BACK TO GRANDMA AND GRANPA'S HOUSE THROUGH MEMORIES

This picture was taken years after my Grandparents passed on. It is so sad to see it this way.

I remember the long trips to my grandparent’s place with fond memories.  We had memorized all the sign posts we needed to watch for.  As each one passed, our anticipation increased, and we knew our destination would soon come into view. 

“Watch out for the ruts.” mom would say as dad drove down the long gravel road singing out a favourite song. He had traveled that road many times before and could probably have driven it blindfolded.  As we passed a certain clump of trees, we knew our Aunt’s house was next and just across the field was Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

Their house was set a little ways back from the main road and as we turned onto their dirt driveway we could see their house.  As a child it looked so big.   Little bits of green paint still clung to the old weather worn boards.  Poplar trees surrounded their house and lined the yard.  The leaves would rustle in the breeze with a warm welcoming sound.  There was a special kind of quiet there.  No more hum of city life but just the silence of nature.

As we entered the back porch I would check to see if Grandpa had any of his treasures out there. Sometimes there would be the heads of sunflowers lying out to dry and sometimes he would have a batch of his home made chocolate covered puff wheat.  I would anxiously wait to see if he would offer me some and if he didn’t I would hint by saying “Grandpa, what’s that brown stuff you have in the porch?”  He would get the hint and offer me some.  Yummy, I was happy. 

Going through the back porch we entered what seemed to be a small kitchen.  I used to wonder why Grandma had two kitchens.  It wasn’t till I was older that I realized it was a summer kitchen, a place where people cooked when the weather got hot.  That helped to keep the main house cooler.  On the left was a door that opened to a shed where piles of wood were stored for the cook stoves and to keep them warm during the winter months.  Straight ahead was the door to the main house. 

The first room we would enter was the kitchen.  As you stood in the doorway there was a counter and a few cupboards to left hand side.  To the right was their table and chairs with their fridge on the far wall facing in.  Close to the cupboards but directly across was a wood burning cook stove.  Beside that was the doorway to the living room.  There was a small jut out area where the door to the root cellar was.  In front of that was their water pump and along that same jut out was the narrow landing to the stairway.

Their living room was long with two small bedrooms off to the left hand side.  A sofa, chair, small table with plants on it, a wood stove, piano and piano stool were the only furnishings in that room.  The bedrooms were very small.  The one my grandparents slept in only had room for a double bed up against the wall and a small dresser.  The other bedroom had a moveable closet and an old couch. 

The kitchen was where most of the visiting took place.  Sometimes the men would go to the living room but if the weather was nice they would be outside checking out one of my grandpa’s latest inventions.  Meanwhile grandma would busy herself getting food ready as you could never leave their place without having a meal first.  While mom and she talked in Low German I would try to help with what I could.

Lifting the heavy cast iron plates, I would stoke the fire or put another piece of wood in to burn.  If Grandma needed anything from the root cellar I would quickly volunteer as I loved the musty smell and the spooky feelings I got down there. 

The old water pump in the kitchen was my favourite. A plastic pail sat under the spout with a metal pot they called a dipper, hung on its edge.  I enjoyed pumping and filling that pail and then rewarding myself with generous sips from the water dipper.  It would taste so cool and had a unique taste that I thoroughly enjoyed.

Doing dishes at home for our family was a chore but at Grandma’s house it was an adventure.  Potato skins, vegetable cuttings, coffee grounds or leftover food were put into a slop pail to feed the pigs (when they had some) or to go into a compost heap.   After heating the water on the cook stove, we would add it to the cold water where the dishes were soaking.  Sometimes a little milk was added to help break up any grease but oftentimes I would use her Lye soap.  I liked swishing the soap in the water or rubbing the dish rag on it to wash the dishes.  A quick dunk in the steaming rinse pan and then onto the drying rack they went.  As I would dry each dish I was careful not to drop any.  Grandma didn’t have a lot of dishes and none of them matched each other.  They were heavy and old but useful dishes with a character of their own.

After everything was cleaned up I would venture out and about to do some exploring.  My favourite place was their second floor.  The narrow stairway led to a small open room which they used for storage.  To the east was a brightly lit bedroom with a small bed and dresser in it.  There wasn’t much of interest in it and there was no room for the imaginations of a young girl.  To the west was another small room.  The sun wasn’t shining in on this side of the house and the light that was there cast eerie shadows around the room. A few boxes were stacked in one corner and an old roll top desk stood alone on one wall.  This room gave way to imaginings of all kinds.  I would sit on the old swivel chair and spin around.  I would roll it across the floor to hear the squeaking of the wheels.  Then I would pull in closer to the desk and lift the old roll top.  I would let my imagination run wild as I inspected the treasures beneath.  As I picked up each new treasure I would think “Who owned these old glasses and why aren’t they using them anymore?  Humm, I wonder what this is?  Wow, look at this old book.  I wonder how old it is?”  I was lost in my own world of make believe and adventure.  Sudden my mother would break the spell and call up the stairs.  “Get down from there and go play outside.”  Reluctantly I would leave, hoping to get back there real soon.       

Outside I would check what the men had been busy doing or I’d venture into one of the old dilapidated buildings on their property to see what kinds of secrets were hidden there. Usually I only found old pieces of wood or rusty machine parts but still, I loved the adventure of it all.

The day would seem to go by so quickly and then it was time to so home. Sometimes I would be lucky enough to spend a week there.  Those were fun times, except when I had to use the dreaded “Outhouse”.  I hated it.  I was a city kid and this was going just too far.  “How did they manage it in winter?” I wonder.   

  

In the early years they had a few animals which I don’t recall.  I do remember that after they would milk the cows I would love watching them separate the milk in those old separators. I couldn’t understand how the spinning could separate the heavy cream, regular cream, and milk into different spouts.  I always marvelled at how it all worked. 

There was one time my aunt, that lived near by, let me help make butter.  She gave me a large jar full of cream and told me to keep shaking it as much as I could.  I carried that jar around most of the day shaking and shaking and hoping to see it turn into butter. I don’t remember it working but I do know we had home made bread with home made butter later that day.  Yum.

I loved most of the old Mennonite recipes my grandmother used to cook but there were some things she used to do that would make me wonder.  One time she had a bowl of cream sitting on the table and it was getting all lumpy and looked awful.  Then she cut up green onions and put them on top.  I asked her about it as I thought it should have been thrown out.  She told me she was making sour cream.  I’ve never really liked sour cream.  I wonder why? 

She used to make this pudding she called “Plume ma mouse”.  I was scared to eat it as I thought it might have a mouse in it.  She explained that it was made from raisins and plums.  It was actually really good.  

I can still remember her painting her old wooden floors with little squares of sponge or rags.  She would try to make various patterns on the floor to decorate them a little.  She would weave old rags into throw rugs and put them around to help keep our feet warm.  I’ll never forget the feather pillows and her colourful patch quilts which I would snuggle under as I would drift off to sleep.  Those are special memories I will always cherish. I sure do miss those times. 

People in the ‘olden days’ led a much simpler life.  They didn't have a whole lot but they were happy.  They had each other and talked a lot more.  Imaginations were allowed to run free and explore all kinds of possibilities because they weren't distracted by televisions, radios or the internet.  They used and reused whatever they had.  Many became inventors while trying to make their lives a bit easier.  They learned how to make and do things from scratch.  They ate from the land and were much healthier for it.  There is so much we could learn from the past.

Jer 6:16  Thus saith the LORD, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls. But they said, We will not walk therein.