I got the chance to go to a little writing group that is hosted by one of the women in my church. The group gathers together every month to share stories about their families for their family history. This month's subject was food so I concentrated on this little memory from my childhood:
Memories Drenched in Bacon Grease
So many of my memories involve food. It seems like good food always is included in good times. But really it isn’t the food so much that is important but the people who gather together both to prepare and partake of the food.
My grandma Alice was an amazing cook. Yet again,I don't remember specifically what always ate, but I do remember her working away in her kitchen. She was always perched on a worn out orange stool. I can still see all the brown scratches on the round seat and down the legs. That stool had seen lots, probably even many of my Dad’s activities as a youngster. Grandma’s glasses were often balancing on the tip of her nose, but I do also remember the shiny gold chain that was attached to both sides by a little plastic ring and how on occasion the glasses would hang round her neck secured by that old gold chain. The kitchen was often a hot, muggy place, which made sense for her to always be wearing a house dress. I remember one in particular that was gray and had pink flowers all over it. Her hair matched that shade of gray and was often slicked back with sweat as she slaved away over the stove.
I can still hear the sizzle of the bacon in the pan and the eggs popping as she fried them. My love of sunnyside up eggs started in that little farmhouse kitchen. Toast would be jump from the toaster and the grandkids’ job would be to slather them in butter. That crisp buttery toast was a perfect pair to the perfectly warmed yolks of those perfectly fried eggs. The special ingredient to any breakfast at Grandma’s house was a little hint of bacon from the grease she would use in the pan. That bacon would sizzle and sizzle, grease popping. Not a drop of the grease would ever be wasted. Grandma kept a large can next to the stove that she would gently pour the leftover grease into. It would harden overnight and then be scooped again onto the egg pan. Yum.
Breakfast was always special while visiting the farm. But really it wasn’t the toast, eggs and bacon but the woman who was behind that great meal that was important. The woman who was a writer, a lover of poetry and nature, the woman who taught me so much and even if the memories have faded just like the smells in that kitchen faded slowly each morning, I hold them dear, faded yet drenched in bacon grease. Grease that keeps on giving just as these memories keep on giving me comfort and smiles for years to come.
Unfortunately, I tried to read the story to the ladies from my phone and it wouldn't load from google docs. I had to improvise and it wasn't nearly as good. It was still fun to gather and share stories. These older ladies sure have seen lots of change in our work, even when it comes to food!!! What a fun little outing.
