“Anticipation of spring spiced winter’s end” from the March 16, 1976 Door County Advocate
Anticipation of spring spiced winter’s end
We used to be secretly delighted when March “came in like a lion” when we were young. I suppose it was the superstitious belief that then it was sure to “go out like a lamb.” And that was much better. We could put up with some stormy weather now (after all it brought special treats). But by the end of the month we leaked forward to soft breezes and daffodils and crocus, and new Easter bonnets.
There was something about a real old-fashioned blizzard that stimulated the palate, and the cook. When the old black range was going full force the kitchen was cozy, and the smells and tastes made you forget it was freezing and blustery outside. It was good soup weather, and we loved most any kind of soup.
When we were sent to the butcher’s to get a soup bone we were told to ask for a marrow bone, and a piece of boiling beef. The rich broth from this simmered on the back range, sending out tantalizing fragrance.
Then, late in the afternoon it was cooled so the fat could be skimmed off, and the barley, vegetables, and seasonings were added. Pea soup was a favorite, too, with chunks of ham and rice.
And chicken soup! Tender morsels of chicken in a heavenly broth, with home-made noodles and sometimes dumplings. We looked forward to the luscious chicken pies, or chicken fricassee over baking powder biscuits.
March was the ideal time for corned beef and cabbage, for oatmeal-raisin bread, apple sauce cake and pancakes with the real maple syrup. Papa was fond of milk gravy (we it cream sauce now) and we’d sometimes have that over our baked potatoes.
Sometimes Mama put dried beef in the gravy, though she didn’t start her cream sauce the way we were taught in Home Ec. She often fixed extra baked potatoes, as another thing Papa liked was the thick slices browned in butter, the way Aunt Effie fixed them when he was small.
One more thing was a must in March — hot-cross buns. But March wasn’t all for eating or cooking, although plenty had to be done during that time. March was a month when you had to look out for colds, and it was a good thing to be forewarned.
Papa should have been a doctor — he had a cure for most every ailment — mostly home-made. The fat from the goose we had at Christmas time was rendered down, and made a good base for camphorated oil.
Mutton tallow was another thing used to rub on our chests when coughs pestered. There were flax-seed poultices of boils, or bread and milk poultices for drawing out the infection, and will you ever forget the pungent onion poultices which held the heat so long they seemed to almost cook you?
Did you ever have to chew the hated senna leaves when you needed to be kept “regular?” If we were seriously ill enough to call a doctor (and that had to be pretty serious!) ’most likely he would prescribe mutton broth instead of solid food. Dr. Kreitzer always did. I hated the mutton broth; when it cooled even a little it tasted of wool to me.
March brought the robins, kite-flying, hop-scotch games, kite-flying days; playing jacks (with all those rhymes!) And mud pies, with the little can covers that served as tart pans set out in the sun to “bake” on the south side of the woodshed.
Often there was plenty of snow left to “frost” our cakes or pies. The boys brought out their marble bags, and even the girls coveted their “migs” and “glassies.”
Of course we were still wearing our long winter underwear; Papa said we couldn’t change to summer underwear till Decoration Day, and he claimed it didn’t really get summer here till Fourth of July. Our stockings looked pretty lumpy from folding over the surplus. The legs were fairly tight when you put on clean suits on Sunday, and after your Saturday night bath, but each day they stretched more till they wrinkled like elephant’s skin by Friday and Saturday.
St. Patrick’s Day brought parties: Irish stew and soda bread. Time to slip the geraniums, and along comes the first day of spring, though the weather may belie it. Time to plant tomato seeds in tin cans in the window. To bring in a bunch of pussy willows; to sneak out to the big creek just to see how fast the water’s running. To paint your old straw hat with Colorite dye so you’ll have a “new” Easter bonnet. To watch for white horses and keep count by stamping your fist on the other hand and wishing for good luck.
We never had to go the sulphur and molasses route to cure spring fever. Maybe Papa hated that stuff himself. Or maybe, we had enough natural vim and vigor so there was no need for it. Everywhere there was the promise of spring and everyone was waiting for it. Roller skates came off their hooks; baseball bats came out of hiding. SPRING was on the way!
Bark and barbs
Courtesy of the Door County Library Newspaper Archive
[Decoration Day was federally designated as Memorial Day in 1971.
The photo was printed adjacent to the article; the photographer is not stated.]
Articles by Grace Samuelson
https://doorcounty.substack.com/t/grace-samuelson