Throwback Thursday: Tattletale?

Girl on right—“They did it! They did it! I saw them do it!”

That's my caption. What's yours? Leave it in the comments below.

Memory Monday: Cornbread and Our Family

CORNBREAD AND OUR FAMILY

There were a number of things I learned to cook when I was very young. One of them was cornbread.  Mother had special pans for the cornbread. They were cast iron with indentions that looked like ears of corn. My mother taught me to put them in a very hot oven to heat while I made the cornbread batter by scratch from a recipe she had in her green cookbook. By the time it was ready the pans would be ready, too. I would carefully open the oven door and pull out the rack where the pans sat. I’d spoon in some melted bacon drippings, followed by the cornbread batter, then shove the rack back in and close the oven door. All of this had to done rather quickly so the oven didn’t lose too much heat. Twenty minutes later, I’d take out the best cornbread ever. We then would chunk up a couple of sticks apiece and put them in a glass and pour in milk (that my mother had milked from her cows that morning). It was crunchy and creamy and sweet—that’s because I liked “sweet” cornbread. I remember my dad saying occasionally that the cornbread seemed rather sweet—I didn’t tell him I was the one that made it that day and I always added a little more sugar than the recipe called for.

Today I only make cornbread from a mix and usually in an old metal 9”x13” and then only once every two or three years when we have turkey and dressing. But I still have my mother’s corn stick pans in the drawer below my oven. My daughter has already asked if she can “inherit” them. One last tidbit, I recently found a cast iron mini-corn stick pan. I bought it so when my granddaughter gets old enough to teach her how to make corn bread—from scratch—she will have her own special pan. The picture at the top of the post was taken yesterday--my mother's corn stick pan and the one waiting for my granddaughter.

Throwback Thursday: Couple and a Line

Man—"Now, Dear, this is the latest in clothes line. See, there’s already clothes pins attached."

There's my caption for this picture, but what's yours? Leave it in the comments below.

Memory Monday: Chickens in My Family through the Generations

My mother in the 1930s

CHICKENS IN MY FAMILY THROUGH THE GENERATIONS

I, for one, don’t raise chicken—either for eggs or meat. Now, there is a practical reason for this. It’s not that I’m opposed to eating meat or eggs. On the contrary, I love fried chicken, especially the kind that comes from fast food places and has no bones, and even more so if it has a nice crunchy crust. No, I don’t raise chickens because I don’t want to mess with them. I know first-hand about raising them. My mother had chicken for many years. In fact when I was a baby, she was raising chickens. She raise a large number of them. Then, each week she, along with another woman, would kill and dress quite a number to sell while I lay in on a pallet under the swamp cooler inside the house. All the time I was in grade school, we lived on a farm and Mother had chickens—which we often consumed.
My maternal grandmother also raised chickens. I remember my mother telling me how one time, during the Depression, Grandma raised chicken, hoping to get them to full size in order to get a good price for them. But times got tight, and they had to go ahead and use them for their own meals even though they were still “scrawny.”
Recently I came across an item in a book titled Facts for Farmers, published in 1865, about raising chickens and I’d like to share it:
Shoeing Hens.—"We observe a recent notice, in some paper, of the practice of making woolen shoes (or rather boots), to prevent hens from scratching. A flock of fifty fowls, like our own, would require considerable labor in the manufacture of a hundred woolen boots, which might be worn through- in a short time and need renewing. It is much better, we think, to procure a breed that will not scratch.
When I read the item above I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the thought of great-great, or something, grandmothers fitting little wooden boots onto their chickens. Wondered if they would have to color-code the boots to tell the right from the left? I finally decided that the wooden shoe thing must not have panned out since I never saw or heard anyone talking about it."
As I said at the beginning, just let me go to the drive-thru at Popeye’s, KFC, or Cain’s and get my chicken. Then the only clean-up I’ll have to do is the dirty napkins and the disposable dishes.

Throwback Thursday: Couple with a Toddler

Lady—"Slippery little one, isn’t he?"

That's my caption. What's yours? Leave it in the comments below.

Memory Monday: Grandmothers, Mothers, and Daughters

Four generations of the women in my family

GRANDMOTHERS, MOTHERS, AND DAUGHTERS

In the picture above, there are two grandmothers, three mothers, and a daughter (there’s also a son, but right now, I’m dealing with the female side of my family). I have been blessed to have a wonderful mother and grandmother. From both of them, I have learned many valuable life lessons—about being a daughter, a wife, and now a grandmother.

That’s right. I’m now a grandmother! My daughter and her husband have their little two-year-old in their home. Oh, how I wish my mother and grandmother were still here and we could have a five generation picture. But that is not to be—just like I can’t do or undo all the things I did or didn’t do as a mother. I can just go from here and do the best I can. I can help my daughter when I can just like my mother helped me, babysit my sweet little one, teach her things that I wish I’d had the knowledge or maturity to do when my children were growing up. It’s nothing major, just hundreds of little things that I’ve come to realize that I had not done with my children or didn’t do as well as I could have. (I’ve already collected lots of thing to help me with this, Wee Sing CDs—my children always listened to the cassettes , children’s books on American History—she’s never too young to learn about the USA, and the School House Rocks CD—my children watched the original shows).

I think grandmotherhood is a blessed time of helping the next generation (whether it’s my daughter’s generation or my granddaughter’s) with things I wish I had done many years ago. I hope that I use the lessons I learned from my mother, especially letting my granddaughter know how much she is loved and how valuable she is to us and to God.

I’m sure there’s a lot more things I could say about this wonderful place I’m finding myself, but I’ll finish with—I LOVE being Grandmommy (the name my granddaughter has given me and I love it!!!!).

Throwback Thursday: Two Women in a Side Hug

Woman on right—"Let me show you what to do when someone tries to take your purse."

There's my caption. What's yours? Leave it in the comments below.

Memory Monday: How Far Was a Mile in the 1860s?

My Great-Grandfather in the Civil War

HOW FAR WAS A MILE IN THE CIVIL WAR?

Until recently, I always that a mile was a set distance. And then I found an interesting item in a book, The Ready Advisor and Family Guide  from 1866—the year after the American Civil War ended. Now before you look at the information below, think about the people living in America leading up to the Civil War. They were from lots of different countries. I just didn’t realize that measurements were different in many of those countries. Just think— if a scout (or whatever they were called) reported that the enemy was five miles ahead, but he was from Sweden, and he was reporting to someone who had recently emigrated from Scotland, and that man sent word to someone whose family had come from England years before. Where would the enemy be?

To better understand what I am saying, look at the chart below. It is from the book I mentioned above.

MILE.—The following exhibit of the number of yards contained in a mile in different countries, will often prove a matter of useful reference to readers:

A mile in England or America,   1760 yards.

Russia,                                  1100    "

Italy,                                                1476      "

Scotland and Ireland,              2200     "

Poland,                                  4400    "

Spain,                                                5028      "

Germany,                                         5066      "

Sweden and Denmark,              7228     "

Hungary,                                 8800    "

Now you have a better idea what I was trying to describe. Oh, the confusion that could cause. Hmm, I wonder if it is the same today, or if a mile is the same distance in all the countries. No wait—a mile is a mile in America, all the rest use kilometers, don’t they?