Chapter 1: A Glimpse into Daily Life in the 1800s

Dear Edith,

As the sun rises and you open the windows, a gentle breeze carries a hint of smoke indoors. You light candles to awaken the children for school, accompanied by the crowing of the neighbor's rooster. The house remains tranquil except for the stirrings of the children. There’s no hum of electricity coursing through the walls; the icebox stands silently in the corner, and the fireplace is unlit. The children wash up using a bowl and pitcher, as indoor plumbing is a luxury few can afford—your father possesses one of the latest systems, but most do not share this privilege.

Once dressed, the children gather their satchels, and Thomas Jr. leads them up the hill to the schoolhouse. Your day begins with an endless list of chores: cleaning, baking, organizing, and tending to the animals. Distractions like iPads or television shows are non-existent. Mrs. Billingsley, our only neighbor, visits later to chat and share news. She owns 100 acres, while we have 50, separated by an ancient stone wall.

In 2025, owning land might seem a privilege reserved for the wealthy, but in our time, it was a common inheritance. Maintaining a decent plot requires significant effort, especially with threats from wildlife like wolves and coyotes, who pose risks to our chickens. We keep a rifle by the backdoor for protection—a skill I taught you, as shooting is second nature for many in the 1800s.

In our era, everyone rides horses, but now, only the affluent use them for leisure, as they are no longer essential for transportation.

Chapter 2: My Current Reality

If only I could convey how starkly different my world is now. Over the past twenty letters, I’ve endeavored to illustrate the contrast of life in 2025.

When I awaken at 5 AM, the house buzzes with activity, a stark change from your quiet mornings. A flick of a switch floods my room with light, and I step into a modern bathroom for a shower. The fan whirs softly, cooling the warm air, and the heater hums gently in the background. I only air out the house when I accidentally burn my breakfast.

I prepare tea using a kettle on the stove, a moment I cherish as it allows me to reminisce about home. In my suburban neighborhood, I barely know my neighbors. While they’re polite, exchanging waves, there’s a disconnect. On Halloween, everyone pretends to be acquainted, but true relationships are scarce. The community is absorbed in their busy lives, distracted by the Internet and a multitude of entertainment options—many of which are ultimately unproductive.

Few live on farms or engage in agricultural work; they don’t rise early to care for livestock. The wilderness here lacks the vibrancy of our time; even the bees we once knew are alarmingly absent. Remember our honey-making adventures each fall?

While birds, raccoons, and the occasional skunk exist, there are no formidable threats like wolves, which now dwell farther north. The consumption-driven culture of 2025 starkly contrasts with our simpler way of living. Their currency is predominantly digital, and I rarely see cash exchanged—most transactions occur with a swipe or tap on a phone.

In the 1800s, adapting to new environments was straightforward, but the pace of change accelerated dramatically with the introduction of automobiles, airplanes, and countless inventions of the 20th century. Now, in the 21st century, life is easier, more entertaining, yet laden with unseen hardships: hopelessness, despair, illness, war, and isolation.

Navigating these times is a challenge, even for someone like me, who is not of this era. The prevailing culture of forced positivity seems to drive many toward antidepressants, alcohol, and drugs in pursuit of an artificial cheerfulness. While some possess an innate optimism, others bury their heads in the sand, all striving to survive.

I have the unique privilege of time travel, allowing me to revisit the early 2000s, before chaos descended. Yet, each era bears its burdens. The 2020s pose their own unique difficulties, but I am reminded that every time has its trials.

I must conclude my letter now. Please convey my love and longing to the children. This walk down memory lane has left me pensive on this chilly November day. As winter approaches, it’s time to prepare for what lies ahead.

With all my love,

Thomas

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