The farmhouse they purchased after their marriage was old. They needed to renovate and expand. Acres and acres of luscious farmland surrounded them. They split their time between a townhouse in NYC during the week and their country estate on weekends. They installed all the latest amenities--running water, indoor plumbing, electricity. Near the kitchen a giant bell was rung to call the children in for lunch.
At that time, Bucks County attracted wealthy and famous New Yorkers who wanted to leave the country behind. Musicians, writers and artists surrounded them including Oscar Hammerstein and James Michener.
I read The Good Earth years ago in college. Buck was born in the USA but grew up in China so she was more than familiar with the culture and mores. Born from Missionary parents, she spent a great deal of her adulthood in China until it became too dangerous to stay.
I was impressed by the novel, a best-seller which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1932 and then a Nobel Price in 1938 for her keen depictions of Chinese peasant life. Her house and grounds have been preserved. It is now a destination to visit:
Dan, Theo and I are given a private tour of her house. We're taken from room to room as we learn her story. Her house is an odd mixture of Pennsylvania farmhouse and Chinese artifacts.
When I visit her house, I'm even more impressed with how she lived her life. She was a fierce advocate for children, especially mixed-race children, who back in the day were often unadoptable. Over the years she and her husband, true to their convictions, filled their house with the children they adopted. She also used her earnings to start a Foster Home, which she located on her property near her own house.
She didn't live a perfect life. Controversies surrounded her. But what does all this have to do with tadpoles?
Outside on the side of her farmhouse, there is a stream which leads into a small pond with a bridge, the perfect habitat for tadpoles.
Before Theo expresses an interest, I know little about them. But a quick search on google reveals that they are the hatched darlings of frog eggs. When they hatch, they first feed off of the yolk of their egg and then swim around in search of algae.
In the initial stage they have a mouth at one end and a tail at the other. In the course of three to four months, they lengthen, grow front and back legs and begin to metamorphose into frogs.
Theo seems to instinctively know the tadpoles are there. He wanders over to the stream, too close for my comfort, and leans in--his keen cat eyes searching the water for any sign of movement. He's ever curious and like a laser beam, spots the tiny fellows darting here and there.
Theo is not a fan of water, but I issue a stern warning anyway: "The tadpoles are not for eating, Theo, only watching."
Can a cat grunt? Approval or disapproval? I hear something, and then his tail wags, slowly at first, and then with greater velocity.
He's going to jump in. I can feel it. But Dan is one step ahead of me. He's been watching Theo's signs. The stare. The crouch before the leap.
Dan swoops up Theo, says nothing, but shakes his head, confirming there will be no tadpoles for dinner today.
We walk away, across the field, toward the lovely bamboo that lines the edge of their property. Bamboo is an invasive species, not that hard to cultivate, but still I'm impressed.
As we leave the property, we make one more stop. Pearl S. Buck is buried on her own property. It is a cool, quiet place. She designed her own headstone with one word only--her birth name in Chinese characters. Quite a statement. Even Theo comes over to pay her tribute.
Despite the tadpole almost incident, Theo's a good boy at heart. He dutifully sniffs the grasses surrounding Buck's grave. He'll no doubt dream of tadpoles tonight.
