Recalling a Ride To Grandma's House

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hv Mrs. Hrrbrrl Francis < ampbcll SOl’TH DENNIS There really was a slreic'h of woodsthrough which the horse and wagon took ys to grandm/ither's house Between Tuckahoe*and South Den nls, iwhere she lived), there are nice forest/i'even today The nde-was lovely, with pink azaleas, and white ones, and swaihp magnolias on both sides of the.sugar-sand road Her house was on the first corner of what is now Houle 47. coming from Dennisville The greatest delight, though. Was getting within sight of her place' The clean White washed picket fence, with the gale ajar for us was hef subtle welcome - Wi used the back door. I ‘can’t remember ever going through the frail >nc Summer or Winter it was closed The hack door went into the •summer kitchen ' oh the south side and was enclosed with lath latticework In warm wepther (iranny” cooked but there and there was a MTubtied smooth pine table where we ate those wonderful dried "limers" topped with her own thick, pasteurized cream I'm sure she didn’t know the risk of un dulatit fever, hut she heated all the milk anyway THE.-WOODKN HAM) pump was in there, fno. and the rope kept her home made butter in a little tin kettle, dangling down the cool v well That .was her only 'refrigeration We grandchildren land there was a hatch of us. from her eight kids) loved pulling the butter up at mealtime * The door fr.om the summer kitchen led into "the house" that's what-the main room was called How well I remember its bright* rag carpet, spotless, and the big iron kitchen range on which^qme Winter, (iranny made six giant flapjacks at a time These; loo, we smothered in cream There was a big square parlor table c overed wrth a blue and white homespun c loth and this table you might call the focal (Miint of the room]There was always a dish of peanuts arid apples on it. and her Bible Near Christmas oranges appeared.- and I’ve eaten rtfriyges in many states and for many years, hut none has ever been as sweet as those were

There was a long, hand-carved settee in there, just inside the door and it had a cretbnne-coveredfeather bed on it. Her cat used tp j'ump up there and stretch out her paw and mash down on the door’s thumb latch to let herself out. We kids thought that the grandest feat in the whole world. THKKK WKRE TWO nice big rockers and lots of arrow-backed straight chairs; there had to be a lot to seat all the youngsters-21 of us. and sometimes for. holidays we all showed up the same day Meals were wonderful: chicken potpie, fresh asparagus, gooseberries.. and rhubarb that-made t^e best pie this side of Heaven Before we pulled up our Chairs to cat we hail to get down on our knees beside them while Grandfather said the blessing. We didn't think much of that We though he was long winded. Granny would take care of that She was a.born psychologist. She’d see us peeking between our fingers and hear soft giggles and she'd wink at Us and smile, telling us that her knees. too ; were tired of boring into the carpet, but we’d put up with it together till the Amen. Of course the stairs wound and it was fun running up and down them. They led to three bedrooms—the. first one BIG (about 8x11.1 guess ) There was a double bed in it adorned by. a handsome patchwork quilt she'd made, a Sheraton dresser, and a picture in garish colors of a lady clinging to a boulder and under Her it said. "Simply to THY cross f cling." The other two bedrooms werp rcaly . tirty-just foom for three-quarter beds and one small chair each My brother and I seemed to Ik* tfie only ones who slept over. He had the big room and I slept with Granny I never felt cramped—just cozy, and her soft, home made feather bed engulfed me. The door yard was as much loved as the house There was a little separate building iq which to do the washing; not too handy, since all the water had to be lugged from the summer kitchen But it was a dear, clean little place and fine for concealing Outselves when playing Hide-and-Seek Sometimes we'd climb into her Pearmain Apple tree Those were the very best

(Photo by Doris Ward) THANQITI.ITY PREVAILS In this scene on the way to grandmother's house. 6 SEPTEMBER I. 1982

apples! Pink and red they were, and so juicy they swam your teeth! (A few years ago I wrote to Rutgers to inquire if they knew whpre I could buy one of those trees. They replied that no, they didn’t know of such 8n apple, but they were sure there were better ones now: Obviously, saa to say, they'd neyer had a Pearmain apple. I'm still searching for a souce.), ALONG THE LITTLE ditch that carried the excess pump water-way, Horse radish flourished. Grannyfg.'ould let us dig it, wash and grate it airowenjoy it on our fried potatoes It was firej^but we choked and loved it Grandfather was a farmer. Each Spring he plowed the kitchen garden for grandmother, who loved doinjj all the fest of it*: the planting, hoeing, weeding and harvesting. That garden was on the north side of their little home and had beautiful radishes, cabbages, lettuce, beets, corn, beans, onions—in fact all the vegetables except broccoli and brussels sprouts, but who missed them? We'd never seed them then. The front edge of the garden was bordered with gooseberries and rhubarb. We were permitted to eat the ripe, pink globes and shining scarlet stalks. What child could ask for more? But there WAS more! There were purple Concord grapes that arched on their arbor over the path to the “outside bathroorh," also scrubbed clean. In its door really was a quarter-moon cut through. One of Gran-

ny's boys had carved a wooden sign and nailed it over that door. It read: "Office open at all hours." I'd give a pretty penny to have that sign now. I'm not sure I’d display it, 1 wouldn’t know where, but just having it would be great. ^ What becomes of things we’ve loved long since? In the back yard there was on Ox heart cherry tree, and by climbing on Grandfather's hay wagon we could reach the fruit. They were accessible also from'hjs haystack, hut he didn't take kindly to our romping on that. There is a magic method that only good farmers employ whereby the hay.is stacked so that no rain can seep down through it. Building a proper haystack or bricking an open well are, I fear, becoming lost arts. I mentioned Granny’s white-washed picket fence. It had to have a new coat every Spring, and Granny would let us apply it. How proud we felt when the job was finished. And when her pure white Jonquils bloomed nearby for Mother’s day (they never failed!) we st6od silent and enraptured. Oh, if I had owned a camera then! A close-up of the Jonquils and the newlybrushed fence, a picture of that majestic Pearmain tree and a step-back shot of the house itself—dll priceless and, alas, gone forever. I thank our Heavenly Father for precious memories.

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