We’re getting into my time of the year. I have been accused by many who don’t really know me of being strange, beyond normal, confused… I could go on and on but suffice it to say, I love the cold weather. It’s kind of a “Walton’s Mountain” kind of feeling to me. I tend to feel closer to people than I do in the warm weather months. It may have evolved over time when as a child I would go to the hills of Kentucky to spend quality time with my grandparents.
They owned a farm. It was the sort of life I wanted to live. Getting up before the sun rose to start the chores for the day was a piece of heaven to me. (Maybe I am strange?) Pa Shell and Ma Shell were always up before me. Sometimes I wondered if they ever actually went to bed.
There were sixteen cows to milk. And, guess what? They had to be milked twice a day every day. They never took a day off but that was alright with me. I loved it! After the morning milking, Pa and me would go onto the back porch to wash up before Ma would let us into the house for breakfast. When we were finally presentable, we’d walk into the sweetest smelling kitchen in the world. There’d be a spread on the table fit for a king. A platter of eggs, sausage, bacon, homemade biscuits, milk gravy, fried apples, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and coffee. At home, Mom would say “you’re just a kid! …too young for coffee!” But at Ma and Pa Shell’s, I was a workin’ man so coffee was in order.
Before we’d begin eating, Pa would say grace. A normal occurrence at their house but not in my own. After a while, I grew accustomed to it. Actually, I never really learned much about saying grace because Pa Shell mumbled when he prayed. That became normal too. I didn’t think anything of it. Just assumed that that was how you thanked God for the bounty. You know, just between to two of ‘em.
After we had breakfast, Ma would take the left-over biscuits, put them in the center of the table, cover them with a dish towel, and place a jar of homemade jam next to them for an in-between snack. What a treat!
Now the day’s work could begin. Milking didn’t count because that was something we didn’t have a choice about. Pa said it’s like brushing your teeth or combing your hair, it’s just something you have to do so therefore it ain’t a chore. Go figure. The barn had to be cleaned, the livestock had to be fed and watered, the eggs had to be collected, and the outhouse needed to be checked to ensure the Sears catalog hadn’t run out. There’s a lot to do to run a successful farm operation! Oh yeah, the snow had to be shoveled off the porch. That was a big job.
Their house was very unique. The left half of the house extended over a ravine and was supported by stilts. They reminded me of telephone poles. The porch was a wrap-around porch along three sides of the house on every side but the left because that would have put us over the ravine and that would have been too scary.
Toward the end of the day, there’d be milking to do once again followed by a wonderful dinner. Maybe we’d have one of those chickens (or yardbirds as we called them) that was running around the yard or maybe fried rabbit (my personal favorite). Whatever it was, I knew it would be delicious!
After dinner, we’d gather in the front room where there was a pot-belly stove with a roaring fire, rocking chairs and a couch Pa had made. The rockers sat on either side of the stove so both could share equally in the warmth. The arms of the rockers were wide, flat surfaces where Pa would continuously drum his fingers. He had done this drumming for so many years that there were actually indentations where his fingertips would strike the wood. I would be nestled in front of the stove so I could keep an eye on the embers. Now was my favorite time of the day. Pa would either tell me stories (mostly made-up) or he would read from the family Bible. I had the feeling that he would add a little flavor to the Bible stories as well. It just didn’t seem very likely that most if not all of the Bible’s characters had been to this part of Kentucky. But that was alright, I knew he did it so I could relate better to the messages in the stories.
When storytime concluded, it was off to bed. A big featherbed that enveloped me with warmth. I could see the moon shining through the frost-covered window and know that in this house, I was also covered with the love of Ma and Pa Shell.
So loving the cold-weather months isn’t so strange after all. Now is it?
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