Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

I slowly tell Kit that I would love to stay. Kit looks very glad. She asks what chores I know how to do. But now I’ve hit a snag. The only reason I know what chores are is because Laura and Mary did them in the Little House on the Prairie books. Mom has never taught me anything about housekeeping. Our cleaning lady shoos me away if I offer to help her. So I apologetically say that I don’t know how to do very much. Kit says that she was just like me before Dad lost his job. She didn’t know anything about gardening, and Kit was hopeless at cooking and cleaning and doing laundry. But now that Mother has started the boardinghouse, Kit had to learn.

I ask if Kit minds doing chores. Kit shrugs and says that when they started the boardinghouse, she resented them. That’s because before the Depression, Kit was used to doing what she wanted to do all day. But now things are different. She asks if the Depression changed how I feel about helping my family, too. I look down, ashamed. I’ve never actually done much of anything to help anybody. And I take for granted all that Mom does for me. But Kit is right: even knowing a little bit about the Depression has changed how I feel. In fact, I should be more helpful from now on. I’m just at a loss as to how.

Kit seems to know that I feel awkward and useless, so she suggests we start with gardening. It’s be fun. I doubt that it’ll be fun. I’m not a big fan of creepy-crawlers. At Camp Mosquito, we had to touch disgusting slugs and gross worms. We had to learn how to identify poisonous snakes and how to tell the difference between an insect and arachnid. Who cares? They both bug me. But I am determined to help Kit, so I tell her that she can weed and I will water.

Kits hands me a gigantic watering can to fill at the spigot. I lug it back to the garden and take off my coat to put it on a lawn chair. Kit says she loves my coat. She’s never seen one like it before. I smile, thinking that no one will see a coat like mine for another twenty years. It’s from the 1950s. But I just say thanks, and tell her it’s not fashionable right now, but I like it. I ask Kit if she grows all the vegetables that they eat. Kit nods and says they grow most of them. They used to have only flowers, but they dug them out and planted vegetables instead. Lots of people grow food now to save money. And they keep chickens behind the garage.

Just then, I see a snake and I tell Kit to watch out. A big brown snake, a venmomous copperhead, is coiled and ready to strike Kit. Without asking any questions, Kit scoops up Buddy. I grab her from behind and yank with all my strength to pull her away from the snake. The two of them topple back on top of me, and we fall down in a tangled mess on the grass. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the copperhead slither away. We sit on the grass, panting. I hug Buddy, feeling shaky and sick to my stomach. Kit asks how I knew it was a copperhead. I tell her that my mom made me go to a science camp. I didn’t like it because I’m deathly afraid of snakes. But now I’m glad she made me go. Kit says that my camp sounds like one of the free programs in the parks. She’s glad that I went. I might have saved her life.

Kit’s mother strides towards us and says that I saved Buddy’s life, too. I’m a brave girl. Kit says that I should write a letter to my mother. I should tell her that I’m safe and that I am glad that she sent me to camp because I saved Buddy and her lives from a poisonous snake. Mrs. Kittredge nods and says that Kit’s idea is splendid. Kit tilts her head at me. So do I want to write a letter to my mother?