She's only popped in about twice in our lives. Well, maybe 3 times; but only twice bringing her upbringing with her.
Like me, she was the mother of all boys.
Like me, she was raised on a farm.
The one time she didn't bring her upbringing she brought her suitcase and enough food for 2 days for the whole family!
There was sliced ham, thick slices of Colby cheese, tubs of potato salad, tubs of macaroni salad, and bacon and eggs for breakfast just to name some of the fullness of those paper grocery bags we helped haul into the house.
We ate well. She always ate well. And this time we were all eating well together.
You must know my mother-in-law was in her 80's, single, and had been feeling sorry for the neighbor man and feeding him breakfast. Evidently, in his dotage, he'd become a pest knocking at her door at any hour wanting her company and a cup of coffee. She'd come to our house to get away from him for a few days. She specifically chose where she'd sleep. Right there on the couch facing the front door! One night was enough, though. The comings and goings and noises of this house were not her cup of tea. She'd been self-sufficient since she was 16 moving up here from Kentucky to work in a grocery store by day, and baby sit the owners' kids by night. Living alone was okay with her.
One of those times Granny popped in was to help us snap green beans. We couldn't believe what we were seeing. (You gotta know, she doesn't really pop; she totters with a cane, and does that old folk deliberate shuffle. It's okay, she keeps her balance just fine.)
This was on a Sunday afternoon, when she came carrying a box of zippered baggies, and plans made just for us. She began telling the 6 of us what to do as if we'd never ever snapped fresh garden green beans before in our lives!
We got a lot done sitting there in a circle in the sunshine and just laughing about silly anecdotes and making sure snipped tips didn't get mixed in with bite-size pieces of bean. Admittedly, it was fun: a memory maker.
Another time Granny popped in was to help us kill chickens. Yep. You read that right.
Granny had brought her upbringing with her by telling, and showing us how to preserve poultry meat in a freezer. We'd raised the chickens since Easter and probably let them get a little long in the tooth, uh, beak; the meat was tough and needed pressure cooked to be edible. Just like Sally, the pig. Butchering? Never again!
She showed us how to pluck pin feathers after the dead chickens were dunked in a outside vat full of boiling water. What a woman!
Not me. "Set me free," like the cry of the 60's.
I went inside to the kitchen convinced a fresh kill wasn't part of Helen Reddy's song, "I can do anything, I am woman!"
Wonder when, where, and what we'll be doing the next time John's mother, Granny to us, pops in.
I was snapping green beans the other day, and had some memories pop up that were similar to yours. :)
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