The smell of sausage fills the air, and I’m instantly
transported back 20 plus years to my grandparents’ house.
My alarm clock is the smells and sounds of granddad cooking
breakfast. I am stirring awake on the pull out couch in the den, and the creaks
and quick pops of the springs let my granddad know I’m waking up. “Morning.
Your breakfast will get cold if you stay in bed,” he says to me. I hear the
pendulum of the clock ticking and letting me know its 5:30 in the morning. I
make the bed, and put away the pull out. Like I was never there. I smell the
biscuits coming out of the oven and the eggs are popping in the pan in the
sausage grease. I’m sort of awake, but eating away. I hear my brother stirring
in the front room; he stayed in bed; more for me.
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| L: My uncle, grandmomma, granddad, and my dad 1960s. R: My granddad's WW2 service photo |
Like clockwork, my granddad would be up, dressed and making
breakfast before 6, starting his day. He always kept a schedule. After he had
his breakfast, he would be off to work (he had his own shop as a mechanic). He
would be back for lunch, then go back to work then be back for dinner.
I remember the times we visited when I was younger, the days
when my granddad didn’t have to go into the shop, he would be outside in the
yard. He would either be tending to his garden, make sure the lawn was kept up
and that the wood pile was in order. Had to have that woodpile in order and
filled. The fist cold snap, there would be a fire roaring. It would feel like
the middle of summer in the dead of winter.
My granddad had a major work ethic that lives on in the ones
he has left behind. My dad has this strong work ethic that he also instilled in
me.
My granddad had a love of food, and taught himself how to
cook many things. He actually took over the cooking of meals from my grandmomma
since he loved it so much. My grandmomma would still be in the kitchen helping
cook and making her yellow cake with chocolate icing.
In the summer, I remember sitting on the floor in their den
with different baskets filled with green beans, butter beans and tomatoes that
were from the garden. A very distinct smell filled the room, almost like a
mixture of damp cool summer night mixed with a little dirt.
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| My little garden last spring; Grandparents made me love gardening |
I remember helping snapping the ends off the green beans and
putting them into a new basket for them to be rinsed off before they were put
away (either put in a pot to cook for that nights dinner or to be canned).
Most of my memories that involve my grandparents take place
around food. It is my way to remember them and, in my own way, keep their
memory alive for me. I can’t eat a bowl of spaghetti without comparing it to my
grandmomma Earnest. I can’t eat cantaloupe without thinking of the times I
would share lots of cantaloupe pieces with my granddaddy Earnest. They were my
mom’s parents.
I can recall watching my mom and grandmomma (my mom’s mom),
doing their kitchen dance when preparing meals for the holidays. I always
watched from the other side of the counter, so not to be in the way. I was
always in awe, and wanted to be where the action was.
Now, I like green beans, but I love the green beans my
granddad Little would cook (my dad asked and mastered my granddad’s green beans).
The smell of sausage cooking always reminds me of him as well. A yellow cake
with chocolate icing reminds me of my grandmomma Little. She always has a cake
for after dinner.
It is hard when the time comes to have to say your goodbye’s
to loved ones.
I said till next time to my maternal grandparents years ago.
But just recently I had to say that again to my granddad Little. It wasn’t
totally unexpected, but still sad.
I have a passion for food. I believe its because it is what
connects me to my family and passed loved ones. Whenever my family is getting
together, we are gathered around the table or in the kitchen talking and
goofing off. Laughter and food is always involved.
To me, food has stories and memories tied to them. Every
time I’m in the kitchen, I feel connected to my family’s past. It is a way for
me to celebrate them daily.
Happy Eating!
Happy Eating!