Can keep my own away from me.
IX
THE COMMUTER’S THANKSGIVING
THE COMMUTER’S THANKSGIVING
THE cottages are closed; the summer people have gone back to the city; only the farmers and the commuters—barnacled folk—remain as the summer tide recedes, fixed to the rocks of winter because they have grown fast. To live is to have two houses: a country house for the summer, a city house for the winter; to close one, and open the other; to change, to flit!
How different it used to be when I was a boy—away yonder in the days of farms and old-fashioned homes and old-time winters! Things were prepared for, were made something of, and enjoyed in those days—the “quiltings,” the “raisings,” the Thanksgivings! What getting ready there used to be—especially for the winter! for what wasn’t there to get ready! and how much of everything to get ready there used to be!