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384 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1933
Almanzo simply ate. He ate ham and chicken and turkey, and dressing and cranberry jelly; he ate potatoes and gravy, succotash, baked beans and boiled beans and onions, and white bread and rye ’n� injun bread, and sweet pickles and jam and preserves. Then he drew a long breath, and he ate pie.I swear, my stomach rumbled every ten minutes!
There was no time to lose, no time to waste in rest or play. The life of the earth comes up with a rush in the springtimeReading as Almanzo completed farm chores and tamed his oxen kindled my brief (but fervent) desire to become a farmer in fifth grade (well, until the impracticality of city-life ruined that dream!)
If the teacher has to thrash you again, Royal, I’ll give you a thrashing you’ll remember.There was one crazy scene where their teacher cracked a whip around the school room due to some seriously rowdy teens (could you imagine the look on the PTA Mom's faces?)
Mother sliced the hot rye n' injun bread, on the breadboard by her plate. Father's spoon cut deep into the chicken pie; he scooped up big pieces of thick crust and turned up their fluffy yellow undersides on the plate. He poured gravy over them, he dipped up big pieces of tender chicken, dark meat and white meat sliding from the bones. He added a mound of baked beans and topped it with a quivering slice of fat pork.
Father gave him the heavy half dollar. "It's yours," said father, "you can buy a suckling pig with it if you want to. You could raise it, and it would raise a litter of pigs worth four of five dollars apiece. Or you can trade that half dollar for lemonade, and drink it up. You do as you want; it's your money."