"Grandma, I'm so hungry!" The savory warmth coming from the chicken stewing atop the old coal stove was more than this little one could take. Great-Grandma Sadie turned with hands stuffed in the front pockets of her cotton house dress contemplating my mother. She smiled and surprised her beloved granddaughter with a thick slice of home baked bread spread with sweet butter; topped with strawberry jam.Picture this peanut of a girl seated too high for her feet to touch the ground and her torso barely tall enough for her chin to clear the heavy wood table. Her eyes widened and arms raised high towards her Grandma to accept her treat. She tipped her head up to allow the delicious fruit topping to drip down to her tongue then smear across her wide mouth as she stretched the bread and took a big bite. Uncle Dick meandered in, ruffled her hair lecturing "Eat the crust Patty. It'll put curl in your hair." "Uncle Dick! I already have curly hair!"
Grandpa Jim and Sadie's daughter, Grandma Helen lived on a farm. Every summer we would set up tables outside and invite family over for a huge picnic. The cousins would barrel towards the spacious front yard and team up for a rowdy game of softball. Even though my sisters and I were barely, if at all, in our teens, no one was excluded from the pick. I never saw balls hit so far or fly so high as I remember in those days.
Grandpa Jim had a bell he would clang to call us back to the house. At its beaconing, victorious or not, we would all run sweaty, hot and laughing up the hill ravenous for some grub! Grandma Helen served some of the absolute best shredded barbecue beef sandwiches stirred hot straight out of the oven. A delicious mainstay complimenting plates piled high with succulent pot luck choices of potato salads, devilled eggs, baked beans, Jello salads and lots of pies and cakes.
The pot that stewed the chicken and made memorable sandwiches landed third generation to my mother 40 years ago. To this day Patty remains a fearless and marvelous cook! When we were growing up, more often than not, Great-Grandma Sadie's old dutch oven held center stage at our family's Sunday dinner table. The lid with crusted sauce or jus along its edge, held in the heat of our main course while bread was warmed and drinks were poured and set at the table. The six of us would anxiously await the ceremonial lifting of the lid to inhale the evening's meal of pork and scalloped potatoes, roast with carrots, onion and potatoes, venison, squirrel or rabbit. We would then dig in and do what was cherished the most; share in each other’s lives.
