Into The Woods

The trip to the market had been even more productive than she could have imagined. She got all she required, of course, and got to meet a kindly young man in the bargain. Despite his pleasant nature, however, there seemed to be a secret he was hiding. No matter. If there was anyone who could find the answer, it was she.

Despite his assurances of assistance, Mother Goose's purchases proved to be too much for even the youth, and she opted to hire a delivery man. It would likely be sometime before he arrived, however, and in the meantime, it was time to start on a fresh batch of pies. One never knew when company might arrive, and she would likely have less time for her own baking as Rowan's studies would need to take precedence. Stepping through the gate, she marched purposefully up the walk, already computing in her head how many pies she already had remaining, and how many more she would likely need.

Smiling fondly at the sleeping owl, Mother Goose stepped inside, setting down her basket of the more important market acquisitions. Reaching up, she deftly plucked the hat pin from her pink straw hat, fluffing the flowers before hanging it on the rack, exchanging it for her bright floral apron.

So it seemed she had a new pupil, of sorts. Young Rowan was  a willing student, at least, if completely lost in the kitchen. Far be it for the kindly old woman to make the girl feel worse, but she couldn't help but continue to wonder at the ineptitude of Rowan's mother and grandmother. Who in their right mind felt they were protecting a girl by not allowing her to learn how to cook and bake? It was an essential part of life, unless one wanted to live on uncooked roots, or buy expensive pre-baked goods from the market.

Not that the market was useless. It was where Mother Goose was heading, as a matter of fact. If she was going to be teaching the girl how to cook, she was going to need supplies. Lots and lots of supplies. Far more than she could procure from her own garden. With a basket over her arm, she said goodbye to Osgood, the owl that stood sentry at her home. She stepped through the gate, and set off at a quick pace toward the center of town.

Rowan was hungry.

It was often food that had her diverting from her path toward whatever she was doing or wherever she was going to the location of something that smelled or sounded delicious. Whenever she had the chance, she partook of eating at the pubs, that was when she had money of course. At home she was relegated to stew and stale bread.

The bread was stale because she would purchase it in bulk from the marketplace and was unable to make her own and stew because it was easy to just continue to add things to a boiling pot of water until it was cooked through. Though generally it was all overcooked and boiled to the point where it lost its flavor. ( Rowan was a horrible cook. )