I stumbled a bit more and landed on the kitchen floor almost knocking old Al the cook off his feet. I was seven or so and always in a rush.
No, I didn't have a cook, but my Granddad did and we called him Al. His real name was Alfred McClelland and old Al was looking at me with a bit of a frown that quickly faded to a glowing Tennessee smile.
No, I didn't have a cook, but my Granddad did and we called him Al. His real name was Alfred McClelland and old Al was looking at me with a bit of a frown that quickly faded to a glowing Tennessee smile.
Granddad had been as poor as a church mouse when he and Grandma were kids in the 1870's, but he worked very hard and in the America of the late 1800's and early 1900's he had succeeded pretty well.
On this trip to the lake Granddad had left Emma Carpenter and his other maids at his winter house in the city (picture below) but old Al who was in his mid fifties but looked 70, came to the lake every summer back then with Granddad and Grandma. By then Grandma was in her 70’s and Granddad knew it was too hard for her to fire up the two giant wood cook stoves.
Al seemed sober today and I couldn't see any bottles of aftershave or whatever Al had been drinking sticking out of his pocket. That peculiar smell of booze didn't seem to be there this now dawning summer day.
Al seemed sober today and I couldn't see any bottles of aftershave or whatever Al had been drinking sticking out of his pocket. That peculiar smell of booze didn't seem to be there this now dawning summer day.
With the wonderful aromas and gentle yeast like scents of fresh baked bread and today's breakfast in the air I certainly didn't notice Al’s breath, at least this time. Al liked his booze but never drank when Granddad was in town. Granddad spent only a few days a week at the lake and the rest of the time he was in town and his "city place". Working or so I guessed.
I was a kid back then during the War and not supposed to know what booze was and I don't think Grandma ever told Granddad about Al's drinking cause Granddad openly didn’t approve of alcohol except for cuts and as medicine.
Al carefully lifted the burner top on the big kitchen wood cook stove and threw another log into the leaping flames. There were 2 wood stoves, a smaller green and ivory one on the back porch, and this, the much larger black and silver one, in the kitchen. It wasn’t too cold that morning so the porch stove hadn’t been fired up. Even in the summer of 1945 that big old wooden cottage could sometimes get quite chilly.
Al carefully lifted the burner top on the big kitchen wood cook stove and threw another log into the leaping flames. There were 2 wood stoves, a smaller green and ivory one on the back porch, and this, the much larger black and silver one, in the kitchen. It wasn’t too cold that morning so the porch stove hadn’t been fired up. Even in the summer of 1945 that big old wooden cottage could sometimes get quite chilly.
It was summertime and we were living at Granddad's country house overlooking Conneaut Lake in Northwestern Pennsylvania. Granddad had already come back from fishing that morning, cleaned the fish on the old log down by the chicken coop*, changed his clothes, put on a clean but somewhat wrinkled white shirt, and was standing in the dining room gently reading and tapping the dial of his barometer.
A huge black iron skillet was full of today's catch. In the oven and warmer on top of the kitchen stove were soft brown rolls and a loaf of very fresh yeast risen bread.
Al moved the fish to the oven to keep them warm and began frying the ham and bacon, both freshly sliced. Fresh eggs from the hen house in the apple orchard would soon join the covered rolled oats and pancakes already on the dining room table.
"Son", Al said in his southern accent , "cover them rolls and carry them to the table and fetch some more wood and I'll save a special treat for you. And I do mean special. And by the way... fetch me some well water if you could and chip some ice for your Grandfather." Granddad wanted his coffee black with just a touch of cream but very hot, and his water very cold. The two ice boxes were on the back porch and there was no electric refrigerator because the Harley D Carpenter power company provided electricity was off about as much as it was on. Instead the ice man brought ice twice every week.
Al called almost everyone who was a kid, son. Even the younger girl cousins. He called the men, my uncles and other older cousins, Mister and the lady folks Missus even if they weren't married. We got the water from a well near the garage about 150 feet from the house. I had got real sick from that well last year and I hoped Granddad would have a new one dug soon. Granddad had said he would and he always kept his word.
The dining room table was set for only 3 today. Granddad, Grandma and me. Some days it would be set for 12 or more and some days the kids like me had to eat in the kitchen when there were too many adults (or always when we were at Granddad's city house where all children, until they were 10 ate in the kitchen). In the summer at his cottage, which we called the big house, Granddad seemed more relaxed. He bent the rules and we were welcome in the dining room and just about every where else.
Al moved the fish to the oven to keep them warm and began frying the ham and bacon, both freshly sliced. Fresh eggs from the hen house in the apple orchard would soon join the covered rolled oats and pancakes already on the dining room table.
"Son", Al said in his southern accent , "cover them rolls and carry them to the table and fetch some more wood and I'll save a special treat for you. And I do mean special. And by the way... fetch me some well water if you could and chip some ice for your Grandfather." Granddad wanted his coffee black with just a touch of cream but very hot, and his water very cold. The two ice boxes were on the back porch and there was no electric refrigerator because the Harley D Carpenter power company provided electricity was off about as much as it was on. Instead the ice man brought ice twice every week.
Al called almost everyone who was a kid, son. Even the younger girl cousins. He called the men, my uncles and other older cousins, Mister and the lady folks Missus even if they weren't married. We got the water from a well near the garage about 150 feet from the house. I had got real sick from that well last year and I hoped Granddad would have a new one dug soon. Granddad had said he would and he always kept his word.
The dining room table was set for only 3 today. Granddad, Grandma and me. Some days it would be set for 12 or more and some days the kids like me had to eat in the kitchen when there were too many adults (or always when we were at Granddad's city house where all children, until they were 10 ate in the kitchen). In the summer at his cottage, which we called the big house, Granddad seemed more relaxed. He bent the rules and we were welcome in the dining room and just about every where else.
By then Granddad owned about 40 acres of land adjoining his house. Years later when he was much older, folks conned him out of much of the waterfront and even the house we were sitting in. But those days weren't here yet and we enjoyed every moment at the lake.
Picture of Grandma Anderson when she was about 26 in 1899.
Grandma gave me a hug, then sat down. Then Granddad sat down, then me. It was a ritual, no one sat down till Grandma did.
The sun had just come up fully and the light bounced off the lake and then off the mirror and into my eyes. Grandma saw me squinting and said I must need glasses.
There was new flypaper hanging from the chandelier above the table but no bugs were stuck to it. The faint sound of a small outboard motor down on the lake and the much louder sounds of morning doves, and of birds everywhere chirping and singing were familiar and reassuring.
Unlike in the city, there were no air raid sirens out here in the country and Grandma's canaries in the two cages by the dining room windows sang all day long every day.
Back in those days, before the invention of modern bug sprays, there were 100's and even thousands of birds everywhere. I knew cause in years to come I would be the one chasing the crows and blackbirds from our cornfield or the Starlings from the birdhouse Granddad had built for the Purple Martins.
The world was alive and living and I had heard of John James Audubon and viewed the beautiful bird pictures in his books long before I was 5 years old.
There was no TV playing that summer morning cause TV's weren't in use yet and World War II was still on. When we were sitting at the table there were always conversations and many were about the war.
About everything new. And rememberibg cousin Freddie being sent to the Pacific to bomb the Japs and not buzzing the cottage every afternoon in his B17 (which he usually did during Granddad's nap time). There was one talking rule though. If you complained or spoke badly at the table, you had to get up and leave. Grandma said meals were meant by God to be happy times. Unhappy talk was never allowed.
In the evenings, we'd strain to listen above the static to the ancient Philco radio in the sun room. We'd hear the news or Fibber Magee & Molly or maybe put a roll in the player piano which seemed to break a lot. The phonograph was a crank up job and I wasn't allowed to play with it or even crank it up. I think I and my cousins may have cranked it to tight too many times.
Photo: Granddad’s city house as it appeared in 2009, basically unchanged from the way I remember it in the mid 1900’s..
But I never ever saw my cousin Freddie again or felt the house shake when he flew low over it. His plane had crashed somewhere in the Pacific near or over China after a bomb run over Japan the previous winter. Freddie and his enthusiasm and laughter would be gone forever, but living eternally in our memories.
It was early morning now though and there seemed enough food for 10 people. Granddad raised his own chickens, with a chicken coop, house and pen and the fish, fresh from the lake, were as fresh as the eggs. Granddad got up just about every morning at 4:30 or so and went fishing. Once in a great while, if I had been very very good, I would be asked to join him. And that was a very special honor.
If you've never eaten real fresh food, freshly cooked on a wood stove, you've missed something very rich in much more than aroma flavor and taste.
Granddad said grace which he did at every meal, then we all dug in. I don't know how many calories I ate (or for that matter Granddad and Grandma ate) for breakfast in those days but it must have been a huge number for all of us. I was thin though, maybe because I got to earn a little extra money by working outside all morning then playing hard all afternoon. Granddad too was very thin too but Grandma, well, she was more on the slightly plump side.
The cholesterol count would have been so high a modern MD would pass out. But the food was freshly grown or caught, natural, no additives. Zero, ziltch. . We ate real butter, real milk, real cream and real everything. We raised our own potatoes, corn, beans, peas, lettuce, carrots and most everything else from apple's to grapes. We lived a real life. There was no plastic, no oleo, no trans fats, and little or no junk food. Most of the things we eat today hadn't been invented or if they had no one would have chosen to eat them!
Photo: Grandma & Granddad July 1924 age 51 or so.
I miss those days. I miss Granddad and Grandma and old Al and the fineness and wafting scents and sounds of a world long gone but still incredibly alive and vivid in my mind. A world where folks had time to have a real breakfast and time to hug and enjoy their emotions and the great and wonderful gifts of nature.
Picture of Grandma Anderson when she was about 26 in 1899. Grandma gave me a hug, then sat down. Then Granddad sat down, then me. It was a ritual, no one sat down till Grandma did.
The sun had just come up fully and the light bounced off the lake and then off the mirror and into my eyes. Grandma saw me squinting and said I must need glasses.
There was new flypaper hanging from the chandelier above the table but no bugs were stuck to it. The faint sound of a small outboard motor down on the lake and the much louder sounds of morning doves, and of birds everywhere chirping and singing were familiar and reassuring.
Unlike in the city, there were no air raid sirens out here in the country and Grandma's canaries in the two cages by the dining room windows sang all day long every day.
Back in those days, before the invention of modern bug sprays, there were 100's and even thousands of birds everywhere. I knew cause in years to come I would be the one chasing the crows and blackbirds from our cornfield or the Starlings from the birdhouse Granddad had built for the Purple Martins.
The world was alive and living and I had heard of John James Audubon and viewed the beautiful bird pictures in his books long before I was 5 years old.
There was no TV playing that summer morning cause TV's weren't in use yet and World War II was still on. When we were sitting at the table there were always conversations and many were about the war.
About everything new. And rememberibg cousin Freddie being sent to the Pacific to bomb the Japs and not buzzing the cottage every afternoon in his B17 (which he usually did during Granddad's nap time). There was one talking rule though. If you complained or spoke badly at the table, you had to get up and leave. Grandma said meals were meant by God to be happy times. Unhappy talk was never allowed.
In the evenings, we'd strain to listen above the static to the ancient Philco radio in the sun room. We'd hear the news or Fibber Magee & Molly or maybe put a roll in the player piano which seemed to break a lot. The phonograph was a crank up job and I wasn't allowed to play with it or even crank it up. I think I and my cousins may have cranked it to tight too many times.
Photo: Granddad’s city house as it appeared in 2009, basically unchanged from the way I remember it in the mid 1900’s..But I never ever saw my cousin Freddie again or felt the house shake when he flew low over it. His plane had crashed somewhere in the Pacific near or over China after a bomb run over Japan the previous winter. Freddie and his enthusiasm and laughter would be gone forever, but living eternally in our memories.
It was early morning now though and there seemed enough food for 10 people. Granddad raised his own chickens, with a chicken coop, house and pen and the fish, fresh from the lake, were as fresh as the eggs. Granddad got up just about every morning at 4:30 or so and went fishing. Once in a great while, if I had been very very good, I would be asked to join him. And that was a very special honor.
If you've never eaten real fresh food, freshly cooked on a wood stove, you've missed something very rich in much more than aroma flavor and taste.
Granddad said grace which he did at every meal, then we all dug in. I don't know how many calories I ate (or for that matter Granddad and Grandma ate) for breakfast in those days but it must have been a huge number for all of us. I was thin though, maybe because I got to earn a little extra money by working outside all morning then playing hard all afternoon. Granddad too was very thin too but Grandma, well, she was more on the slightly plump side.
The cholesterol count would have been so high a modern MD would pass out. But the food was freshly grown or caught, natural, no additives. Zero, ziltch. . We ate real butter, real milk, real cream and real everything. We raised our own potatoes, corn, beans, peas, lettuce, carrots and most everything else from apple's to grapes. We lived a real life. There was no plastic, no oleo, no trans fats, and little or no junk food. Most of the things we eat today hadn't been invented or if they had no one would have chosen to eat them!
Photo: Grandma & Granddad July 1924 age 51 or so.
I miss those days. I miss Granddad and Grandma and old Al and the fineness and wafting scents and sounds of a world long gone but still incredibly alive and vivid in my mind. A world where folks had time to have a real breakfast and time to hug and enjoy their emotions and the great and wonderful gifts of nature.
Where the smells and sounds of cooking filled the house with hunger and anticipation and old Al's recipes meant food fit for the Gods. And believe or not, there were lots of kids who were blessed with down to earth Grandparents like mine.
In my mind I have thousands and thousands of hidden memories waiting to be rediscovered and in a way, relived as stories told and remembered, like this one.
I can somehow smell the scent of the fresh country morning air after a night so clear the the Northern Lights glimmered and danced all night above the horizon. And most every night back then the sky was filled with sparkling, brilliant stars and a shining moon so brilliant that it almost hurt your eyes. There was very little if any pollution a hundred miles from the cities. The air was clean and you felt good. Really good.
I can close my eyes and see Grandma sitting on the front porch in her white wooden rocking chair with one of the Grand kids dozing in her arms and her knitting resting on her lap.
In my mind I can still see Granddad walking up from the boathouse with a stringer of fresh perch and grinning from ear to ear.
If I can listen very carefully I somehow think I hear my Grandparents speaking very softly in my ear as they both did when they put loving arms around me so many times.
To offer reassurance and dignity and guide not just me but all of their grandchildren gently and surely toward this great adventure and challenging journey we call life.
*Footnote: A few summers after Granddad’s death, the large log down by the chicken coop, that he had cleaned many a fish on, vanished. For those of us that cared enough to notice, it was a big and unsolved mystery and the talk of summers to come.
In 1986 I attended a Thanksgiving dinner at my Aunt Gady’s house in Palm Harbor, Florida. Cousin Nancy Anderson Means (see her photo below), also attended. After dinner, Nancy pulled me aside and confided in me that it was she who took the log, noting it gave her a good feeling and good memories of our Grandparents and that she still had it. She related to me how, as a small child, she’d stand in the orchard watching Granddad clean the fish. noting that from time to time, he’d let her help. And one day standing there next to the log, not long after her mom died when she was about 10, he had held her in his arms to comfort her grief.
How many grandkids would save a 20lb log and then haul it all the way to Florida?
That’s how much our grandparents meant to all of us. Nancy’s gone now. I feel in my heart that she’s with Grandma and Granddad.
* Note: The 1940 U.S. Census lists old Al as a live in member of Granddads household. Al had his own room at the Conneaut house but in Ben Avon lived in the servants quarters above the garage (photo below of granddads garage with living quarters above. As it appears in 2010) at granddads city home in Ben Avon.
