Life in Alaska (1) – Alaskan Cranberries – Oct., 1940

Biss - with Butch and family - 1940

Oct. 3

Thurs.

Hello folks,

First, the weather. A letter from me with no mention of the weather what the season would be a Mexican hairless dog without fleas (I full due there, you thought I was going to say a Mexican hairless dog with the mange, hee, hee). The weather, then, is turning gradually colder, with disagreeable rainy days holding their share of the lime-light. We have not had many frosts yet, although we can expect snow any day.

Sunday last, Ced and I were invited to dinner at the Bragaws, no doubt instigated by Florence and the Duchess. After capacious moths had served in adequate bellies, we innocents were introduced to the shady subterfuge is of poker, and were duly fleeced. Out of the ruins came this Ray of cheer:

In Alaska’s ample carpet which spreads over her soils, grows a little green plant, from beneath which people the small red berries blessed with the pre-fixe “cran”. These cranberries are reputed to be far superior to Cape Cod’s bog berries, and this reputation is well-founded in native Alaskan lore. Everyone says they are more tasty than store cranberries, so it cannot be gainsaid. I, myself, have partaken of these superior fruits, and pronounce them, with a little coaching from the side-lines, to be far superior to Cape Cod’s bog berries, and more tasty than store cranberries. Not expecting anyone to take anyone’s word for it, the Bragaw household has offered to send you a box of these so-called Cranberries to see for yourselves. You boil them with sugar. Some people cook them with turkey and yams and giblet gravy. This is known as a “Thanksgiving Dinner”. The Bragaws are planning to send only the cranberries, but this whole affair really belongs to Ced discovered the Bragaws in the first place. I’m just mentioning it in case he forgets to, because he has been working overtime of late, putting “dope” on airplane wings, and getting a dandy jag over it, into the bargain.

Tomorrow, I’ll be posting the final half of this letter.

On Saturday and Sunday, more Special Pictures.

On Monday, I’ll begin posting letters written in 1942 as the War comes to Trumbull.

Judy Guion

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