The Family Farm…..

It’s funny how certain memories come to the forefront. In having breakfast with my dear friend this morning, a conversation worked its way around to dealing with string beans. That led to recalling summers at home of shelling beans and peas for fresh produce and of course putting up many quarts in the freezer. On a larger scale though than the garden Daddy always had were the weeks we kids spent on our paternal grandparents’ farm in Arkansas. I think it was a two-week stretch each year, but could have been longer. As I believe I’ve mentioned in a previous post, none of the four boys wanted the family farm and so Papaw leased out most of his land after they all left home. He maintained a couple of pastures for the cows and a large garden. There was the pig pen, the chicken coop, and smokehouse as well. He even had his own small forge for doing basic repairs and the horse he used for the garden and driving the handful of grazing cows out in the morning and back in the afternoon to the appropriate pasture. The two or three dairy cows required twice a day milking as they do. Papaw took care of all the livestock except the chickens which were Mamaw’s domain. When we were old enough to be entrusted, we would gather eggs for her. So, they had fresh milk, fresh cream, and she made their own butter. The garden, once Papaw plowed and planted it, was also her domain in addition to all the household chores and cooking. There was always work to be done and for the most part, we kids enjoyed helping out during our short visits.

A lot of canning still took place since the farm had been established well before individual families had freezers. And items like pickles and preserves were better suited to canning anyway. What a process that was with sterilizing the jars, etc., in the summer in Arkansas with no air conditioning. (Not that anyone had A.C. in those days).  I have to agree with my sister in believing Mamaw made some of the best pickles in the world. I don’t know if she used a recipe or if she did, if it was passed down. I know neither of us have it. Those are too often the things you don’t think about until it’s too late.

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