The mile walk from school seemed a lot shorter than the mile walk to school early in the morning. There were things to see along the road that were not seen by morning light. Could it have been the rush to beat the final toll of school bell that made things invisible? At any rate the walk home was leisurely. Did I say home? I had no home. My parents had moved away and left me with Grandma so that I could walk that mile until I finished third grade.

I was intrigued the day I got home to find Grandma in the back yard tending a large cast iron vat boiling over a small wood fire. She was making soap. The scraps of fat and bacon rinds she had been saving were in the vat with water to which she had added a can or two of lye. She tested the mixture with a feather. If the feather came out eaten away more cooking was needed or perhaps more far. Once the feather came out whole the soap was about done. The fire could be doused and the vat left to cool. The brownish yellow soap floated on top of a liquid and could be lifted off to be cut into bars when cool.

Another time she was making apple butter in a huge brass kettle over a wood fire. She gave me the job of stirring with the wooden paddle provided with a long handle so that I could stir while standing away from the fire.

Normally there was no special activity in the yard to interest me. Grandma might have been sewing pieces of cloth together for a quilt or preparing vegetables for cooking or one of any of a number of things. My uncles soon came home and I could watch while they chopped wood for the kitchen stove or for the fireplace. Sometimes I helped round up the cows for milking. I was pretty much on my own until suppertime, but before supper my aunt Tump came home from school and urged me to do my homework. She taught in the elementary schools somewhere nearby, but not in my school. She helped me with my homework sometimes, especially spelling. She was single and had no children of her own so she liked to mother me a bit. Once in a while I misbehaved and she said, ”If you were a kid of mine I’d warm up your behind,” but she never did. Not so with Grandma, she knew exactly where she could find a switch of just the right size.

“It sure smells good in here, Grandma,” I said as I stuck my head in the kitchen.

“It’s the cornbread. It’s about done. If you eat a good supper I’ve got some apple cobbler for your dessert,” she said. “Don’t go far away, supper’s just about ready.

Not long after that the “Supper’s ready,“ call brought the whole family to the dining table. Granddaddy sat at one end of the table and Grandma at the other. Bowls of steaming food sat ready for eating. Whoever was close picked up a bowl, helped himself to a portion and passed it on. Creamy mashed potatoes with gravy, greens of some kind, pickled green beans and of course cornbread and butter, and plenty of buttermilk provided enough food for everyone. We could look forward to fried chicken on Sunday.

“I like your pickles beans, Grandma. How do you make ‘em?” I said.

“Oh, about the same way I make sauerkraut. Put ‘em in a big crock and let ‘m ferment,” she said. I had a second helping, and by the way, the apple cobbler was great. I left the table satisfied knowing that if I were hungry at bedtime Grandma would give me a glass of buttermilk poured over crumbled cornbread.

The meal over and the dishes washed (sometimes I wiped) we saved the dishwater and cooking and table scraps for the pigs and abandoned the kitchen. After the pigs were fed and the chores were done for the day my uncles walked to the village for their nightly confab with their cronies. The rest of us assembles in the main part of the house or on the front porch.. 

The main room had beds in three corners and plenty of space in front of a large fireplace to sit and talk or read. Light for reading was nothing to brag about. A kerosene lamp on each side of the mantle provided the light. Grandma frequently read her “Pathfinder” magazine. Granddaddy would rather talk.

“Looks like I’m going to have to cut the price of my buttermilk and eggs. People are complainin’ that they can’t afford to pay as much as usual. I already cut my prices for a couple of women,” said Granddaddy, “They sounded so pathetic.”

“I hear rumors that the teachers may get a pay cut next year,” said Tump.

“At least we’ll be able to put food on the table,” said Grandma.

“Oh,” said Granddaddy, “Is Jake Dove still courtin’ Sary? I know he built that fishpond for her. He seems to have plenty of money.”

“Yeah,” said Tump, “I think he comes to see her about every Saturday night, but I don’t think anything will ever come of it.”

“Sary”, so called by most everyone was Sarah Wells, a first cousin to Momma. The fishpond was fed by a fine, cool spring and dammed by a masonry wall. It was a beautiful piece of work and I suppose the pond was stocked with fish. Sary had a huge early transparent apple tree in her side yard. The tree was so tall that it was hard to get an apple to eat. They were all out of reach and the ones that fell were smashed to pulp when they hit the ground. She had a cow and Momma sent me to fetch milk before they moved away.

My uncles got back from town after a while. “Any news from town?” somebody asked.

“Not much,” said Uncle Kyle. “Joe Wampler from Crackers Neck was laid off from his job, but he didn’t have any seniority.”

“Dang depression! Shit!” said Granddaddy. So it went. It was hard to be optimistic in those days. He stayed silent for a while and continued with, ”Fix my bed Tave.”

Everyone heard Granddaddy’s signal. I think I noticed stretching and yawning around the room. It was well to keep peace in the family and everyone soon began to get ready for bed. The last one to bed blew out the lamps and said, ”Good night.” So passed a typical evening at Grandma’s.