Story Teller's Corner

Ranchers in my Family

 My grandparents worked on a ranch in Oklahoma when they were young; in fact, that is where they met. Grandpa was the foreman, and Grandma became the cook at 16. She prepared three meals a day for 30 hungry cowboys.

Red-headed Grandma (as we affectionately called her because she always wore a red wig), was an excellent cook. She kept an angel food cake in the kitchen in case someone stopped for a visit. I don’t remember watching her cook or at least I didn’t pay attention. I do know she never measured anything. The only cooking mistake I recall her making was later in her life. She had purchased a chocolate cake mix and became upset when it didn’t rise. Upon inspection and after tasting it, she discovered it was actually a brownie mix. I certainly have had more cooking flops than that.

Grandma was probably the closest to a pioneer woman I ever knew. She picked cotton as a young girl, kept an immaculately clean home (she removed all of the varnish from the door frames because of her frequent washings), grew beautiful flowers and was a magician with a needle and thread. She was a survivor and never forgot the Great Depression. She reused aluminum foil and throwaway pans, plastic wrap, bags and plates until they fell apart.

We ate our Christmas Eve supper at her house every year until she died which was long after my husband and I married. I regret not asking her more questions about her life and her growing up years. I realize how difficult her life was, and I know she had a story to tell.