cabbage grower of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I grow the finest onions in our lane and suffer the foolishness of my brothers. A woman's work is never done, especially when fools covet her dirt.”
Things Barbara Metzger had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
I will not yield one handful of dirt. Henslin says he will put a pig pen on the far strip. Over my dead body he will. My father meant for me to have it, and my sweat is in that soil. Let him put his pigs in his own bed.
Nota scribaeShe pointed her finger so fiercely she nearly struck my inkhorn.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Met Adela Gold by the well today. She did nothing but weep over that penniless weaver Casper again. Christ almighty, the girl must either defy her mother and go to him, or shut her mouth. Her tears will not make bread any cheaper, and the soldiers eat enough of it already.
You have a cold heart, Barbara. You care more for your onions than you do for true love.
My mother Ellen would have told her the exact same thing. Tears wash no floors.
the eve of Saint George, at Terce
Kunigunde is still wailing about her lost brass thimble. She thinks Simon the pedlar swept it up. I told her if she kept a tidy yard like Isabel Marsh, she would not lose her things in the mud. The mud takes everything in the end.
It was a good thimble, Barbara, and pedlars have quick hands.
Nota scribaeDictated while sweeping the front steps with great force.
the Monday after Saint Gregory, at Prime
Anna Reinhart passed me some fine turnip seeds over the fence this morning. She fights her brother Claus for her patch just as I fight Henslin. It is good to have one sensible woman in this lane. The spring frost has not killed us yet.
Keep your seedlings covered at night, Barbara. Men and frost are equally treacherous.
the morning after Candlemas, at Sext
Henslin brought up the far strip at the morning meal. Again. He says his plans are grand. Grand! If my brother had grand plans he would not be living off father's bread. I told him if he touched my seedlings I would break his nose.
Please, Barbara, let us just eat in peace for one morning.
I stay out of it. You two will be the death of us all.
Nota scribaeThe word she used for her brother was considerably fouler.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The land is not yours, sister. Father never said it was. A family needs meat, not just another row of your bloody cabbages.
Saint Barbara give me strength! You would not know how to feed a pig if it sat at the table with us.