Patricia Woolsey WANTS a remedy for the 1870s
It’s hard to change an empire when you’re stuck in the house. The Daughters of Two Pan marched in front of the whore house and saloon, but we scattered like twit sparrows when that hussy with the jutting big bosom shot at us. We haven’t been back since.
My two little ones came down with the grippe*. I sliced up a huge bowl of white onions and a few wrinkled radishes, just like my grandma used to do. Covered it with oil and forced the boys to eat it. Then they washed it down with a hot tea mixed with honey and schnapps.
From the way they sulked and hollered, you’d think the cure was killing them. Silly boys.
Then I wallpapered their chests with a mustard plaster and put them to bed. The whole shebang made sweat ooze from their pores like they were being roasted alive. (Although, Henry, my husband, said it was the schnapps tea that made them mercifully delirious.)
Perhaps, he’s right. I startled awake from my beside vigil and Elias, the six-year-old, was absent. Henry found him headed down the road—sound asleep. I attached a string from his toe to my arm so I’d know if he tried to fly the coop again. I’m literally tied to the bedside, pouring water into sweating boys, instead of running harlots out of town and bringing a school teacher to this valley.
Henry says the west has its own culture. “Don’t hurry change.”
Bull Hockey!!! Even though Henry has a touch of frostbite from busting ice off animals’ water troughs and caulking cow’s ears, he’s talked himself into loving Oregon. There’s not a doctor for 18 miles, and for that, I’m making him take off the mustard plasters attached to the boys’ chests.
Let me tell you, it’s hard to change an empire with kids hollering that it feels like a layer of their skin is being ripped off.
These remedies are journal memories of the 1800s and not recommended for use (even if you like onion, radishes and schnapps)