Enjoying a funnel cake with Grandma at the 2010 Peanut Festival
Grandma grew up in a town known for growing peanuts, affectionately known as Goober Gulch. To get there, we take FM 1760, otherwise known as the Kakawate (cacahuate=peanut) Road. Every October, the local university hosts a Peanut Festival.
We learned this week that our toddler has a peanut allergy. We'll be skipping the Peanut Festival and putting out a Teal Pumpkin this year.
My fiction is based on my Grandma's life, so I've spent hours going through photographs, letters, books, and other artifacts of her life in Roosevelt County. This photo is one of my favorites. On the back, Grandma, or perhaps my great-grandma, wrote "Mr. Maxwell and Son Charles." From the first time I saw it, I imagined what a treasure it would be for Charles's decedents to have this picture and determined to try to get it to them. The problem is, I'm not sure whether Charles had any children. Here is what I know:
The son, Charles, graduated with my Grandma in the class of 1941-42. She was born in 1924. The father in the picture is Charles Colvin Maxwell "Chas." Born December 15, 1886 in Arkansas City, Arkansas, he died December 26, 1923, so he died soon after this photograph was taken. He was married to Euda C. Maxwell who was born December 5, 1885 and died July 1981. They are buried in the Longs Cemetery in Roosevelt County. Charles is listed in a bulletin of the 1993 Rogers School Reunion as "deceased-no details."
That is the extent of what I have. If you have information, get in touch.
As I research my family's story, I'm struck by the rate of infant mortality. I don't believe frequency diminishes grief, then or now.
A Psalm of Resurrection
Glory be to the maker
of all things
who imagines
beating hearts and fluttering
eyes, who knits together sets
of fingers and toes.
The Creator knows the soul
even before his mother
and places him gently in her
womb.
Hallelujah for the one
acquainted with sorrow
who despises death and hears
my cries as I beg
for mercy.
The Friend who wept
now gathers my tears and knows
their number.
Praise to the Almighty
for His return
to wake the sleeping, raise
the dead, and make all things
new.
The Redeemer who knows my brokenness
will heal my ache
and make us
whole again.
Granny, 1919
Mom gave me a recipe for sugar cookies years ago. Her Granny’s cookies, more akin to teacakes, are a point of family pride. Roll out dough that didn’t have to be refrigerated, soft without being doughy, and perfect with a cup of coffee. For years I’ve enjoyed making and sharing them.
My son was getting ready to bake a batch for the fair, but I couldn’t find the recipe card. I called Mom and she started listing ingredients. When she got to sour milk I stopped her; my recipe didn’t call for sour milk. I don’t know whose sugar cookies I’ve been making but they are not Granny’s. They are, however, delicious.
Cream:
1 cup butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
Add:
3 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
Roll out to ¼ inch and cut your favorite shapes. Bake at 400°.
My son used Grandma’s aluminum colander with a wooden pestle to make apple butter for the fair. It’s a tool you don’t see very often in the kitchens of people my age, but your grandma probably has one. They can be used to make everything from jelly to cottage cheese. You can find many apple butter recipes online, but if yours doesn't involve putting cooked apples through a sieve, don’t expect a blue ribbon.
If you’re looking for a "modern" way to use a colander and pestle, you can make your own almond milk using this recipe.