Richard W Brown 
Memorial Day is fittingly observed. 
when everyone depended on wood for 
fuel. This is also the time when ev- 
eryone is getting ready to plant. 
“Before gardening really gets roll- 
ing,’” Lucille points out, 
there are the repairs from winter: always 
some board off the porch or roof, cleaning 
up the mouse trash, lawns to rake after 
the moles, and the tilling to do. The par- 
tridges come and eat the buds off the 
poplars and scrub-apples on the side hill. 
Even as recently as when I was a child, 
this time between sugaring and putting 
in the garden was the time for getting 
the haying equipment ready. Then the 
machines were almost all pulled by 
horses. We would sharpen the knives on 
the mowing machine, grease the mower 
and the dump rake, and check to see 
that the wooden handles on the hay forks 
were in good condition. Since the horses 
had been busy all winter hauling wood, 
their harnesses usually needed repair. 
As early as possible, Lucille’s hus- 
band, Sil, works the soil in a little, 
protected garden and plants a little 
of everything that won’t be killed by 
frost: beets, carrots, dill, lettuce, pars- 
ley, Swiss chard, peas. The main gar- 
den he plants later, on Memorial Day 
weekend. Sil works as a granite-stone 
cutter, and since he is on a night shift, 
he is able to work in the garden each 
day. “You got to have peas by the 
Fourth of July,” insists Lucille, “so 
you got to plant them as soon as you 
can.” On Memorial Day Lucille and 
her mother take flower wreaths to the 
cemetery. Some years, if it warms up 
quickly. Memorial Day is the begin- 
ning of black-fly season. “Sometimes 
the black flies get so bad, Grandma 
even gets to smoking cigarettes.” 
Sil buys seeds, onion sets, and seed 
potatoes in bulk from Clark’s Feed 
Store, where he used to work. He buys 
enough for the whole family, for four 
gardens besides his own. Not more 
than ten miles away live Lucille’s par- 
ents — Grandma and Gramps— and 
Lucille and Sil’s three married chil- 
dren — Judy, Inda, and Moe — with 
their families. (The younger son, 
Dean, lives in Idaho.) Everyone takes 
what they need from the common seed 
supply. Moe and Dean used to be the 
ones who would help their grandpar- 
ents, shovel snow off their porch roof, 
help dig up the garden. Now Judy’s 
boy, the oldest great-grandson, takes 
care of those tasks. 
Both Lucille and Sil were raised 
in northern Vermont. Lucille Wheeler 
grew up in North Montpelier and 
Plainfield. Her ancestors came to Ver- 
mont in the 1700s, moving north to 
the wilderness from Connecticut. Sil- 
vio Cerutti’s father was a stonecut- 
ter from Italy who settled in Barre 
and worked in the stone sheds. Sil 
was born on a hill farm and grew 
up with a strong sense of his Italian 
heritage, eventually taking up his fa- 
ther’s trade. Lucille and Sil have 
raised their children in both the New 
England and the Italian traditions, and 
all their family celebrations reflect a 
marriage of the two cultures. 
One of the main family gatherings 
takes place during spring, at Easter. 
The whole family always goes to Lu- 
cille’s parents, “to Grandma’s,” for 
Easter breakfast. The family gather- 
ing includes a few old people in town 
who have nowhere else to go. There’s 
ham and eggs, and Lucille and her 
daughters have made hot cross buns. 
Everyone brings colored eggs and 
hides them. Each of the children takes 
a small straw basket, from a collection 
stored from year to year, and goes 
to gather up the eggs. All of this occurs 
early on Easter morning, since some 
in the family go on to church. 
“The center of the family,” explains 
Lucille, 
was my mother and her home. As children 
we were always there for any holiday 
or special occasion. After Sil and I were 
married we were there, we went back 
there as home. Then as my children got 
older and my parents got older, gradually 
it was that my children and my parents 
came to my home. Now my children come 
with their own children. It’s that way 
for almost every occasion except Easter 
breakfast and Christmas breakfast. Those 
are special times, and we always go to 
Grandma’s. 
The first robin, the first dandelion 
greens, the first radishes: every year 
the order of these beginnings is ob- 
served, and each bird, wildflower, and 
garden plant accounted for. In one 
patch of woods past Walter Smith’s 
barn, beyond his sugarhouse, all the 
wildflowers appear in rapid succes- 
sion. The tiny, insidious black fly takes 
its place as well. They say that when 
some down country speculators were 
nosing around to buy the side of 
Spruce Mountain for development, lo- 
cal folk showed them into the woods 
to survey during black flies, and they 
never returned. The flies can cause 
fever, itching, and pain. Lucille tells 
of the time, back when men’s pants 
had buttons rather than zippers, that 
Sil went fishing during black flies and 
was bitten so badly, she had to sit 
him in baths of baking soda. It is 
during black-fly season that gardens 
go in and weeds begin to grow. And 
it is invariably during this time that 
dandelions are picked for dandelion 
wine. By the Fourth of July the flies 
are gone and the peas have come. 
“You have peas and johnnycake 
with salt pork,” relates Lucille. 
You fry the salt pork until it’s transparent, 
put in the first little new potatoes, peas, 
and top cream. You can do the same 
thing with little new string beans. And 
johnnycake, that’s made with cornmeal. 
You think about it all winter when you’re 
going to the garden and digging up pars- 
nips and horseradish. 
Plainfield, with its population of 
952, plus the college community, cele- 
brates the Fourth of July in a big 
way, with a parade, a chicken bar- 
becue, and fireworks. With games, 
concession booths, a horse show, and 
an auction, the activities go on all 
day. “Even though the relatives from 
down country Long Island always 
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