The dining room sits eight comfortably. The beautiful parlor stove would have burned coal.
The house also boasts a nice-sized kitchen complete with the wood cookstove shown above, a sink with working taps (both hot and cold, what luxury!), a dry sink, a Hoosier cabinet, and the latest gadget: an electric refrigerator. Based on the design alone, I imagine this last probably didn't arrive until 1930 or so.
The dry sink, a Victorian leftover but still useful The refrigerator was a huge step up from the Victorian icebox.
The weather had vacillated wildly between cool and blazing hot in the weeks just before the workshop. There was a nice flow-through of air from the front door to the kitchen and out the back windows of the house, but slaving over a hot stove on a stifling June day is only for the seasoned, dedicated, and desperate. I love cooking on a wood cookstove, but the very idea of cooking during July and August makes me feel faint. Still, women did it every day, freezing cold or blazing hot outside, up to three times a day, though most of the heavy cooking and baking in the summer was done in the morning before the heat of the day, and dinner and supper would be lighter foods eaten at room temperature or cooled in the icebox or the refrigerator once that newfangled appliance arrived on the scene. Those women were of much stronger stock than I am. My own stove, Milly, hasn't been fired up since it got up to 80 degrees consistently. I hoped for moderate summer weather for the workshop. If it wasn't, we'd cook more than just food.
I wanted to test the stove before the day of the workshop, so I tootled out to the farm the weekend prior. Good thing I did, too. Each wood cookstove works differently, and the drafts and dampers on this one worked completely differently than my own cookstove at home: this one was built in 1920 in Illinois, and mine was built in 2018 in Italy. I had brought Woodstove Cookery: At Home on the Range by Jane Cooper with me, for which I was immediately grateful. This book is for people who want to install a wood cookstove, usually antique, in a modern home and includes everything you need to know about antique stoves. Without it I would have been flummoxed.
This stove had burned both wood and coal, which would have been handy, but the firebox, the place where you put the wood in the stove, was only a third the size of the one in Milly. This meant that the size of wood had to be pretty small - that's a lot of chopping - and wood had to be added frequently to keep the fire burning. Coal would have been far preferable. In addition, there was a sizable crack in the wall of the stove. This didn't affect the stove when the park demonstrators wanted to burn a fire for show, but it did affect how the oven worked.
And there were three things the people at the farm hadn't thought of: matches (I had brought my own, just in case), kindling, and some paper to put under the kindling to light the fire. When a kitchen like this is just set up for visitors to look at, rather than to function, things like this tend to get overlooked. It had rained the night before, and I scoured under the trees for something that wasn't waterlogged to start the fire with. I didn't come up with much - a few sorry branches that weren't quite as soaked as the rest was all I got for my trouble. As for the paper, I tore sheets out of my notebook, one after another, until I could get the fire lit. After that, it was relatively smooth sailing, and I made a dandy batch of biscuits from the 1908
Rumford Complete Cookbook (the recipe is below) which I shared with Rebecca Ressl, the volunteer who was coordinating the workshop, her son, and a couple of visitors. I also wrote down a note to bring more matches, newspaper, and kindling.
Equipping a museum kitchen into a functional one was an experience that required a long list, several large tubs, and about every 1920's-ish and earlier piece of cookware I could manage to stuff into them. This sample will give you an idea: a sifter, rolling pin, measuring cups, enamel pans and enamel bowls of various sizes (every one I had), a hand egg beater, knives, cutting boards, cooking spoons, cast iron pans, soup pot, bundt cake pan, cooling rack, an oven thermometer (a critical piece of kit) and more. I also brought all the ingredients for a meal of soup (Ukranian green borscht), biscuits, and coffee cake. I even brought along a teapot and tea so we could have some tea while waiting for the coffee cake to bake.
Never let it be said that I'm not thorough. Every plastic or modern item was squirreled away out of sight, so when the students arrived, they walked into a 1920's kitchen. I had learned how to cook on a Victorian wood cookstove at a workshop held in one of the restored buildings at
Old World Wisconsin, a much larger living history site, and I hadn't appreciated until the day of my own workshop the effort my teachers had put into turning the kitchen there into a working Victorian kitchen.
I must take a brief detour here. Readers of this blog will know by now that I wear Victorian-style clothing much of the time. Since Schumacher Farm has been restored to 1920, I had to update a piece of my wardrobe by about 30 years. The 1920's are much more than flappers and women in long fur coats dangling cigarette holders that look like they're about two feet long. There were plain old farm women, too, but compared to chic city women, photos of these average women were few and far between.
I managed to find something approximating the period without having to have it made, and I found a reasonably accurate apron as well. Rebecca Ressl dressed in period style as well, though her outfit was far more stylish than mine. I've dressed in a lot of period clothing, but I think the 1920's has to be the height of dumpy fashion. Unless a woman is tall and thin, everything looks like a potato sack. Still, needs must.
The students arrived, and off we went. There were six students: four adults and two children aged 12 and 14. Counting Rebecca, there were eight of us in a kitchen that would have comfortably held three or four, and we spilled over into the dining room at some point.
I've never wrangled seven people in a kitchen before, and I began to feel a little bit like one of those cooking show chefs: "Chop this fine. That's great." "Beat the eggs a little more. Excellent." "We need more wood here." "Where's the spinach?" "Are the potatoes cooked yet?" "What's the oven temperature?" "Here, try this. You can do it." This last one was for one of the kids who had never lit a match before. He was baffled. It took him a few tries, but he managed it in the end, and now he has a skill he didn't have before. Manual egg beaters also seemed to be something of a mystery.