "Can I try it?" Madeleine smiled and handed the wooden pin to him. "Here you go."
Mothering and baking were arts the woman embraced while knowing that it was like so much of the work she did day in and day out. Piece-meal. She did not come fully informed of the whole process, but had a comfort with the parts that she was good at. She loved the hard work of birthing never fear-full of the ardent passion it took to push her babies through the birth canal. She knew pain. Confident that it was as natural as life itself, she never waivered in her knowing when it was time to help her children from one place to another. Her body was strong and her muscles well-toned from the work she did in and around the cottage. As well, her genetic memory was keen and though she rarely displayed that knowledge openly, the ceremonies of daily course always included knowing what sustained.
There were things about being wife that were most definitely piece-meal. She was a woman with memory of independence and near fearsome solitary ways. Becoming wife was something she had had to learn episode by episode. They told her somethings would be learned only through the doing. Payment for the learning of things like being wife would not be in gold pieces. Instead, the value of her lessons as wife would be defined as she learned them. It would be part of patience. The waiting part of becoming. Madeleine was glad that her husband was away for long periods at a time. She needed the separate life as mother and home-maker to prime her for the things she was getting incrementally, and seemingly in no organized fashion. Within the next ten moons, her husband would be home. She would know then how well she had done at her piece work, to date.
Madeleine looked from her pie-making, pushed a tendril of black hair from her eyebrow. "Memory is a funny thing, young man. And, as you grow Kai memories will stretch making it possible to include things, people, who were not part of the memory in the first place." She looked at her son for a read on the idea and saw that it had already crossed the boy's mind, his experiences so much broader than boys his age. Boys. Hmmm. The two continued with their joyful endeavor. Kai memorizing the steps for making pastry crust that would hold just perfectly any filling, yet melt tenderly under the pressure of the fork on its way to an eager mouth. He watched how his mother rolled and lifted the heavy wooden rolling pin across the balls of dough. There was a technique to it, an ease and dancing sort of movement. "Mother," he said before all eight balls of dough were rolled. "Can I try it?" Madeleine smiled and handed the wooden pin to him. "Here you go."
Mothering and baking were arts the woman embraced while knowing that it was like so much of the work she did day in and day out. Piece-meal. She did not come fully informed of the whole process, but had a comfort with the parts that she was good at. She loved the hard work of birthing never fear-full of the ardent passion it took to push her babies through the birth canal. She knew pain. Confident that it was as natural as life itself, she never waivered in her knowing when it was time to help her children from one place to another. Her body was strong and her muscles well-toned from the work she did in and around the cottage. As well, her genetic memory was keen and though she rarely displayed that knowledge openly, the ceremonies of daily course always included knowing what sustained.
There were things about being wife that were most definitely piece-meal. She was a woman with memory of independence and near fearsome solitary ways. Becoming wife was something she had had to learn episode by episode. They told her somethings would be learned only through the doing. Payment for the learning of things like being wife would not be in gold pieces. Instead, the value of her lessons as wife would be defined as she learned them. It would be part of patience. The waiting part of becoming. Madeleine was glad that her husband was away for long periods at a time. She needed the separate life as mother and home-maker to prime her for the things she was getting incrementally, and seemingly in no organized fashion. Within the next ten moons, her husband would be home. She would know then how well she had done at her piece work, to date.
No comments:
Post a Comment