I Remember... Canning beans with Mommy I remember being about 4 years old, sitting on the kitchen table watching my mother can green beans. It was just my mother and me in the kitchen, all alone. It was my job to put the half teaspoon of salt in the beans after she had filled the quart jars. While we were working alongside each other, my mother sang to me. I don’t really remember the songs. It could have been old gospel songs or old-timey ballads she had long ago learned from her mother. Mommy could have been singing a Marty Robbins or Johnny Horton song; she loved those singers. I just remember that to my little 4-year-old ears, she sounded like an angel singing something glorious. Many, many years later, as she aged, I became her caregiver. One memory I have is of me filling up mason jars with beans while she sat at the table, putting the half teaspoon of salt in them. Our roles had somewhat changed. But one thing didn’t change. I can still hear her older, but still beautiful voice filling the kitchen with songs of the past. Reta Winebarger, Lansing, Blue Ridge Electric ens. Grandma raised beautiful vegetable gard huge bean a with is trell a of t fron She is standing in vine on it.
Enjoying every minute As a child I loved to visit my Grandma in her house on the top of a hill overlooking New River. We would visit her every Sunday, and I remember how hard it was climbing up that steep hill. My Grandma did things her own way no matter what anyone else thought. I am sure her neighbors believed she was a lonely person, but I knew better. She was a conservationist in every sense of the word. She caught rainwater in a barrel so it wouldn’t go to waste. She knew how to save apples over the winter to eat long after the season was gone. She never wasted anything she raised. She would pickle corn on the cob and keep it in the cellar in a crock jar. I loved her pickled corn and always hoped she would offer me an ear. My grandmother put her butter and milk in the spring to keep it cool. When she wanted a fish for a meal, she would take her canoe out in the river or fish from the bank. She would always think of something for me to do when we visited her. Sometimes she would let me look at reels through the View-Master. The reels showed places all over the U.S. where her son, F.L., had built dams. I never tired of seeing those reels as a child. Her knitting was always in sight. She worked on it at night and made beautiful bedspreads with needles she had whittled herself. Some would say that my grandmother didn’t have it easy, but I know better. She enjoyed every minute of her life. Mary Bare, Jefferson, Blue Ridge Electric 22 JANUARY 2012 Carolina Country
I can still hear her beautiful voice filling the kitchen with songs.
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Memories
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