Marie shaded her eyes from the sun. The narrow fields sloped gently toward the St. Lawrence River. Papa was down there working. It looked like three of her brothers were working there too. The family had worked hard to establish their farm. When they had first come to this new land, there was so much to do: a home to build, fences to build, and crops to plant. Now, after years of hard work, this place felt like home.
The cabbages were growing well. So were the turnips. Closer to the barn, the half-grown wheat waved in the breeze. It was already taller than she was. Soon it would be as tall as Papa. The grain would be ground into flour. The flour would become bread.
Marie waved the black flies away from her face. She hoped the tiny insects would be gone soon. It seemed to take longer every year. She looked up at the sky. It was mid-afternoon. There was still much to do.
"Marie!" a voice called from the upper window of the cramped log house.
It was Jeanette. Marie sighed.
"What do you want, Jeanette?" Marie asked her older sister.
"Could you pick some herbs from the garden for me?" she asked.
"It is too early," replied Marie. "You must wait until almost dark."