Brick Bake Ovens

After I posted instructions for making sourdough bread starter from scratch—just as Caroline Abbott might have done—several readers asked about the type of oven Caroline would have used.  She and Grandmother used a brick bake oven.

Women used these bake ovens for centuries.  While visiting historic sites that interpret the period, I talked with several interpreters about foodways during Caroline’s era.

This interpreter was cooking in a kitchen at Old Fort Niagara.

For anyone using a brick bake oven, building a fire inside the oven was the day’s first chore. It took hours to heat the bricks.

Can you see the small oven door in the back of the fireplace?

The arrangement at Old Fort Niagara (shown above) made the best use of the fire itself. When the oven was hot enough, coals were raked into the hearth and could be used for other cooking.

These round loaves were probably baked directly on the bricks.

The interpreter at Fort George National Historic Site, in Ontario, had a slightly different arrangement (below). Her oven is off to the side, which meant she didn’t have to lean over the fire to tend the oven.

The oven door is the dark shape on the right side of the photo. This was much safer, and more comfortable, than having the door behind the main cooking fire.

Using a bake oven was a big job, so smaller things—like these small cakes (cookies)—could be baked on a griddle hanging over the fire.

I learned to use brick bake ovens in my own interpreter days at Old World Wisconsin. In the photo below, the oven door is open. When the oven was hot enough, I’d use a hoe-type tool to rake  the coals and ashes into a chamber below.  (In the photo, that opening is covered with the board below the oven door.)  Later I’d open the little floor-level door  below the oven and shovel the cold ashes out.

That’s me, explaining the process to visitors.

I used the long-handled paddle leaning against the wall to the left of the oven to place the bread dough into the oven, and remove the finished loaves. The length of the pole gives you an idea of how big the oven is!

Experienced bakers knew how to get the most out of a hot oven. When the bread came out, smaller items such as coffeecakes went in.  When they were done, there just might be enough heat left to bake a pan or two of cookies.

This kitchen is at a farm restored to 1875, which has a modern cookstove. So why would someone still use a bake oven? Perhaps she needed a dozen loaves to feed a hungry farm crew, as we did the day this picture was taken.

All from a single baking.

It took some practice to get the hang of using a brick bake oven. But one taste of hot, crusty bread spread with homemade butter made it all worthwhile.

Changes For Caroline

THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY

Caroline receives a letter asking her to come and help on Uncle Aaron’s farm. Although she hates to leave her family, Caroline is pleased to see her cousin Lydia—and to meet Lydia’s pretty cow and sweet baby calf! Determined to help out in any way she can, Caroline keeps watch when a thief starts sneaking around the farm. Then she makes an unexpected discovery—and learns that some things are not as simple as they seem.

I had a lot of flexibility when developing a plan for Caroline Abbott’s six books, which was great! However, I did try to include familiar themes in Caroline’s stories. Traditionally, the six-book sets created for American Girl’s historical characters have ended with a “Changes” book. I liked the idea of giving Caroline new ways to grow and change, so I decided to take her away—temporarily!—from her beloved Lake Ontario. When the book begins, Caroline receives a summons to help at her cousin Lydia’s brand new family farm.

To learn more about farm life in rural New York two hundred years ago, I visited the Pioneer Farm at Genesee Country Village.

Built in 1809, the Pioneer Farm is presented as it looked about 1820.

Since Caroline and Lydia were responsible for kitchen chores, I enjoyed chatting with the interpreter about period cooking and baking.

And here’s the garden. Growing food, and protecting it from pests, was essential to survival.

Since I spent twelve years working at Old World Wisconsin, an outdoor museum that includes nine restored farms, I was pretty comfortable writing about farm life. And when my colleagues at American Girl suggested including a calf, I was excited by the opportunity to learn more about old breeds of cattle.

Modern farmers tend to raise only a few breeds of cows, pigs, sheep, and other livestock. For example, Holstein cows are the most popular on dairy farms today. Holsteins don’t provide the richest milk, but they provide more milk than any other breed.

Holstein (Wikipedia photo)

Lots of very old breeds of livestock are in danger of becoming extinct. Historic sites around the world play an important role in saving rare breeds from extinction. To learn more about cattle in Caroline’s era, I looked at the breeds being raised at Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia. (Curious?  You can learn more about Colonial Williamsburg’s Rare Breeds Program here.) Since that site interprets a period before the War of 1812, I could be confident that the animals they raise were known in the United States in Caroline’s time.

I discovered a beautiful breed, American Red Milking Devons.

(Colonial Williamsburg photo)

Their rich milk was prized for butter and cheese production. They were easy to care for, intelligent and steady work animals, and provided quality meat.

(Colonial Williamsburg photo)

Caroline Abbott isn’t a farm girl, so when she arrives at her cousin’s farm, she’s not sure that she wants to get close to one of these big cows!

(Colonial Williamsburg photo)

Then Caroline learns that her job will be tending and training a baby calf.  One look, and her heart melts!

(Colonial Williamsburg photo)

The photo above provided inspiration for Garnet, the baby calf in Changes For Caroline.

(Detail from one of Robert Papp’s marvelous illustrations in Changes For Caroline.)

Training Garnet wasn’t enough to make a whole story, of course. I needed to create a bigger plotline, something to keep readers turning the pages.

(WARNING! SPOILER ALERT! I’m about to give a big hint about something mysterious that happens in the story. If you haven’t read Changes For Caroline, and you don’t want to ruin the surprise, stop reading now.)

While doing my very early research about life for women and girls in 1812, I visited Fort George, a National Historic Site of Canada. I talked with a wonderful interpreter who told me about the children of soldiers who served during the War of 1812, both British and Americans.

The interpreter in the enlisted men’s barracks.

Although some officers brought their families along to their new postings, only a few wives and children were lucky enough to travel with the “common” soldiers.

It was a hard life. They lived in the barracks, and both women and children were expected to work. Girls helped with cooking and laundry and sewing.

Hanging blankets provided a family’s only privacy. Children slept wherever they could find a spot.

And if a husband and father was killed in battle, his wife had to either marry another soldier or leave the barracks—perhaps with no other place to go.

I was touched by the stories I heard, and wanted to include something about the lives of army children in the Caroline series. Changes for Caroline provided the perfect opportunity.

I hope you enjoy reading as Caroline meets new challenges. And I hope you find the final chapter a perfect ending—not just for this book, but for the six-book series.

Backstory

I’m working on whittling a manuscript of 100,000 words down to something approaching 80,000.  I actually don’t mind this kind of edit.  Having to cut forces me to consider every scene, paragraph, sentence, and word.  Do I really need it?  Does it serve the story?

One of the things to evaluate is backstory—events that shaped characters’ lives before the book’s opening scene.  It’s essential to convey information readers need to understand the motivation driving a protagonist through the story.  Slowing a story down with excess information is a problem.  Sometimes a very fine lines separates those two things.

Near Niagara-On-The-Lake, Ontario

As I work on this, I’ve been thinking about stories that interpreters related during my recent visit to Fort George National Historic Site of Canada, in Ontario.  During the War of 1812, Fort George served as the headquarters for the Centre Division of the British Army.

One of the places I most wanted to visit was the enlisted mens’ barracks.  I was particularly interested in learning about the lives of the handful of wives and children who lived there, in the same room with 40 or more soldiers.  The interpreters shared a number of fascinating stories about family life, and I instinctively made mental notes for future book projects.  (I can’t help myself.)

Interpreter in the enlisted men's barracks.

This young woman painted a vivid picture of the day a regiment left Britain.  The soldiers, who had enlisted for 21 years, were marched onto a waiting ship.  If they were married, their wives and children waited on the dock.  Then a lottery commenced.  A few lucky women were chosen to accompany their husbands to North America.  The rest knew that they’d probably never see their men again.

The interpreter spoke of a pregnant woman who threw herself into the sea when her number was not selected.  She spoke of wives who, although lucky enough to be chosen, were told that they could not take all of their children.  In that heart-wrenching moment, some children were left behind to make their way on the streets, or to seek shelter in an orphanage.

It is hard to imagine the grim necessity that forced families to face the enormous gamble that began with a married man’s enlistment.  It’s also hard to imagine the chaos on the dock, and likely also within the ship, as children, women, and men listened for results of the lottery.

Hanging blankets provided a family's only privacy. Children slept wherever they could find a spot. Wives and children were expected to work.

These stories might be considered backstory for the people interpreted at Fort George.  They worked because of their emotional resonance.  They provided a new layer of understanding about the fort’s soldiers and their families—those who came, those who stayed behind.

I’m hoping I can do as good a job of choosing bits of backstory to leave in my novel.