Memories of Our Mother: Clara Pearl Astle Carling by Eva Carling Johnston

More Options   Print/Save More Documents View Pedigree

PREVIOUS   1  2   3   4   5   6   NEXT

We were all taught to work at an early age because there was always work to be done on the farm. Every summer we raised a patch of pole beans to sell to the cannery. We picked beans all day with perhaps two or three hours off during the heat of the day; then we'd go back to the field and pick until we were finished. We all moaned and groaned about how awful it was. Every year the folks said, "If we get a good crop this year, maybe we won't have to raise any beans next year." Apparently the crop was never good enough or it was so good they couldn't give it up, because we always had more the next year.

Our food mainly came from the garden, the cows and chickens, and we always had plenty of what we had. Nothing was wasted. We were taught to eat three good meals a day and not expect snacks between meals. It was okay to eat turnips, peas, tomatoes, etc. from the garden or to have an apple, but we all knew we were not to take cookies or other goodies without our mother’s permission.

Mom made all of her own bread, even up until a week or two before she died. "Boughten" bread was a rarity at our house, reserved only for a family reunion or some other special occasion. When we were all still at home and the boys were husky teenagers with healthy appetites, she made six loaves of bread several days a week. It was a special treat when some of the bread dough appeared as hot, fat biscuits on the supper table.

We all share fond memories of the tasty vegetable soup or chili Mom usually made on Saturday, the big pancakes with homemade chokecherry syrup on Sunday morning, and the rice pudding she often made for Tuesday supper. (I remember the pudding being on Tuesday because rice pudding is very filling, and I often went to Tuesday MIA feeling very full).

Canning season was a busy time for us all as fruits and vegetables went from the garden to the bottles by the hundreds. We all had our turn helping to snip beans, shell peas, or peel peaches, pears, or apples. Even with our help, it seemed that Mom did most of the work, and she kept everything moving as she poked coal into the old black stove to keep it hot. Even on the hottest summer days with perspiration running down her face, she kept at it until the work was done. By the end of a busy canning day every available space in the kitchen was filled with full bottles set there to cool before we all helped to carry them to the basement shelves.

- Living in the Kitchen -

We could almost say we grew up in the kitchen because that's where everything happened. With its high ceiling, figured wallpaper, and its six doors leading to other parts of the house, it was the only room that was kept heated in the winter. That's where we ate, had family prayer, had Saturday night baths (with a sheet draped across the clothesline for privacy), did our homework, etc. That's where it felt so good to lean on the bar in front of the stove and warm one's backside on a cold winter night. One of my fond memories is of Monday nights in the kitchen sitting and helping darn stockings as I listened to the Lux Radio Theater or My Friend Irma on the radio.

Our mother was nearly always in the kitchen when we got home from school, and she was always busy. She was never one to sit idle. On Monday afternoons, we'd come home and find the wet clothes draped across the kitchen on a makeshift clothesline, a pile of clothes to be folded on the table, and the windows all steamed up. On Tuesdays, we'd find Mom at the ironing board. She always did the whole batch of ironing at one time and didn't stop until it was done. She always washed on Monday and ironed on Tuesday unless something came up to change her schedule. She took pride in getting her first batch of washing outside on the line early in the morning and liked to race with her neighbor, Margaret Nielsen, to see who could get it out first. She also took pride in keeping her dish towels nice and white, and we were taught that we didn't use them on dark or greasy pans.

Another of the memories of our childhood was taking our turn to help churn the butter with the big, square glass churn. When it was done, Mom would pour off the buttermilk and make the butter into round molds with the wooden paddle.

During our years at Providence Elementary School, we all walked home for lunch, which usually was bread and milk and maybe a dish of fruit and a cookie. We used to envy the kids who had hot lunch at school, partly because of the food they got and partly because they had more time to play after lunch.

It meant a lot to us to always have our mother home when we came home from school. On a few occasions, she wasn't there; we'd become indignant and ask, "Well, where is she?" We had to be reminded that she did have the right to leave home once in a while without our permission.

Mom always wore a dress around the house topped with an apron that she used for any number of things such as gathering eggs, picking beans, wiping her hands or kids' noses, lifting hot food off the stove, etc. When she had to answer the door or leave to run an errand, off came the apron and there was the dress still clean.

PREVIOUS   1  2   3   4   5   6   NEXT