The grandma's both worried about me and mostly it was needless. Life was pretty mundane there in Plevna. Get up and eat breakfast. Now you need to know it was pretty well ready the night before. The egg poacher held 3 eggs. The water was put in the poacher and the poacher was placed over the pilot light. The eggs were in a bowl on the table. The coffee pot was a drip o later and it was filled with water and the coffee grounds put in the basket. Our plates were on the table with 1/2 of an orange on each one. The jelly was in the middle of the table. The table was covered with a cloth. While we slept the waters were staying warm over the pilot lights. The next morning the poacher and the coffee pot were both pulled forward and the burners turned on. The eggs were broken and placed in the 3 places for them to poach.
Now I can not remember just how that damn coffee pot worked, but it seems like the water somehow was vaccumed up into the upper chamber and then the burner was turned off and it slowly dripped through the grounds. Bear in mind that all happened 60 years ago, so I am not real sure that my memory is completely accurate on this little detail. I do know the toaster was set on the burner and the burner was real low and toasted the bread just right as long as you did not try to dash out to the outhouse while it was toasting. The whole breakfast was on the table in short order. We always prayed over our food. Always! Both grandmothers told me in no uncertain words that if I did not pray I would most likely choke to death! I was not going to test that theory since I had what I hoped was a brilliant future ahead of me. And here I am!
After breakfast was finished I was allowed to put all the dirty dishes in a pan under the sink to wash later. They did not want me to be late for school because the principal would administer punishment in the form or a whipping with a rubber hose. I never tested that theory either. You may not believe this, but I was pretty much a model child and it was all because I did not want to be beat. I was secure in the knowledge that when I dashed home for lunch great grandmother would have a sandwich ready for me. That plate also went under the sink. Now for the evening meal, I do not recall at all what we had. I am sure we ate something, but I do not know what it was. So after supper, I pulled the pan out and started washing the dishes. Then I dried them and put them away and after I laid out the breakfast for the next morning I was free to do whatever I wanted to do. Bear in mind there was no such thing as television. The radio was for the market futures and I was not allowed to read anything but the Bible. I could crochet, but I was still learning the basic chain stitch.
Now one chore I had which I did on Saturday morning was trash. We did not generate much trash back in those days. There was a trash thingy over by the door going into the front room. That was emptied by grandmother into a wooden crate like barrel right outside the kitchen door on the enclosed back porch. This particular Saturday, I picked it up and headed for the burning barrel which was located a safe distance from the outhouse. I spotted the outhouse and decided I needed to use that facility at that moment. So I set the barrel down, availed myself of the comforts and then started to pick up the container and finish my job. I recoiled in terror because there was a mouse that had crawled up through the trash and was perched on top! In my world a spider is the scariest creature on earth, but a mouse is a very close second.
What to do?! My mind was in a quandary. If I picked up the barrel the mouse might jump on me. If I screamed, grandma would no doubt jump on me. She was very old and I surely did not want to get her too excited. I knew if I could just get the barrel to the burning barrel and tip it over the mouse would fall into the barrel and I would light the trash and my problems would be solved. So I got a stick and threatened the mouse. He was defiant! I whacked the side of the barrel and he fell into the trash out of sight. I grabbed the barrel and made it a few feet closer to the burning barrel, but the mouse reared his head out of the trash. I immediately dropped the barrel and it fell over. Horror of all horrors, the damn mouse was now free to eat me or whatever he had planned. I screamed in terror and grandma appeared on the porch. That woman surveyed the scene, saw the mouse, stepped forward and whacked it with her cane. My savior. She turned and went back into the house leaving me to gather everything up and put it in the burning barrel. The incident was never mentioned again. That is how the pioneer women did it. I like to think I am just a fraction of the woman my great grandmother Helen Gagnbein Miller Hatfield was.
I am still afraid of mice and I have a cat that brings them in and turns them loose. I hate that damn cat, but she is the only friend I have now days. I would like to say that since the dogs are no longer here that she has taken mercy on me and has not brought a mouse in for quite some time, but as sure as I say that she will know and go get me one.
I lay in bed at night and think about my grandma's. If I could go back in time I would do things differently. I would listen. I would listen and I would remember. And I would teach my kids about the stock we come from. The chickens, the molasses great great grandpa made and the way my great great grandmother Gagnebein nursed the sick, delivered the babies and then came home and whipped out a lemon chiffon cake without even reading a recipe.
I would if I only could.
Now I can not remember just how that damn coffee pot worked, but it seems like the water somehow was vaccumed up into the upper chamber and then the burner was turned off and it slowly dripped through the grounds. Bear in mind that all happened 60 years ago, so I am not real sure that my memory is completely accurate on this little detail. I do know the toaster was set on the burner and the burner was real low and toasted the bread just right as long as you did not try to dash out to the outhouse while it was toasting. The whole breakfast was on the table in short order. We always prayed over our food. Always! Both grandmothers told me in no uncertain words that if I did not pray I would most likely choke to death! I was not going to test that theory since I had what I hoped was a brilliant future ahead of me. And here I am!
After breakfast was finished I was allowed to put all the dirty dishes in a pan under the sink to wash later. They did not want me to be late for school because the principal would administer punishment in the form or a whipping with a rubber hose. I never tested that theory either. You may not believe this, but I was pretty much a model child and it was all because I did not want to be beat. I was secure in the knowledge that when I dashed home for lunch great grandmother would have a sandwich ready for me. That plate also went under the sink. Now for the evening meal, I do not recall at all what we had. I am sure we ate something, but I do not know what it was. So after supper, I pulled the pan out and started washing the dishes. Then I dried them and put them away and after I laid out the breakfast for the next morning I was free to do whatever I wanted to do. Bear in mind there was no such thing as television. The radio was for the market futures and I was not allowed to read anything but the Bible. I could crochet, but I was still learning the basic chain stitch.
Now one chore I had which I did on Saturday morning was trash. We did not generate much trash back in those days. There was a trash thingy over by the door going into the front room. That was emptied by grandmother into a wooden crate like barrel right outside the kitchen door on the enclosed back porch. This particular Saturday, I picked it up and headed for the burning barrel which was located a safe distance from the outhouse. I spotted the outhouse and decided I needed to use that facility at that moment. So I set the barrel down, availed myself of the comforts and then started to pick up the container and finish my job. I recoiled in terror because there was a mouse that had crawled up through the trash and was perched on top! In my world a spider is the scariest creature on earth, but a mouse is a very close second.
What to do?! My mind was in a quandary. If I picked up the barrel the mouse might jump on me. If I screamed, grandma would no doubt jump on me. She was very old and I surely did not want to get her too excited. I knew if I could just get the barrel to the burning barrel and tip it over the mouse would fall into the barrel and I would light the trash and my problems would be solved. So I got a stick and threatened the mouse. He was defiant! I whacked the side of the barrel and he fell into the trash out of sight. I grabbed the barrel and made it a few feet closer to the burning barrel, but the mouse reared his head out of the trash. I immediately dropped the barrel and it fell over. Horror of all horrors, the damn mouse was now free to eat me or whatever he had planned. I screamed in terror and grandma appeared on the porch. That woman surveyed the scene, saw the mouse, stepped forward and whacked it with her cane. My savior. She turned and went back into the house leaving me to gather everything up and put it in the burning barrel. The incident was never mentioned again. That is how the pioneer women did it. I like to think I am just a fraction of the woman my great grandmother Helen Gagnbein Miller Hatfield was.
I am still afraid of mice and I have a cat that brings them in and turns them loose. I hate that damn cat, but she is the only friend I have now days. I would like to say that since the dogs are no longer here that she has taken mercy on me and has not brought a mouse in for quite some time, but as sure as I say that she will know and go get me one.
I lay in bed at night and think about my grandma's. If I could go back in time I would do things differently. I would listen. I would listen and I would remember. And I would teach my kids about the stock we come from. The chickens, the molasses great great grandpa made and the way my great great grandmother Gagnebein nursed the sick, delivered the babies and then came home and whipped out a lemon chiffon cake without even reading a recipe.
I would if I only could.
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