Out of the Frying Pan

Lunchtime Vittles

Once back inside the house, we had a few more chores to do, such as putting another log on the fireplace, feeding the potbelly stove a few more lumps of coal, and washing up the dishes from the morning.

Then started the preparations for lunch.

We set the table while grandpa set a big pot of water on the stove to boil and got out the roasting ears. Oh, that’s right, some folks refer to roasting ears as “corn on the cob.” My brothers and I shucked and washed twelve ears of corn, enough so that each of us could have three. What we didn’t eat at lunchtime, we’d save for supper. For lunch, along with the corn (and other vegetables from my grandfather’s garden), we were going to have sandwiches made with the leftover ham from breakfast.

When the corn was ready for the pot, Grandpa would put a little sugar in the water “to sweeten the cob,” as he put it, and fresh homemade butter was put in a pan to melt for dipping the corn in. Right before the meal, the buttery ears were placed on a rack with aluminum foil under them to catch the drippings.

Dang, now my gut’s a-growling.

When everything was ready, we took our places at the table. Grandpa said grace and we commenced to doing some serious eating. There were a few rules to eating at Grandpa’s house. Don’t put your elbows on the table. Always ask to pass a plate or bowl. Never reach over another person’s plate. And last, but not least, eat as much as you want, but eat whatever you put on your plate.

For dessert, my grandpa surprised us with blackberry cobbler that he’d picked up from Dot’s, a cozy diner across the way in Russell. Dot made some of the best homemade pie and cobblers in the region. Served with a scoop of ice cream, Dot’s blackberry cobbler was surely a slice of heaven.

Man, this growling’s getting bad. Even the cat’s looking at me funny.

After all was said and done (and a few belt notches looser), Grandpa laughed and said to me, “Boy, you got a hollow leg.” I smiled back. Yep, I can put away the food.

“That was sure good eats, Grandpa.”

My brothers chimed in, “Sure was, Grandpa.”

“Well,” Grandpa stood and stretched, “I need to go and fetch some meat from the smokehouse.” He looked down at me. “Ya wanna go with me?”

“Yes, sir!” I jumped up from my seat and ran over to retrieve my jacket and hat where they were hanging on hooks by the back door. As I pulled my jacket on, I glanced over at my brothers, and as expected, they were giving me the evil eye. I could tell they would have whopped me a good one if they could.

“You boys,” Grandpa said to Lenny and Lanny, “clean up and make sure you separate what the pigs can eat. Oh, and save the ham bones for Bowl.” I kept my back to them so they couldn’t see that I was about to bust a gut. I knew that as soon as Grandpa and I would step out that door, my brothers would start saying stuff like, “He’s always getting out of work ‘cause he’s younger,” and “Grandpa likes him more,” and stuff like that. I knew the real reason Grandpa gave them work to do was because, as Grandpa said it, “Idle hands is the devil’s work,” and guaranteed, if those two boys’ hands were idle, the devil would be working overtime.

I followed Grandpa into the parlor and watched as he got an empty coal bucket, placed it on the floor in front of the potbelly stove, and opened the stove door. He reached in with a small coal shovel and started pulling out bright hot pieces of coal and put them into the bucket. When it was almost full, he slammed the oven door shut, grabbed the bucket by the handle, and led the way out through the kitchen and out the back door.

I was excited to be going to the smokehouse with my grandpa. The building itself had always fascinated me.