Group active since Fri, Dec 30, 2011
Hello.My name is Callene email@example.com Pigeon Creek Rd Red Level,Al 36474.
This group is to give a soundboard to any Novelists,that want to share.You get to read from someone's imagination.You may be romanced,go on an adventure or see how a toddler fits everything in her bed.We would love to hear your input and would love the encouragement to go forward with a story.We can chat and get to know each other.If you have a story you'd like opions on, post it.If you just want to go along for an adventure,read and share with the group.Please join me for some time away from the real world for a while.We all need a break now and then.
Mar 9, 2013
Feb 19, 2013
Dec 24, 2012
Nov 3, 2012
By Lucille (Totsie) Rodgers
I was the 9th child of 11 children born to my parents. Growing up on a farm in northeastern Oklahoma had its rewards. My younger brothers, sisters and I, would rise before dawn to the warmth of the wood burning stove, and the wonderful aroma of mama’s cooking. Before breakfast, we children would fetch water from the spring, feed the stock, gather the eggs, and milk the cows. The sun was just beginning to rise by the time we finished. We would quickly eat our breakfast and scoot out the door to run 5 miles through the woods and up and down the hollers to catch the rickety, old, school bus. If we missed the bus we would have to run another 2 miles through the same type of terrain and cross the river to catch it on the other side. If we missed that bus, which we seldom did, we would have to walk back home and work in the fields with papa.
After school and homework we girls spent the rest of our time before supper in the kitchen with mama where we learned to cook, bake, can, and process meats for the smoke house. Mama never had written recipes. Everything she cooked she learned from her mama. We milled our flour and corn, churned our butter, made our cheese and we grew and harvested all of our fruits and vegetables. The boy’s, cut and toted wood, worked on fences, and helped papa in the fields. After supper we picked wild, berries, mushrooms, onions, and herbs, and made dyes and soap. There was a lot of work to do on our farm. One of my chores after supper was to round up the cows and the goats for milking. I would go out into the woods and start yodeling and they would all come and start following me to the barn where the boys were waiting to milk them. We all worked hard to finish our chores by sundown and then we would sit in front of the fire place and play games, or read a book by the light of the oil lamp, or sing hymns with our mother as she rocked in her old wooden chair while hemming a dress or darning socks. There was never a dull moment.
While there was much to do on the farm, I liked the peanut harvest best of all because it meant we would have our favorite candy, peanut brittle, at Christmas. Whether it was shucking the shells, mixing the ingredients, stirring the pot while it was cooking, or packing it for storage, it never seemed like a chore. After the brittle cooled we would break it up and pack it in tin buckets and mama would tie a little red bow, made from one of our old hair ribbons, onto the tin. A few days before Christmas, Papa would saddle up the mule and tie those tins all over the saddle, and because I had a special friendship with our cantankerous old mule and he seldom gave me any trouble, and also, I was the only one he would let ride him, and, because I could be trusted to not open the tins and sample the candy, I got to deliver all those tins to our neighbors.
I have to smile to think back at the welcome sight me and that old mule, trudging through those snow drifts knee high, and all covered in white, must have been to some of those folks. The whole family would come out of their warm house and the papa would help me down from the mule and the mama would dust the snow off me while the papa happily untied one of the tins and they would hurry me indoors to thaw in front of the fireplace. A cup of hot chocolate would be offered and I would drink the warm, sweet, liquid thankfully as we hurriedly caught up on any news that might be of interest. As soon as I finished the hot chocolate, we would exchange our well wishes for each other’s family and they would all follow me out the door. The papa would help me back on the mule and they would all stand waving, until I was nothing more than a dark speck in an otherwise white landscape. I remember how I would giggle thinking about them rushing inside as soon as I was out of sight and opening up the tin to sample my mama’s crunchy, mouth watering, peanut brittle. Even then I knew that my mama’s peanut brittle brought a whole lot of happiness to folk’s life.
Receiving my mama’s peanut brittle came to be a welcome Christmas tradition to our neighbors. Some folks even told tall tales just to get some of mama’s peanut brittle, like old Mrs. Kirby who use to say my mama’s peanut brittle had medicinal value and was the only thing that would cure her rheumatism each year. The old Indian, Mr. Dowager, claimed that mama’s peanut brittle had made his eyesight so good that he could shoot a huckleberry off the bush from a half mile away. Of course at the time we children were amazed at the powers that mama’s peanut brittle bestowed on folks. Now I can’t rightly say that what those folks said wasn’t the truth. What I do know for sure is that mama’s peanut brittle made me one happy little girl.
I continued to carry on mama’s peanut brittle tradition. Of course I discovered an easier way of making it and it is about as close as you can get to my mama’s and with a lot less work. I continued to carry on mama’s peanut brittle tradition and share it with my family and friends each Christmas season. Through the years it has become a much sought after and welcome delight. I love to hear my grandchildren repeating the stories about my mama’s peanut brittle to their children. My great grandchildren think it’s the best candy in the world and in their words, “its way cool.” I know one day when they have children the recipe will be handed down through them and my mama’s peanut brittle recipe will live on to give joy to generations to come long after I am gone.
One Christmas, one of my great-grandsons said, “Gram’s, it’s a shame that other people don’t know how good your peanut brittle is. You should make some to sell or they’re gonna miss out on a whole lot of love.” So from the mouth of babes came the idea to share my peanut brittle in the retail world.
This is just one of the many stories my mother related to me from her childhood memories.
My mother was very well known for her ‘Gram’s Peanut Brittle’ in this hill country area and she sold it to the tourist retailer’s, including stores, gift shops, restaurants, camps, resorts and her grandson even sold it from a table he set up on the side of the road. She would fill quart jars with that crunchy goodness and put a, pretty, country cloth on the lid, and tie it with ribbon or raffia. I designed and made labels for her with a really cute logo. The time came when she was no longer able to make it because of her debilitating illness. Sometimes she would say, “I got a hankerin’ for peanut brittle.” That was my cue so off to the kitchen I would go to make her a batch.
Which makes me feel gray
I will miss her a lot
And she'll never be forgot
I will think of her lots
And keep her in my thoughts
She'll always be in my heart
So when I fall apart
I will hold my heart
I love you Karen
As each day is narrowing
At least she'll be at peace
No more pain and at ease
As she becomes a angel
Like a floating halo
My dear friend whom I'll love and miss until my end
DEDICATED TO KAREN WHO PASSED AWAY FROM CANCER.
Jul 22, 2012
Jun 14, 2012
I pray you are all doing well.I am dealing with lots of asthma issues,so have not been on alot.We also moved back down south.How is everyone?I will post some of my lastest stuff soon.Have a blessed day.