A series of essays....
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THE COOKIE JAR PASSES THROUGH TIME AND GENERATIONS... |
....as seen through my eyes!
By: Jacqueline E Hughes
There she sits, in all her glory. The apple-shaped outline keeps teasing my thoughts. Each little crack and crevice oozing memories of a time and place so far away and long ago that they pull me back into my Grandma’s kitchen on the farm. Once again, I’m a small child seeking approval from the adults and trying so hard to fit in with my siblings and cousins that share with me the joys and freedom that farm life provides.
Even after riding on the tractor fender, holding on for dear life, while Grandpa navigated the furrowed fields, we wanted more and more of everything the farm had to offer. We were never disappointed. I remember how the chickens maddeningly clucked while we collected their precious offerings. Some eggs were cooked and eaten for breakfast. The majority of them, after being flame-checked, were placed in cartons to be taken to the local farmer’s market to sell.
The eggs that made it into the farmhouse kitchen on Grandma’s baking days were the ones that most interested us. Grandma was a consummate baker and the magic she weaved within the old coal-fired cook stove and oven, the coiled handles of the metal grates begging to be lifted to expose the heat source below, was woven around us kids like cotton candy on paper sticks at the county fair.
As rich and crisp as a Poilane biscuit in France, my Grandma’s buttery apple tarts, cream puffs, eclairs, cakes, buttermilk biscuits, and breads could rival any pastry chef’s delights found in Paris, today!
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AN EXAMPLE OF GRANDMA’S FARM STOVE/OVEN |
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GRANDMA IS ON THE LEFT SIDE, THIRD PERSON BACK. YOURS TRULY IS SEATED IN THE FOREFRONT, RIGHT SIDE. GRANDMA’S COAL-FIRED COOK STOVE AND OVEN CAN BE SEEN IN THE BACK LEFT OF THE PHOTO. |
Photo courtesy of Linda McCombs Williams
Her kitchen was gigantic and spanned the entire depth of the farmhouse and was, probably, fourteen feet wide. It was the heart of the house and Grandma kept it beating in a steady rhythm while feeding family in numbers anywhere from the two of them to twenty-two on Christmas Day. The long, wooden table running down the middle of the room served as her prep bench when we weren’t sitting down at it and enjoying one of her meals.
For us kids, it was the happiest room in the house! After working hard with Grandpa in the old barn, or having enjoyed a long romp in the apple orchard, we would migrate to the warmth of the kitchen where we knew ‘The Cookie Jar’ would be filled with treats meant for wild and playful grandchildren. Again, we were never disappointed.
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CHECK-OUT ‘THE COOKIE JAR’ IN THE BACKGROUND |
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BREAK OUT THE ROYAL ICING |
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ALL OF MY LITTLE HELPERS WORKING TOGETHER LIKE A FINE OILED MACHINE |
Grandma, a smear of flour highlighting her cheek, would make sure we washed our hands. Then came the joyous sound of ceramic gliding over ceramic as the apple-stemmed lid gently slid away exposing sweet goodies she’d recently extracted from the oven. We had no clue if today meant sugar, peanut butter, chocolate chip, molasses, or oatmeal—but our small hands eagerly reached inside the belly of the apple to find out. Large glasses of milk suddenly appeared on the table to dunk with and create frothy white mustaches on our upper lips after guzzling down the cold, refreshing beverage.
It always amazed me how Grandma could soothe the pain of scraped elbows and knees by merely opening that lid to our exploring hands. The simple presence of that blushing, ceramic vessel championed sudden impulses and often we were caught, literally, with a hand in the cookie jar.
Now that we’ve moved back up to Michigan and close to our own grandchildren, standard traditions dictate Christmas cookie bake-offs and hours spent in my own kitchen. Last Saturday my daughter, grands, and I pulled-off a baking marathon with the scent of ginger, cloves, and cinnamon wafting throughout the house. There she sits, in all of her glory. Dusted with wayward flour and sporting more hairline cracks than ever before, ‘The Cookie Jar’ watches over us. Her splendid apple form and stemmed lid reminding me that what goes around comes around.
I inherited from my Grandparents the one and only item that means so many things to me. As it pleasantly evokes my own childhood memories of long, playful times on the farm, running between the tall corn stalks with my cousin, Vicki, and picking wild raspberries along the one-lane entrance path, I am grateful for the opportunity of showcasing it in my own kitchen. What pure joy to be filling it up with sweet, baked treats with our grandchildren!
Even though I’m not one hundred percent sure that Grandma was turning a blind eye (ear) to our sneak attacks into cookie heaven, I do know that when I hear the faint rubbing sounds of a ceramic lid sliding out of position, life is good and is how it was always meant to be. It is so satisfying to think that ‘The Cookie Jar’ continues to create new memories for the little ones that mean so much to us.
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CHRISTMAS MUSIC FOR THE SOUL |
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2021 to everyone!
Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline E Hughes
All rights reserved
