Love Was Her Main Ingredient
Grandma and I were in her vegetable garden busily picking green beans when she suddenly broke into merry laughter.
"What is it?" I asked curious that she should laugh so while we were gathering beans.
"Many times when I pick green beans, I am reminded of the time your mother tried cooking her first batch ofthese beans."
"How old was she?" I interrupted.
"Just about your age. She had been standing on a stool since she was nine to make biscuits, so she figured she was just about ready to tackle cooking the vegetables as well. I told you earlier my health was bad back then so my three girls had to do their part to keep the family going. Anyway, Ethel picked enough beans to feed an army. She snapped them according to how she had observed me doing, but she forgot one important detail. She forgot that the beans had to be "strung" before they could be snapped. As a result, even though the beans had a wonderful flavor, everyone ended up with stringy beans as they tried to eat them. Ethel was so embarrassed over her error, that she vowed the next beans she cooked would be perfect - and they were. Sometimes, I believe that that frustrating experience made Ethel learn to cook well at an early age; and she learned to love to cook. Charlie was a lucky man to marry a young lady who was already an experienced cook."
"Grandma, Irene keeps talking of what a marvelous cook our mother is. I try to think back to remember any particularly outstanding meals she cooked for us through the years. Fried chicken with milk gravy, green beans, usually bought fresh and snapped lovingly by Mama - and mashed potatoes. Those come to mind as one of the fabulous meals Mama can concoct for our family, even in the leanest financial years.
'Also, the country fried steak she hammers with a meat mallet to tenderize the meat so that it is just the right tenderness she requires to set before us. That also she serves with that same delicious graly lavishly over the top of the crispy fried pieces of "hammered" steak that has been carefully rolled in flour with salt and pepper. It is a good thing that no one worries about cholesterol count, as we all would have a real problem, but we just sit there at her table and eat until we can eat no more."
"One thing about your mother being such a good cook - she instills in your whole family, as she had in ours before she married, a love for eating good food, well prepared." Kathryn Bush
Years later, when I thought of all the lovingly prepared meals our mother used to set before us, I realized that her ability to go into her pantry, even in bad times when there was little to choose from, she had managed to nourishingly feed us, and she was always careful to make us realize how fortunate we were to have food during this Great Depression that affects our lives so excruciatingly for these years when our whole country is struggling to survive.
None of us children will ever forget these Great Depression years when we lived in Gainesville, Georgia, on Main Street. I particularly mention the name of our street because it is located about half-way between the railroad depot and downtown. Hobos getting off the freight train cars usually pass in desperate search of, many times, their first and only meal of the day. We figure that they marked our house as a home that would always share at least some food. Invariably, when they do stop and ask for a handout, our mother, with her fine Christian spirit, goes into our kitchen and seeks any leftovers that she can find. Many times, only a baked sweet potato was still warm in the stove; and she usually also puts in one or two of her homemade biscuits. Not a fancy meal, but it drives away the hunger; and they leave with her encouraging smile to remember as they walk on up the street.
Many of the hobos greedily finish the food my mother hands to them before they walked back down our long driveway; but the food reminds them that they are far from home, and many times, they head back toward the freight cars, we figure, to catch a freight car closer to their home. The Depression will not last foreveq and many ofthem want to get back closer to their homes when the hard times finally come to an end.
Suddenly Grandma spoke to me, and I became acutely aware that I had been in a silent reverie considering my family's plight during the Depression.
Grandma said gently, "Try not to take the weight of the world on your shoulders, Katie. This Depression cannot last forever. Just last week, Grandpa was telling me that President Roosevelt has put together several programs that should help tremendously toward getting people back to work."
"Do you really think so, Grandma? It has been so hard on everyone. It is wonderful to think that it will soon be over."
"Grandpa has thought of a plan that will help in our small way to get many of the men back to their hometowns so that their lives can get back to normal," Grandma said.
"Will he tell me about his plan tonight when he comes home?" I asked eagerly.
"He wants to talk to us after supper," Grandma added.