The Pantry
Our family of five lived in an old farmhouse of weather-boarded log built before the Civil War. Many times a day, we walked across the front yard to the back porch by way of a narrow rocky path located between the house and a small hill. But before the path, one would see the metal-housed, covered water pump with faucet setting on a concrete slab about twenty-five feet to the right. Rounding the corner towards the porch one would pass by a washtub or a “rain barrel” placed to catch rainwater for the next family wash day. Straight ahead was the back porch.
The boxed-in back porch with upper screens and screened door was wonderful; at least, to a young farm girl. There were two doors into the house off this back porch. Through the left doorway one entered the large dining room. The other led into the big kitchen. To the right side of the porch was a window that looked into the pantry – that is, if one could see through it. One entered the pantry from the kitchen.
How does one begin to describe that pantry - a dark room with only the light from the outer window? This pantry was a small room with three sides having two wide shelves on each wall. Though being small, the room was not tiny by any measurement.
As one entered the pantry, to the immediate left hung the beginning of wall shelves that held all sorts of items. One of these items was a large poster given to mother by one of the door-to-door salesmen, most probably from Rawleigh. At this time, farm “families learned to keep Rawleighs reliable medicines and other products on hand ready for emergencies to relieve sickness, pains, and injuries for their daily needs.”* Watkins was another company that made “house calls” in hopes of a sale. In turn, families were given gifts by the companies and their salesmen. Specifically, I recollect this large poster as being of Jacob sleeping at the base of a ladder with a beautiful angel hovering nearby. She was as tall as the ladder. The angel was portrayed in a white flowing garment matching the wide white wingspan. A very impressive poster it was; I suppose it could have been a calendar.
On the same shelf, a tan-colored shoe box was placed containing various objects. A pink moustache cup decorated with a sprig of gold decorated lily of the valley that belonged to my great-grandfather Charles Owen Carpenter was one of the objects. A moustache cup was a drinking cup with a semi-circular ledge inside. The ledge had small round openings to allow the passage of liquids and serves as a guard to keep moustaches dry. I had always thought this particular cup as being very pretty. In late summer of 1968, on a trip back home from Missouri, I asked my parents if I could have the cup. My father agreed. Sadly, later that year in December, the old Kentucky farmhouse burned while the moustache cup was safe in another state. The cup is now in the possession of one of Charles Owen’s great-grandson to be given to his grandson – each carrying the “Owen” middle name. Oh! The stories canned and stored on the pantry shelf along with the vegetables. In this case, the stories outlived the canned vegetables.
There in the pantry another box could be found with an assortment of wonderful Indian arrow heads that my father had found through the years while tilling the soil of the farm. That box went up in flames that December night in the house fire. One wonders if the arrowheads withstood the fire and if they might lie in perfect condition under the ground beneath what was once the pantry.
Vegetables from the large garden were gathered, cleaned, cut and placed in jars for canning. This preservation kept the family in food for the winter. Tomatoes, peas, green beans, corn, vegetable soup, beets, and other canned vegetables were placed on these shelves for storage. Blackberries and apples were usually always canned as well ensuring pies would be baked during winter. Plus, those delicious blackberry jams and jellies were a delight for any meal. In November, at “hog-killing time,” the spareribs were canned. I can never remember a time when we were without something to eat. This was such a blessing. I think it was the combined result of family commitment to each other, hard work, and trust in the Lord and caring for that which had been provided.
Actually, a little of everything could be found in this room at one time or another. The 20-gallon metal lard can was kept in there. One or more times during the week, my mother would lift the round cover enough to get tablespoons of lard to cook potatoes, green beans, brown beans, fry chicken or whatever needed that special touch of grease to cook perfectly. The taste superseded any notion of unhealthy cholesterol. I can recall extra lard being warmed to pour over the food as gravy if one so desired. The lard had been rendered at “hog-killing time.” This was a special time of the year for the farm family. The hams were rubbed with salt and sugar before being wrapped in newspaper and hung in the meat house for curing, sausage was ground and stuffed into bags and the aforementioned spareribs were canned. I should mention that the sausage and pork chops were kept in a locker at the city ice house.
During the week, the dirty clothes and linens were placed in the pantry. Clothing of a farm family consisted of heavy denim overalls or jeans; therefore, there would be a heavy wash on Mondays. The ironing board was kept in the pantry always ready for the Tuesday ironing day. My mother was afraid of thunderstorms. In fact, she would awaken all the children during the night of a storm and tell her children to get out of bed to sit with her until the storm was over. We would have much preferred to have slept. During the daytime thunderstorms, she would go into her refuge - the pantry. She would take one of the kitchen chairs in there to sit on until the storm passed by. This was difficult to understand because the children thought the lightning could surely penetrate the back porch window.
Around 1944-45, electricity was brought to the farm. A single light was attached to the center of pantry ceiling. By pulling a dangling string attached within the small porcelain ceiling fixture, one could see at any time should he or she desire. At that time, a curtain had to be hung over the window so no one could look in. Perhaps, my siblings couldn’t see in because now my younger brother and sister say they only remember the pantry as the “dark room.” My sister added that it was “full of stuff” including stacked old newspapers In my memory of yesteryear, so much that our farm family depended on was stored in this special room.
It’s time to leave the house now but I think I’ll take the bucket off the back porch table to the water pump. I’ll carry one more bucket of water back to the house to set on the table for use during the night. Ouch! It’s winter - I have a quick reminder of the pump handle sticking to my fingers. I need to be careful not to slip and fall on the rocky path. Ah! Back on the back porch, I hear the screen door close behind me one more time.
I look at the pantry window … wish I could see through the curtain.
By E. Pearl (Carpenter) Anderson
February 01, 2009
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