It’s Tuesday Tales! This week we’re writing to a picture prompt. Three hundred words, no more.
My snippet is from my WIP, Fat and Sassy. It’s 1942. Bea and Casey Jones, along with their four (and a half) children, moved from Arkansas back to their Uncles Scott’s farm in Missouri in search of work.
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Pumpkin Butter Baby #1
“What are you plannin’ for the pumpkins?”
“I’m a gonna cook up a mess o’ pumpkin butter. Just set the pumpkins on the counter and I’ll cut ‘em down there.”
“All-righty. How many do you want?”
“Three …. no, only two. They’re large,” Bea answered.
Casey safely delivered the pumpkins to the linoleum covered counter in the farmhouse. A quick trip to the pump ensured that the water bucket was full and ready for Bea and the children to use. Bea refilled his coffee mug and he headed out to the fields, where Uncle Scott had already been hard at work since the sun had peeked over the east horizon. The golden and orange hues from the tree lines at the edges of the farm reminded him of how much he enjoyed seeing the fall colors spread across the country.
Bea rummaged in the storage under the counter in search of a pot large enough to hold her bounty. Finding one she liked, not that the old bachelor farmer had a huge selection to choose from, she poured a dipper of water into it and sat it on the wood stove to start heating up.
Children ran under feet as she cut into the pumpkins. She dug her hands into the innards and scooped the seeds into a bowl, one stringy handful at a time. Chopping the huge orange giants into smaller chunks, she began peeling them. The rind went in the bowl that the chickens would enjoy later. She dropped pieces into the simmering pot.
A spasm enveloped her midsection as a gush of water ran down her legs.
“Mae, run out to the fields and git ‘ur Daddy!”