Looking out my Backdoor: Old dog, new tricks, old tricks

Michelle, knowing me to be, shall we say, frugal, loaned me a copy of a reprinted book entitled “The American Frugal Housewife.” The book, written by Lydia Child, was first published in 1833. Dedicated to Those Who Are Not Ashamed of Economy. In caps.

Mrs. Child wrote the lyrics, but was not well known, but wrote a song for children, “Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go.” Anyone my generation knows that song. I’m sure you youngsters can find it on YouTube.

I’ve barely read past the introduction and already I’ve added a change to my routine. I’m almost afraid to finish the book.

Being frugal is not about being stingy. Stingy is such an ugly word. Stingy has a stink to it. Stingy is a clenched fist. Frugal is careful in order to be generous with self and with others.

Changing from a life surrounded by a lot of stuff, including three sets of china, paintings and lovely furniture and beauty everywhere, to a life of utter simplicity was easy for me.

When my circumstances changed, my way of life had to change. I’m not alone in these fraught times. A lot of people are finding they must make drastic changes. What I think, is that when one didn’t grow up with a lot of so-called advantages and/or when one grew up on a small farm where opulence was not a word, it is simply easier to make judicious changes.

We never had an indoor toilet or a tub in our house until I was a teen. We did have a pump at the kitchen sink for cold water. When I got married and moved to the ranch at Dodson, we didn’t have facilities or the pump. Running water meant I ran to the pump at the edge of the yard and ran it back to the house in buckets. I never thought it a hardship. We had good water.

I won’t and don’t romanticize any of the past. Please don’t make me go back to the days of the outdoor toilet. We did what we knew to do and what we had to do.

My motivation for the simple life is different today. Necessity plays a small part. The bigger part is choice. I choose to reduce my footprint. I choose to have enough but no more. I don’t live in hardship or harsh circumstances. I am surrounded by beauty, but not beauty with three sets of china dishware. The beauty around me changes every day and it is all mine as long as I choose to look at it.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t recommend my ways, which are not for everybody. We all must make our own choices. My choices add to my happiness but probably wouldn’t work for you.

Because, in part, of the way I grew up, I know how to make a lot of things for myself. I know how to make a little bit go a long way. Frugality is a piece of my particular pie.

I save bacon grease because used judiciously, it makes a fine seasoning. I save rags and scraps to make into things like pot holders, mug rugs, and pandemic masks. I cut strips from old clothing to tie leggy tomatoes to bamboo stakes. I make my own mayo and catsup. I grow herbs and some foods in my bucket garden. I love doing such mundane chores and it keeps me off the street.

One thing I had forgotten from my past, and Mrs. Child reminded me of my wasteful ways, has to do with washing dishes. Growing up, we always washed dishes in a dish pan. Every drop of water had multiple uses. Nothing went mindlessly down the sink. What sink?

I retrieved my red dish pan from the storage cupboard and set it in my large sink. Immediately I saw how much more water is needed to fill the sink to wash a few dishes than is needed in the dish pan. Shame on me.

The first time I emptied the dish pan into the bucket to carry the slop water outside, I noticed how the water was filled with tiny bits of food, nourishment for my plants. Yes, it makes a little extra work. Just this morning the artichoke said, Thank you.

I hope circumstances don’t make it so I have to use lime and ashes to make lye to make my own soap. But I know how. Scanning forward in Mrs. Child’s book, I see several remedies for lockjaw. I hope I never need those simple remedies.

Did you know that the first young leaves of the currant bush can be dried and hardly distinguished from green tea? Oh, the things I am learning.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].