“Martha, get in here and help me shuck this corn,” June Weston moved, letting the screen door slam behind her as she wiped her hands on her apron and surveyed the dinner she was preparing for the threshing crew: platters of stewed beef and sliced ham, bowls of still steaming, fried potatoes, sweet carrots, green beans and fatback, and two baskets filled to the brim with butter topped biscuits and corn muffins. She’d been up since before the sun trying to get it all done, and she was at the tail end of her patience, “Martha, now!” she hollered.

“Mama, I was playing with the puppies.” Martha said, as she came in. Her dress was covered in dirt, and her blond pigtails were wispy and would need to be brushed and braided again before the other farm ladies arrived, or heaven knew what they’d make of her parenting skills, June lamented.

“Go wash up and change into that blue dress with the flowers, Martha, and make sure you wash behind your ears and dampen your hair too.”

“Yes, Mama.”