At the Pioneer Museum
By Elizabeth Smith My daughter touches The loom, the butter churn, the spinning wheel. Her handprints on the glass case: Bustles, a beaded shawl, bobbins twisted into lace, Slim gloves—could any woman fit her hand inside? A white-haired volunteer chews gum. “Your daughter is six? She’d know how to embroider, Plant the spring seeds, crochet hot pads for the kitchen. Home economics already.” My daughter is six. She knows letters, numbers, pass the ball, Raise your hand, don’t pinch your neighbor, Glitter glue on green paper. Any home economics? My daughter is six. Her shoes are Velcroed tight—she doesn’t know knots. I tried to teach knitting, but the yarn tangled. Weeds and pests strangled her potato plants while she Splashed at the local pool and licked popsicles. Did those girls really contribute to Their family’s home economics? Maybe they stitched red floss into white canvas. Maybe they dug in the soil and looped the yarn. But they were also six.
