A Vacation at Home, 1913

I did some head-scratching myself over this piece, but read my comments at the end before dismissing it as unrealistic.

From 1913—It’s time to think once more about vacation. What? Not going to take one this year? Can’t afford it? Times have been hard—you’ve had sickness these last months, and your pocketbook is about empty?

But you need it, friend. How about that?

There are long weeks and months ahead when you must work; when you must not only give of your best. But make that best an efficient best. And you can’t do it if you’re not up to par physically, for however much one may push one’s self there’s a point beyond which Nature cries “halt!” You’re like a machine, friend,--finely adjusted, delicate of mechanism, capable of great things; but you must see that the machine is in working order if you expect to turn out work that is satisfactory both in quality and amount.

A year or two ago, my pocketbook was empty, too. I’d had sickness; had done almost no work for a full year; and I, also, said-- “There’ll be no vacation for me this year.” And then I looked into the weeks ahead, and I saw the work waiting to be accomplished. I felt the need of recuperation, as you feel it now. I said,-- “But yes, I’ll have my vacation; and I will plan it so that every minute shall be rest; and best of all it shall cost me nothing, or next to nothing.”

In my room there chanced to be a long, wide window seat. I spread a rug over it, and piled it with cushions. I resolutely put my work out of my sight and out of my mind. Then I dressed the room in a holiday dress. A new fruit dish, piled high with fruit; a few magazines; a book I’d been wanting to read; one or two new articles—inexpensive, but seeming to make the room new,--and my vacation had begun. At the end I had gained in weight, in strength and vigor, and was ready to take hold of work with a new power and delight. You don’t need to take a long trip, or spend money for such a vacation, and you will find it well worth while. Try it for yourself and see.

Whether you live in one or two rooms, or in your own home,--whether you work in a factory, store, office, or are a busy housekeeper with your family about you, it is all the same. Make it your week.

Put aside worries. Forget work. Just relax, and live only in the minute as it comes and goes. Change your diet completely. I ate nothing but fruit. It’s a wonderful tonic. After the first day, you won’t want anything else. Even if you do, it will do you worlds of good to go for the full week without a mouthful of cooked food. Eat a few nuts if you like, if they agree with you, and drink much water. Be absolute and regular about it. At least eight glasses a day is none too much, and ten is better. Have certain times for it, and don’t neglect it.

Don’t put a single article on throughout the week that is not absolutely fresh. Above all, wear your very prettiest skirts and under-clothing. Don’t neglect the daily bath, either cold or tepid as you prefer. I find a small quantity of Epsom Salts in the water gives the skin a wonderfully fresh, active feeling. Invest in a new kimono [a robe]. You can buy one for 59 cents almost any time at a sale. But see to it that the colors are soft and restful, and such as you are especially fond of. There’s an inspiration in clothes. Try it, and see. Somehow, the sun seems brighter when one is absolutely fresh and dainty from top to toe.

If you are in the country, and can, instead of the window seat, or the couch, fix up a place under the trees,--either a cot, or a couch, or a blanket with a pile of pillows,--and spend the days there. But whether you are in the city and country, indoors or out, live idly; dream; watch the sky; breathe deep, full breaths many times a day; eat slowly. In a week’s time you will feel a new creature, with none of the work and strain incident to getting ready for some journey you cannot afford. Your pocketbook will be scarcely a bit thinner, and you will have no bills staring you in the face as result.

From Amalia— Like you, I’m left with many questions. What happened to all the daily work—is she ignoring it? Who’s doing the laundry to ensure every article of clothing is “absolutely fresh?” Where does all this fresh fruit come from? Do the children just run feral for a week?

I can imagine it now—my husband comes home from a long, miserably hot day working outdoors to find me lounging in a new robe in a window seat, browsing a stack of magazines. I tell him to pull up a rug and help himself to the bowl of fruit in the kitchen—for the fifth day in a row. What man wouldn’t be totally fine with that?

As unrealistic as this scenario is for modern us, it would have been equally ridiculous to most women in 1913, too, right? I wonder what women living without running water and electricity thought of these suggestions. I could easily pick apart the many flaws in this “vacation at home” scheme. Likely none of us can take a full week to just rest and relax, whether single or with a family.

However, I think it has validity as a source of inspiration to slow down and look for pockets of vacation. It reminds me of the current idea of seeking out ways to “romanticize” our lives.

Times are difficult for many of us, the author says. It’s the same 113 years later. Yet again, the scenarios are similar—empty pocketbooks, unemployment, no money for vacations.

Our household income was abruptly slashed last winter. Outside of a madcap road trip to visit parents and a few friends, we won’t be vacationing this year. No lounging on a beach or catching flights or lazy days on the train for us and that’s ok. That’s life. Besides, we all know that vacation feeling only lasts until you return home and get hit with everything that needs your immediate attention.

We don’t have to go to a different setting and do big expensive things to mentally and physically refresh ourselves. That’s been my biggest takeaway from this article. I’ve intentionally been doing things to make the summer season special, to “romanticize” it in budget-friendly ways. I’ve been perfecting crispy thin-crust pizza made on the grill. We keep our free-standing hammock easily accessible to use on days when it’s not unbearably hot. Turning on the patio lights encourages us to sit outside when it’s a little cooler. Every few days I make a different cold drink with tea, syrups, fruit, and lemonade. We’ve been eating homemade ice cream and watermelon and popsicles we’re not tired of it yet.

Like the author said, we can find a way to “make it work.”

I’m the co-author of A Housewife Writes and author of Two Years as an Amish Schoolteacher, available on Amazon. (affiliate link) I love history and learning about the lives of our grandmothers who loved their families and managed their households. I share their stories and wisdom that are still meaningful as well as ways of keeping a modern home in the spirit of past times.