There are only a couple ways a farmer like me can get the supplies I need. I can make the trip to town and have to deal with losin’ a good day’s work, or I can listen to that darn peddler ramble on about how much I need this and that. I got to have money if I head into town, and there’s precious little of that these days. I tell the old man that he can come back in a few weeks if he’s around. Turns out, he comes around near every week now. He says he comes to make sure I can keep my hand on the plow, but I think he sells more to my women than to me.
Little Anna saw him come last week and she ran out to meet him. By the time they got to the barn, that swindler had the girl so attached to a doll that I was hardly left a choice but to pay the man for it. And payin’ old Andrew is easier than you might think. We happen to have just what he needs most the time, and that’s food. You see, I think business is not so good for the man right now. He told me just the other day (during negotiations, I might add), that he doesn’t have as many customers as he used to. He said that all the small farmers are, “movin’ on to other work.”
After the war, we had trouble just findin’ the men to work the fields, but things change every day. Now sons are leaving their father’s land to go to the cities or the dreamers are headed off west to make their fortune. My son never had the chance to make his own life. He joined up in town when he was 17 to fight for the Union army. He had a real head on his shoulders and he was always readin’ that paper, The Liberator. He could have made somethin’ of himself, but he died of infection after the fight at Gettysburg.
It’s been a few years since then, and we’ve got Anna now, so I don’t think on him too much anymore. I do miss his help though. I’m not gettin’ any younger and I still got my Ma to look after not countin’ my own family. Well, don’t let me complain too much, I’m not as bad off as that peddler. He can’t keep travelin’ the way he does forever. He looks tired, like he just wants to quit. When he doesn’t come around anymore, I suppose there just won’t be a peddler any more. He’s the only one in these parts and there’s more and more places to get supplies now. My wife may have to find another way to convince me to buy her those pretty dresses she likes s much.
I like what you have done here with this narrative interpretation. I had to do some reading about the painter and the painting. I found this article on the Terra Foundation for American Art. The author indicates that the painting was set in Vermont after the Civil War. You have captured that post-war sentiment very nicely with your interpretation. I also like the way you managed to move the story across several years by introducing the lost son and young daughter. You also did a nice job playing the theme of dislocation both within the family and across the communities of upper New England.
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