Crocks and Jugs

Crocks and Jugs

The “Old House”, as it was called, was scheduled for demolition on Friday provided that all the crocks and jugs were out by then.
I cringed when I thought about our fate. Grandma Sophia had used the big pottery crocks to make sauerkraut for many years, but she no longer wanted to put forth the time and effort. It was just too much work to cut and mash the cabbage, prepare the brine, weight the cabbage down with a plate and a big rock from the creek bed. Another pain was spending time skimming the surface of the crock every day.
“Those days are over,” Grandma Sophia said emphatically.
Along with the crocks, there were many different sizes of jugs used for cider and apple cider vinegar. Some of the jugs still had the corks in them.
I listened as I heard Grandma Sophia talking with her oldest daughter, Hilda. “I don’t want to keep a one of them,” Grandma said with finality. “I’ve worked hard enough in my lifetime. They are going to be smashed and thrown into the creek.”
“Why not save a few of them,” Hilda pleaded. “Some of them are still useful,” she said picking up a cream colored jar and setting it down away from the others. “And, I think I’ll save this big crock. It would be good for serving potato salad at the family reunion,” commented Hilda.
“Oh, good,” I thought to myself. Here comes my friend, and we may escape the proverbial “wrecking ball.”
My friend and I chatted quietly as we waited for the sound of crocks and jugs needlessly breaking.
“Too bad,” I thought. “I was surprised that Grandma Sophia had made this decision. She was the frugal person who always said, “Waste not; want not.”
I heard the old creaking wheelbarrow roll up just outside the door of the “Old House.” The jugs in Grandma Sophia’s arms began to drop on the brick sidewalk. Hilda brought another armload out of the building.
“Smash, smash,” the sound of heavy crockery filled the air time after time. We were still safe, for Hilda had brought us out of the building and set us down under the shade of the old apple tree. In a few minutes she had brought out a few more one-of-a kind crocks and jugs just to remember the nostalgia of an earlier time. By the look on Grandma Sophia’s face, I could tell she was not happy about Hilda’s attempt to save some of us.
I thought, “Maybe someone in the family can take us home and tell a story about the sauerkraut making days to the grandchildren.” I knew the history although I couldn’t believe it when Grandma Sophia washed the kids’ feet and let them actually stomp the cabbage down. I still cringe when I think of it.
My friend, “Jug Ears,” as we called him said, “I can’t believe all the worms that went right into the cider press either.”
Actually it was kinda’ fun reminiscing about those days gone by even if all of the broken crocks and jugs in the loaded wheelbarrow were on their way down to the creek.
“Don’t think of coming near us,” I said aloud holding my breath. “We’ve got to survive this day and especially be out of here by Friday when the wrecking crew arrives. Boards will be flying all over the place.”
“Don’t you know it,” Jug Ears commented. “Can you call Hilda over here for a minute?”
“Over here! Over here!” I said. “Can you come over here for a minute?” Apparently she was too absorbed in smashing the crocks and jugs on the brick sidewalk to hear me.
“Shout a little louder, Crock Man,” insisted Jug Ears.
Finally, I caught her eye. She stopped after smashing the last crock and walked over to us. I was a little leery of her intentions, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to harm us. She had promised.
“Oh boy,” I said when she picked Jug Ears up and started to walk away. I almost panicked, but she started to walk towards her car instead and opened the trunk. I hoped she would come back for the rest of us. I wouldn’t rest until I knew that all of us were safe. Finally we were all safe and sound in the car, but she didn’t close the trunk lid. “Did she forget something?” I asked Jug Ears.
“Hey, Crock Man, here she comes now,” Jug Ears shouted. Walking out of the “Old House” carrying another armload of treasures, she walked toward the car. She had rescued a few more of us from the terrible fate of ending up in Duncan Run Creek.
“Whew!” I said to the others. “That was a close call. I will never get to see the “Old House” come down on Friday,” I said. “I will be miles away by then, but I hope we will all find a place of usefulness wherever we end up.”
“What purpose would you like to have in your new 21st century life, Crock Man?” asked Jug Ears. “You know we have been stored in the “Old House” for the past fifty years,” Jug Ears said. “Are we too out of touch to be able to fit in after all those years?”
I thought for a few minutes about that question. I jokingly said, “We may have to sign up for job training. Wonder if there are any government programs for crocks and jugs?”