I always wanted a mother or grandmother that stayed home and made bread. It seemed like such an ideal life. Someone there when you got home from school. A snack on the table, or at least waiting in the fridge. Someone to share your day with and talk about all of the things that seemed important when you were young like which boy liked which girl. I was sure I was born in the wrong century. I longed for the days when the woman was home and it was her domain.

I longed for it until we moved to my grandparents farm. They weren't my real grandparents, as my grandmother was fond of reminding me. No, my father made a mistake in being taken in by a divorced woman. Divorce didn't happen in their rural neighborhood and certainly not in their immediate family. Well, my new father was divorced, but it was the harlot he married, not his fault at all in their eyes.

So we moved in and my grandmother was home waiting when we got back from school. Not with a snack, but chores. Houses didn't run themselves and farms didn't either. So we were off to the fields as soon as our books were in our room and we changed out of our good school clothes into our everyday clothes. That's another thing that changed. We weren't permitted to wear pants to school; young ladies wore a blouse and skirt. No matter that none of the other children dressed that way. It wasn't our job to lower ourselves to the standard of others and never mind that we were new in the area, which already made us outsiders.

So after a snack, we were off to the fields. Being from the suburbs, we didn't even know the basics of farming and so we were often the butt of a joke. I remember searching the orchard for a potato tree for a good hour before anyone told me I had to dig for them in the far field. The only field I liked was the wheat field. I could sneak a book out there and hide among the stalks. With the wind blowing through the field, the quiet rustling soothed me and shielded me from the sun while I got lost in another world.

Nobody questioned what I was doing as long as I made it back to the house in time to wash up and set the table for dinner. Funny how even in what I thought would be the ideal situation, I still longed to escape.