Farm treasures

If you recall my farm series (May 2011), you may remember reading about my Grandma's garden, her preserves and canned goods, and her sauce spoon (Taste a little of the summer).

I mentioned I would love to have a sauce spoon like hers. It was unique to Grandma's era and you just don't see them used anymore.  Grandma would empty a jar of home-canned peaches (or plums or pears), stored in her fruit cellar, into a glass bowl and serve them with this silver sauce spoon.

A sad occasion, the recent sudden and unexpected death of my Uncle Marvin, brought me back to the farm in White Lake, South Dakota.

Uncle Marvin, a bachelor, bought the farm from my grandparents when they retired and moved into town in the early 1960s. But what was unique is that the farmhouse remained furnished with all of Grandma and Grandpa's furniture, dishes, silverware, utensils, pictures, wall-hangings, doilies, decorative items and linens. My uncle replaced very little and moved nothing from its designated place. So a visit we made there through the years was like a trip back in time. 

All that was missing was Grandma and Grandpa.

After Uncle Marvin's funeral, I stayed for several days to help sort through things, do a little cleaning, and be part of setting a plan in motion for what was left. His Will set forth legal direction for disposal of assets, but not all the furnishings in the house, barns and out-buildings.

These are not just furnishings. They are our treasures from the past. Dividing them among two surviving sisters, a sister-in-law, and nineteen nieces and nephews is a daunting challenge. Though not a materialistic family, these treasures represent the love we feel for our grandparents and we would each like a memento or two, irregardless of its value to anyone else.

Like the sauce spoon, for instance.

When I mentioned this to my aunts, and told them how a simple sauce spoon linked me to my grandmother, the memory creating a warm place in my heart, they presented it to me, saying, "From Grandma with love." 

It was found way in the back of an all-purpose utensil drawer with potato mashers, assorted knives, ice cream scoops, meat forks, and pastry cutters all heaped on top of it.  It was dirty, dusty, and black. I am certain, without a single doubt, that my Grandma was the last to use it.

After several attempts with Hagerty silver polish, I decided to seek out a professional silversmith to try to restore it to its former lustre.

So as I stood there creating a scene with my profuse gratitude and tears, my cousin's husband went to the fruit cellar in the basement and produced one of Grandma's fruit jars to complete this wonderful gift. The jar had a zinc cover on it and some very old dirt inside. Although I even treasured the very old dirt, it did get washed.

All of Grandma's canning jars are still in place in the fruit cellar. I liked this one over the old blue Ball jars because of its waffle pattern on the outside.

I am so happy to have these two treasures. They are all I need. My Grandma  resides in my heart, but I will use my jar and sauce spoon to honor her memory.

Thank you, Grandma.

Taste a little of the summer

Some years back, Greg Brown wrote and recorded a wonderful, folksy song called, Taste A Little of the Summer.  I really love the lyrics, which go partially like this: 

When I go see Grandma, I gain a lot of weight,
With her dear hands, she gives me plate after plate.

She got magic in her, you know what I mean,

She puts the sun and the rain in with the beans.

She cans the pickles, sweet and dill,

And the songs of the whippoorwill,

And the morning dew and the evening moon,

I really got to go and see her soon.

Cuz the canned foods I buy at the store,
Ain't got the summer in 'em anymore.
You bet Grandma, as sure as you're born,
I'll take some more potatoes and a thunderstorm.

Peaches on the shelf, potatoes in the bin,
Supper's ready, everybody come on in,
Taste a little of the summer.
Grandma put it all in jars.

Grandma had a large vegetable garden on the farm. Though she likely never heard the phrase organic gardening, she used only manure to make her soil rich and fertile.

I'd go out to the garden with her to pick green beans for dinner, listening to the plink-plunk sound of them as they hit the bottom of the aluminum kettle, and then quieting as the kettle was filled to the brim. We'd carry the beans into the kitchen, after cleaning our muddy shoes on the boot scraper kept by the back door.

From Grandma's garden, I learned that potatoes grew under soft mounds in the ground and you had to dig them up. In the city, Mom just bought them at the store.

Grandma preserved all her own fruit, vegetables and pickles in Mason jars. They were stored in the fruit cellar (they said cellar; we said basement), all lined up in an orderly fashion, like treasures, on wooden shelves. Cases of pop were kept in the fruit cellar as well, so you could always open a cool bottle.

She'd open up a jar of peaches at mealtime, put them in a large bowl, and serve them with a “sauce spoon.” A sauce spoon was larger than a tablespoon and more rounded. I would love to have a sauce spoon like Grandma had.

Her dishes were Fiesta ware. Now they’ve made a comeback and you can buy reproductions quite cheaply. Grandma had the economics of this beat, however, as hers were free. Premiums in boxes of detergent.

Grandma made a chicken dinner for fifteen look effortless. Here is her recipe.



The recipe looks pretty simple, I know. 

But, first, Grandma had to find the chicken running in the yard (I think they knew what was coming), catch it, use her little axe to wack off its head, and then before she could prepare it for baking, pluck its feathers and clean it. Until then, the poor hen just ran around in circles with no head.

Grandma made her own bread, kept in a blue speckled canner on the kitchen counter. She made raised doughnuts, and the best homemade butter you can even imagine. Remembering the creamy saltiness of it makes my mouth water.

For the dog, Butchy, she made Johnie-cake out of cornmeal. Cut in large squares, covered with leftover gravy, if there was any, she'd bring it outside where Butchy would be salivating from the aroma coming from the kitchen. The oven was heated by burning corncobs.

I only saw my Grandma cry once.

Uncle Marvin had enlisted in the Marine Corp. and went off to his tour of duty. We were there one summer when he was home on leave. But the time had come for him to return to Camp Pendleton. As he left the farm and drove down the long dusty driveway, Grandma stood by the road watching him go, wiping her tears with her apron.

~ A mother’s love. ~

And she stood again by the road as our summer vacation came to an end and it was time for us to leave the farm. We watched from the back car window and could see her waving until we were down the road, around the corner and well out of sight.

~ A grandmother's love. ~



My grandparents,
Charles and
Christina Steffen

When I look back on those summer days visiting Grandma and Grandpa on the farm, I realize just how rich those experiences were. We couldn't know then the valuable lessons we were learning.

My dear grandparents were the most loving people I've ever known.  Full of faith, character, integrity and conviction.

.... And at night, when the house was very quiet, Grandma could be heard softly reading the day’s devotion from Portals of Prayer to Grandpa before they turned out the light and retired for the night.