Gitty Up! -----

Excerpts from book

Come! Visit this home of my birth, it is a small simple house built in the early 1900’s. The walk from the sandy driveway to the open yard gate passes the grape vine that grows at the base of the windmill. The beautiful clusters of purple concord grapes hide under the large green silver grape leaves of late summer. I relished eating the grapes right from the vine. Yum! Oh, so sweet to taste! I didn’t care if the grapes left my lips and tongue discolored and purple. The delectable juice from these grapes made yummy jelly and jam. That jelly was so tempting that once in awhile I slipped into the cellar to eat the jelly from a jar with my finger. Mama wondered why some jars were sticky. Did I confess? How I loved the grape jelly on Mama’s fresh baked bread!

To the left of the open yard gate, a hand-operated gasoline pump stood above the underground storage tank. I recall the gasoline delivery truck delivered gasoline when I was around three years old. Those gasoline delivery trucks always had a chain that dragged on the road. The chain attached to the truck frame in the back always puzzled me. One day, when I was older, I asked my brother, Alvin, “Why do those trucks have chains dragging on the ground?”

“Sis that chain grounds any sparks from the truck to prevent an explosion.” he proudly replied. Fact or fiction? I never knew. 

Mama planted small Chinese elm trees within the fence of the dry sandy yard. She said, “I’ll cut both ends out of a gallon can, then bury the tin cylinder half-way in the ground near each tree. The water will seep directly to the roots. Now you fill the cans with water every day.” I dreaded that daily task every summer beginning when I was four or five years old.

The windmill, which pumped our water, stood to the right. The big eight-foot metal wheel, with slightly angled galvanized metal fan-shaped blades, caught the wind, which turned the wheel, and activated gears in the gearbox perched atop the tall wooden tower. This action started the process of drawing the water up from deep in the earth. The big galvanized metal tail turned the wheel to keep it facing the wind, so the slightest breeze activated the wheel and pumped the water.

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I recall seeing small scraps of shucks from the corncobs fall onto this door. I think I was five when I had fun with these shucks. Mama had left me in the house while she went outside to help with the evening chores and milking. The house became dark. I saw those slender shuck shreds lying so close to the open hole in the firebox. I picked up a piece that was three or four inches long and touched it to the hot coals nearby. The shuck just smoldered bright red as I stood before the mirror above the small sink in the corner of the kitchen and swirled my hand around making lighted circles. The shuck did not blaze but just smoldered then died. That was fun—until Mama came into the house after she had finished milking and discovered my entertainment. She scolded me severely, lit the lamp, and said, “I left you inside in the warm but you didn’t appreciate that. From now on, you’ll go outside in the bitter cold with me when I do my chores.” And I did.

*  *  *

I recall one Christmas; Mama had made some candy before Christmas. It was stored in a tin canister on top of the china cabinet. I do not recall why our rat terrier farm dog was in the house as this was most unusual. Mama went outside to work. I wanted some of that candy and quickly took some from the tin canister. Just as I was retuning the canister to the top of the cabinet, I heard Mama coming. I had not had time to eat the candy, so I quickly hid that “stolen” candy in the bottom of the china cabinet. When Mama came into the kitchen, the dog pointed with his nose to the bottom of the china cabinet. Fortunately, Mama never understood his “pointing.” Candy was the Christmas treat. Gifts were not given or exchanged.

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Horseradish was a popular seasoning. In fall, we dug the horseradish roots. I helped prepare the roots for my brothers when I was old enough. Oh, how my eyes burned and tears rolled with each stroke of the scrub brush across those roots. More tears flowed as I ground the roots using the hand-operated food grinder. The hot burning taste of that horseradish, in my opinion was horrible, but my brothers loved it! Probably just to tease me.

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