“When the summer turned to fall the air was fragrant with the odor of smoked hams and slabs of bacon. Pumpkins were gathered, and dried corn hung from the rafters like ripe bananas. The forest turned scarlet and yellow and orange, and the slender birch trees at the outskirts looked like a lady’s white fingers held up to the blaze. Indian summer was a little breath of quiet and content, a Thanksgiving at the end of a meal. Just a moment of drowsing in the sun, listening to the ripened nuts falling from the trees and to the partridge rising, and then fall was over, and the northern winter roared in across the Great Lakes.
“During the winter the men worked in the woods cutting down the tall trees, and the women spent most of their time indoors. There was always a fire in the fireplace, and Great-grandmother would sit there spinning and knitting. She taught the children and entertained them, and she cooked and mended and baked and kept the cabin tidy. She sprinkled crumbs for the birds, and once when the snow was deep they tamed a chipmunk.
“Often, on moonlit nights, they looked out to see deer feeding in their garden. The gentle creatures would dig down into the snow with their dainty hooves and nibble at the frozen stumps of cabbages and the remains of corn and chard.”
“Why did they eat that old stuff?” asked Davey.
“Because they were hungry,” said Bill. “Very hungry. Deer almost starve in the wintertime.”
“That’s right,” said Mom. “All the creatures in the forest were hungry, but the wolves sounded hungriest of all. When they howled at night it seemed that they were right on the edge of the clearing, and Great-grandmother would pull the pieced quilt up over her head and shiver.”
“How did the children play in winter,” asked Bill. “Could they go coasting and skating like we do?”
“Yes, but they had neither skates nor sleds as we have now. Nick coasted on barrel staves and he had his own trap line, but Katy and Nell spent most of their time inside the cabin playing with calico dolls.
“One day Great-grandmother looked out to see Ninnecons and Shabeno filing past. They were followed by their patient wives who had baskets piled on their heads and papooses strapped on their backs.
“‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I feel so sorry for those poor women and for those little babies. How cold they must be. I’m going to ask them to come in to get warm.’ She threw a shawl over her head and ran to the door.