A Few of My Favorite Things

My parents arrived a few days ago for a visit.  They brought with them some things from my grandmother's house.  Today I was finding places for a couple of them, 2 tobacco sticks and some well-worn flatware.

The tobacco sticks are very rustic and not really pretty at all.  Anyone who sees them will wonder what they are and why in the world I have them in my house. But, they remind me of what at the time I would have said was one of the worst experiences of my life and now look back on with nostalgia and longing.  I hated working in tobacco.  Getting up when it was still dark on a Saturday was just wrong!  It was dirty, and stinky, and sticky, and boring.  Now I think back to those times and find myself missing it and the people who helped out. 



The flatware reminds me of Sunday lunches with the entire family - grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.  I was hand washing it this afternoon.  It felt so familiar to be washing and rinsing and drying these pieces.  Though I did think that to do it properly I should have been using two aluminum dish pans.

That is how my Granny always washed her dishes.  She had a farmhouse sink before it was the latest in kitchen decorating.  She did not find it convenient to wash dishes in.  She always set up two dish pans on the counter, one for washing and one for rinsing and did the dishes there.

On Sundays, someone would wash and a couple of us would dry.  Again, another dreaded chore.  And again, another one I miss.  I stored all the flatware in a flatware box that came with my current everyday flatware.  I have a goal to use it with some frequency.  I'm hoping we will get in the habit of using it at least weekly.






According the Mom the flatware was ordered using box tops off of "something."  She thinks it was cereal because that is the only packaged thing the bought regularly, but she can't believe they bought enough cereal to get all of the flatware.  She remembers helping fill out the order forms when she was a child, probably around the age of 10.

What I have realized with both items, it isn't the actual item that is important.  What is important are the people and memories they evoke.

Jenn

Tea Party Fun

This past weekend we were invited to a three generation tea.  It was so much fun.  The night before I decided after spending the whole day at the ballpark that I needed a little crafting therapy and bought supplies to make me and my girls hats for the occasion.  I got to the craft store about a half an hour before closing so I had to be quick.  Having just seen the royal wedding our hats ended up a bit more ostentatious than they might otherwise have been.  I had so much fun making the hats.  And luckily, all the girls loved them.

When buying hat supplies the first thing I spotted were birds.  I bought one for each girl in their favorite color and then picked one for me as well.  Then I looked for affordable flowers in coordinating colors for everyone.  Last I bought a single spool of ribbon that would work with all the hats.  One hot glue gun, an hour of time and lots of eye-rolling from Michael and I had four hats perfect for a tea party.

The girls were each thrilled with their hats.  I got lucky in that they all agreed to wear the dresses I suggested that I knew would look great with their hats.  Then we went to my closet to find jewelry and accessories.  Overall, I think it all came together nicely.

One side story about my hat.  When I was picking my flowers I spotted artificial money plant.  It immediately took me back to my childhood as my grandmother grew it in her garden.  She would let the seed stalks dry, cut them and then peel the outer layers of the seed pod off to reveal the silvery round pieces.  She would then use the stalks in flower arrangements.  I loved getting to help with the money plant and always thought it was so pretty.  So upon spotting it in the craft store I knew I had to have it for my hat.

The tea was such a lovely event.  There were 14 of us in all.  The tables were beautifully set in the garden.  The refreshments were divine and everyone had a wonderful, relaxing time.  The really neat thing is all three families have know each other for 35+ years.

The tea even included a fashion show of the seven girls in attendance.  They did a great job of showing off their fancy attire.

We had so much fun.  It was the great end to a crazy weekend.  And it was something I hope my girls remember for a long time.

Jenn

Hay Ride

While in NC visiting for the holidays my kids asked their Papa for their traditional hayride.  Eliza Claire was quick to point out that there was not actually any hay on the hayride this time and she was not happy about it. 

We went down behind my grandmother's house to the original house on her property that has always been know as "The Old House." It has been vacant since before I was born.  I remember as a child getting to go inside and look around.  It was one of my favorite things to do.  It is no longer in good enough shape for that which is sad as I would have loved to see my kids reaction to it.  The house has been added on to at least a couple of times and the original house is a log cabin. No one in my family has lived in the house since before my grandmother was born (1922) and the house she lives in now was built - I believe her house was built in 1908 but I'm not sure.  The Old House was a rental property until the 60s I believe.  If I remember correctly they quit renting it after the tenants caused a fire in one of the tobacco barns.
 

I tried to get a group picture of all the grandkids for my mom.  I didn't have good luck.  Here are some of the attempts.

Granny's Caramel Cake

This is my most favorite cake.  I've never had a cake like this outside of my family.  I have no clue where the recipe originated. 

Growing up the grandchildren got to choose the dessert for the Sunday lunch closest to their birthday.  I always picked Caramel Cake. 

Rehm chose this as the cake he wanted for his birthday party.  I made it yesterday morning before I realized his party would be canceled due to illness.

Granny always made her cakes from scratch. I'm not that good.  I use a cake mix.  I have found that the Duncan Hines Golden Butter Recipe cake mix comes the closest to Granny's cake.  I follow the cake directions except I substitute milk for the water.

Caramel Icing (I double this recipe)
1/2 cup of butter (use the real stuff not the fake stuff)
1 cup brown sugar
2 cups confectioners sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup milk

Melt butter then stir in brown sugar and salt.  Bring to a boil.  Boil hard for two minutes, stirring constantly.  Remove from heat and stir in the milk - stirring while pouring the milk.  It will bubble really high and completely change consistency at this step.  This is normal.  I always think I've ruined it but it always turns out perfect. Return to heat and return to full boil.  Remove from heat and cool.  Once cool, transfer to mixing bowl and beat in confectioner's sugar, until smooth.  Add milk by tablespoon full until proper spreading consistency. 

I've found that it seems to harden up as I work with it.  I suggest starting with it a little runnier than you want it otherwise you'll have to continually stop and stir in more milk to the frosting as you are working.

Granny always made two 9 inch cakes.  She split each of these in half and put frosting between each layer and then frosted the top and sides.  I am inept at frosting cakes, so I don't split my layers.  I just frost between the two cakes and then the top and sides. 

This would also be good to add crushed pecans to the cake mix or between layers or to add banana to the cake.  I'm a purist though and only want this cake in its original form.

I haven't had one of Granny's caramel cakes in probably 3+ years since Sunday dinners at her house ended.  Now if I want caramel cake, I have to make it for myself.  I'm glad to know that I have passed the love of this recipe down one more generation.

Jenn

Roots

Today I was listening to the news or talk radio, I really don't remember which. They were talking about the economy and politics and in general about how dire everything seems. It really made me miss my grandfather. I wanted to ask him how different things are "now" from "then." I mean, I can't watch the news, read the paper without getting completely stressed out about the political and economic outlook. I would love to talk to him as he lived through the times everyone compares "now" to. I would love to hear his take on it all.

Growing up, we had dinner (lunch) at my grandparents every Sunday with my grandparents (duh!), both uncles and their families. It was an all day affair. We had dinner, washed dishes, played (kids), read the paper (adults), watched TV (adult men as the women and children were never allowed to pick the programming), napped (everyone, especially whatever man had picked the TV programming), played cards and board games, and just basically hung out until supper (when we heated up all the leftovers for lunch). Sometimes, I thought this was extremely boring, sometimes I thought it was the best part of the week - usually on the Sundays that Granny made Carmel cake, chocolate chip cookies or party mix.

Occasionally, everyone would sit around the table after dinner (lunch) and my grandparents would talk about the "old days." Everything from outhouses to snake bites to who was kin to whom to random bits of trivia that didn't seem to matter. I loved these talks. I loved when my Papa would start some story about how they had almost killed him making him drink moonshine when he got bit by a snake as a boy. He "figured" the liquor had done him much more harm than the snake bite ever would have. Sometimes the story would be about the farming in the "old days," or about social etiquette, or how this part of the family or that part had gotten their land and how said land had since been divided up, or the proper names for male and female cows. Occasionally, we would hear stories from WWII and rationing and the like.

I found it all so fascinating. But I was a child and at the time all this information was just stories. I didn't ask a lot of questions. I didn't retain a lot of the details. And now I wish I had. Now I wish I could ask how then compared to now, and honestly, just hear his take on now. It is a shame that when our personal historians are able and willing to tell us our history we are not able and willing to listen and when we are able and willing to listen they are no longer able and willing to share. This is part of the motivation for blogging for me, to capture daily life, so that one day when my kids or grandkids do care there will be something they can turn to (the blog books) to get that knowledge.

I am so thankful that I got to grow up close to family. To learn the sense of belonging that comes with family history and "the homeplace." I can not think of a greater gift to give a child.
Jenn

PS. If I could have political talks with my Papa now they would be interesting, I'm sure, as we would be supporting different parties and philosophies. He'd probably call me "Dummy" at least once, but that would be OK, as he typically meant it as a term of endearment.

Reflections upon making peanut butter crackers

The children requested peanut butter crackers for lunch. While making them I was instantly taken back to my childhood with memories of my Granny and Papa.

I grew up on a small tobacco farm, thus the reason my beloved Tobie was really Tobacco. I grew up spending my fair share of time in the tobacco fields. I helped plant the seedlings, hoed weeds when the plants were small, helped "at the barn" when it was time to prime, and help take it off the stick when it was time to pack it to go to sale.

We were small time and did things the old fashion way. I was around four when my grandparents went back to tobacco farming - they had had a larger production earlier but had stopped for at least a few years. At the time they stared back up, they were still stringing tobacco by hand. A year or two later they purchased an electric stringer and I thought we were big time. We never had bulk barns and I don't even know exactly how they work. I just know that in reality we were still way behind the times.


Are you wondering what this has to do with peanut butter crackers yet?

We had to be at the barn and ready to go at 6 am every Saturday morning. We had our "tobacco priming clothes" that we wore every week. If it was a dry morning we came home gummy, if it was a wet morning we wore trash bags over our clothes and came home soaked. On dry days your hands would be a black gummy mess. The only way to get it off was to use gojo, which all the kids called pig snot. Not sure why but it was about the consistency of snot and was stinky...

My first job on priming days was to be "leaf girl." That meant going in the tobacco barn, where the leaves would be cured, and picking up any leaves that had fallen on the floor and taking them back out to be restrung.

This is the barn where we put most of the tobacco. There were two different sections of it. There used to be another barn directly behind this one that we also used at times. There is also a tobacco barn by my parents house that we also used some of the time. But most vivid memories are from this barn. The grassy field you see was one of the tobacco fields and was the largest.

From leaf girl, I got promoted to "stick girl" that meant when the bottom layer of leaves had been placed by the two ladies that did the bottom layer, I put a stick on and then the other two ladies placed the top layer of leaves. Then the electric stringer sewed the tobacco together so that it would stay on the stick. From stick girl I got to be one of the people laying the leaves on the belt - they had a name but I don't remember what it was. From there I became the person that took the finished stick off the stringer and handed it into the barn. Occasionally, I got to be the person that handed the tobacco up to the hangers. And a few times even got to be up in the rafters hanging the tobacco. That person had to stand balanced on two beams about four to six feet a part bend at the waist and reach down to get the sticks and hang them.

The men worked in the field priming, the women worked at the barn. The only barn jobs not done by women were the hangers. My mom typically laid tobacco on the stringer. My sister usually took the tobacco off the stringer. My dad always hung the tobacco.

Are you wondering if I'll ever get to the peanut butter cracker tie in?

The tobacco arrived at the barn on a big tobacco sled. I have no idea how many sleds we did in a morning. When the priming was done the men would come out of the field and we would take a break from stringing and everyone would have a snack. That snack was always peanut butter crackers and glass bottled sodas, never cans. My grandmother made the peanut butter crackers on Friday. They were always made with chunky peanut butter on Ritz crackers, because that was how Papa liked them. She made two huge cookie containers of them. They never bought Nabs, prepackaged peanut butter crackers. The sodas were kept in the freezer for a few hours before snacking so they were ice cold. After four hours of handling tobacco the crackers and soda tasted better than anything imaginable.

I hated priming tobacco. I hated getting up early. I hated not being able to do a lot of the things my friends did because I had to work in tobacco.

I would not change it for a minute! I am so glad I got this experience! I loved listening to the older women talk while we were stringing the tobacco. Ollie and Luciella were a hoot. I thought Fred and Francis, who drove trackers were the funniest men around. I thought it was disgusting when someone would turn a tobacco worm inside out. Though as gross as those worms were and as much as I hated occasionally coming across one, they deserved it.

I wish I had pictures from all of this. And maybe somewhere there are some. I remember taking some once but have no clue what happened to those pictures.

Here are some pictures I found online. From the looks of it, this is a bulk barn operation but gives a good feel for what it is all like.

This gives a better example of what our production was like and shows the hand tying and electric stinger methods.

It always amazes me how something as simple as a peanut butter cracker can bring back so many memories from my childhood. What is your childhood peanut butter cracker and what does it remind you of?
Jenn

The Proper Way to Make Strawberry Milk

Recently we were all in the kitchen and Michael was making Charlotte strawberry milk. He made a point to tell her he was making it the "right way." When I questioned what the "right way" was, he explained that meant putting the strawberry powder in the cup first and then adding the milk. Apparently this is the way Cici makes it and it tastes better this way.

My first reaction was to roll my eyes. I mean, come on, what difference does it make? And who has the time to pay attention to which you put in first?

My second reaction was to burst out laughing. I'm sure my mom is already smiling because she knows exactly what this reminded me of and she is thrilled that I am getting my payback. The year before Kindergarten I stayed with Granny while my parents worked. Most days for lunch she would make me a bologna sandwich. It consisted of a slice of white bread, mayonnaise, and a slice of bologna. It never had two slices of bread. I thought this was the best sandwich ever. I had this game I played where I pretended the bologna was Noah's Ark and as I ate it the water was making the boat go away. It makes absolutely no sense to me now but when I was four this little game made me very happy.

When my mom tried to make bologna sandwiches at our house I wouldn't eat them. I said they didn't taste like Granny's. So she went and bought all the same brands Granny used and tried again. I still wouldn't eat them! They still didn't taste like Granny's. So then she gave up and started making me cheese sandwiches instead.

So I guess Charlotte's milk will just taste better when Cici is here to make it for her ;)
Jenn

Chocolate Chip Life Lessons

There have been a couple of times in the last week that I have asked Charlotte to get something for me out of the garage. Each of these times she has been gone way longer than the time necessary to retrieve whatever I have asked for. When questioned she has gotten quiet and had a hard time telling me what it was she was doing. So I knew she was doing something she wasn't supposed to but I didn't know what. I also knew that she knew she was doing something she wasn't supposed to. I was a bit frustrated with her but didn't really have any recourse.

Last night Michael went to get something out of the refrigerator in the garage. He found mini chocolate chips all over the floor as well as spilled in the refrigerator itself. So now we knew.

This morning Charlotte and I had a little talk about what she was doing in the garage. It went something like this.

Me: Hey Charlotte, you know yesterday when you were in the garage and didn't want to tell me what you were doing?

Charlotte: Yes.

Me: I know what you were doing so do you want to tell me now.

Charlotte: (she was quite for a minute) I was playing with my bike (her story from the night before)

Me: That was all you were doing in the garage?

Charlotte: Yeah,

Me: So were you playing with your bike while you were eating chocolate chips ?

Charlotte's eyes got big. She really didn't think I knew. And she really thought she had covered her tracks well. I guess she didn't expect me to notice all of the spilled chocolate chips. Speaking of which, they were mini chips so at first glance they looked like rodent droppings. I was extremely relieve to find out they were not. Much better to have Charlotte sneaking food than rodents to deal with.

After I explained to her again the importance of telling the truth I sent her to her room to think about it a bit. Then while sitting on my bed for a minute reflecting on the incident I remembered an incident from my childhood.

In the summers my sister, two cousins and I all stayed with my grandmother during the days while our parents were at work. One day we were upstairs in the Junk Room looking around. We were not supposed to be in there. It was where my grandmother stored all kinds of things and not a room that had anything in it we needed. We came across her stash of chocolate chips. She makes the best chocolate chip cookies! We decided to eat some and ate probably a half a bag and then put them back where we found them. Some time later - in my mind it was a month or more but I honestly have no idea how long it was as I was probably 4-6 when this happened - Granny discovered the open bag of chocolate chips. She asked us if we knew anything about it. Our response, "Huh, it looks like you have mice, Granny!" Surprisingly it ended there and we didn't get in trouble but I'm sure she knew the names of all four of her little mice.

It is funny to see my child following so closely in her mother's footsteps.
Jenn

Swine Flu Musings

While driving I was thinking about Swine Flu. Not in the sense that I was actually concerned about contracting the disease or my family contracting it, but in the sense of the name. Here's how the conversation in my head went.

Why Swine Flu? Why not Pig Flu? What is the difference between a pig and a swine? My grandfather would be very disappointed in me if he knew I didn't know the difference between the two. If he were still alive I'd ask him. But I know how the conversation would go...

Me: Papa, what is the difference between a swine and a pig?

Papa: Why, dummy, (one of my grandfather's favorite terms of endearment - right up there with well, stupid) a pig is blah, blah, blah (read that I have no clue what he would have said) and a swine is blah, blah, blah. Then you have your hog, which is blah, blah blah. And your sow, which is a female pig. The boar is the male pig. And the offspring are piglets.

This whole little interchange with myself made me smile, chuckle and miss my Papa. It also made me remember a similar discussion we had while sitting around the table one Sunday about proper terminology of cows. You've got your calf (baby), heifer (young cow that has not produced offspring), steer (castrated male), bull (non-castrated male, and cow (offspring bearing aged female). I don't remember what a female is called after calf bearing age. Well, it is probably called dinner, but you know what I mean. And I don't remember what a young male is called prior to being classified as a bull or steer.

Oh well, at least some of it stuck. But when I see a field with cattle, I don't say to the children, "oh, look, there are some heifers, steers, bulls, and cows!" I simply say, "look at the cows," and assume they know the cattle aren't all truly females of calf bearing age or that they really don't care.

I miss those wonderful afternoons sitting around the table talking with my grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles and cousins. It is amazing the things I learned and the wonderful family memories I have.

Miss you Papa,
Jenn

PS So I guess this really wasn't about swine full after all. And in case you are wondering a pig is a young swine and a hog is an older, heavier swine - well that is what I found when I googled it anyway...

Chain Foot

I decided I have made you wait long enough. I'll tell the story of chain foot. If you are family or friends you have probably already heard this story as it is one of my favorite growing up on a farm stories. Remember, I was probably four when this happened, so I'm telling it 30 years later (read I don't remember all the details) and from a four year olds perspective.

Chain Foot was our pet chicken for a short while. She lived at my grandparents house. No one intended to have a pet chicken. You see Chain Foot found us. She some how got her foot caught on a chain on a truck (this is where I'm really unclear and don't remember the details so bear with me) coming from another city about 7 miles away. She got rescued at my grandmother's. Me, my sister and two cousins thought the chicken was the coolest thing ever. So we decided we should keep her and that she needed a name. Low and behold Chain Foot seemed to be the perfect name.

Now I'm not sure why my grandparents agreed to keep the chicken. They had raised chickens and had an egg delivery business several years earlier but didn't currently have any chickens. And they weren't the type to indulge their grandchildren. So I can't say why we got to keep her.

Of course we thought she was the best pet ever and she would follow us around like a dog would and I guess let us play with her. I don't know how long we had Chain Foot. I'm guessing a couple of weeks to a month, maybe two months tops.

So my family has a tradition that everyone goes to Granny and Papa's every Sunday for Sunday Lunch. So one Sunday we go to Granny's and she had fixed one of all the kids favorites! Chicken and Dumplings! Yum! We all loved chicken and dumplings. So we all ate with our usual kid gusto and after dessert went outside to play. Unfortunately we couldn't find Chain Foot and wanted to play with her. So we got the bright idea to go ask Granny if she knew where Chain Foot was. Granny's response, "You ate 'em for lunch!"

Yes ladies and gentlemen, Granny killed Chain Foot and cooked her up and served her for lunch! Yes, tears ensued. We were very, very sad. And also quite mad that Granny would kill our beloved pet. Apparently Chain Foot was making a mess in Granny's flower gardens and she got tired of it. So off with the chicken's head!

All of the kids refused to eat chicken and dumplings for so long that Granny quit making them. In fact, I heard that she actually made them last weekend and my sister still wouldn't eat them because they "might be someone she knew!" And to this day I'll only eat chicken and dumplings I make, and I've only ever made them once.

So if you have a pet chicken you better watch out or it may end up being lunch!
Jenn

PS Does it surprise you to learn that I named my daughter after a chicken killer?