December Memory

The holidays are over. Back to school. Back to work. Back to normal. For me, no more baking until next December. Oh, sure, I’ll mix up some brownies and put them in the oven, as long as the box doesn’t call for more than two additional ingredients. Neither of my grandmas would have considered that “real” baking. In December, I tackle their traditional recipes--those treasured scraps of paper with handwritten instructions that begin with alien words such as “fold”, “sift”, or “dissolve a packet of yeast”.

Grandma knew the difference between a cup and a scant cup without resorting to tools. Need a tablespoon of baking powder? Get out a spoon—one of those used at the table—and you’re in business. How about a teaspoon? Don’t put so much in the tablespoon. Her directions to kitchen helpers consisted of “stir until it feels right” or “cook until done”. She was an artist who worked primarily in the media of flour, sugar, whole milk, fresh eggs, and butter—which she often churned herself. No doubt her diet was unhealthy by current standards. Unaware of the dangers of cholesterol, she lived into her late nineties.

One morning, after making biscuits and gravy for breakfast, Grandma encountered a rattlesnake in the back yard. Killed it with a crowbar, came inside, washed her hands, and calmly began peeling potatoes for lunch. When the men shied away, she chewed a plug of tobacco to put on my fresh bee sting. She could cut and sew a dress without a pattern, milk a cow, and put together a good meal when the cupboard looked bare. Most of her six children were born at home. Hospitals were for sick people.

I never saw her use a measuring cup. I was never aware of anyone or anything she was afraid of. The old saw, “they don’t make them like that any more” just may apply.

Carlene Havel
Co-author, Daughter of the King
http://goo.gl/5WLKj