Dreaming of My Prairie

The Old Picnic Table

   Summer days bring with them memories of long ago. A time of gathering and glowing with the kiss of the Kansas sun. Prairie grasses waved in the sun; children climbed silos; and 'old folks' told tales. Walk with me through the years, back to my growing up days, were I ran free in the summer sun. Walk with me back to the prairie.
 
   You could tell family was coming to the farm; my grandmother would get antsy in the kitchen. Days and days of baking and preparing would yield a tell tale sign of a family gathering. Our standard fair: hamburgers on the grill with all the fixings.
    In the farm kitchen we stood pressing patties (heaven forbid someone suggest pre-made). Cheese slice wrappers lay between each one to keep them from sticking- she had saved and washed those wrappers just for such a need. Treats were made and placed on the old card table: cookies and pies, sometimes a cake, too. With all the work, there was always the concern- might not be enough.
  As the afternoon sun shifted in the sky and chores were finished the grill was pulled to the side of the house where the garage doors open - the same place we would sit and clean garden vegetables- the place where you could see the barn, shop, some of the fields, and most importantly- company driving up the drive.
   Grandpa and Uncle Randy would haul the old picnic table around there for us. I would run from the house to the picnic table setting out all the necessities: ketchup and mustard, pickles and onions, lettuce and tomatoes- my grandfather's favorite chips- bread for the burgers and drinks for everyone (iced tea, of course).
   The grill fired up as family members backed the trucks up near our picnic table; there were never enough places to sit! Some of the used the tail gates for placing the food items, some sat on them to eat. Bread slices were graced with hot hearty burgers- each dressed their own just as they liked it. My grandpa loved to stuff bar-b-que chips in his, naturally, I had to give it a try...yum! Sitting by him, my feet dangled from the bench swinging left and right (at least till someone noticed- sit still, you're shaking the whole table). 
   When the sun fell in the sky, the family lingered there at the old picnic table. The chatter of catching up, of reminiscing, of goings-on filled the air. Food was carried in and desserts tasted as my cousins and I chased lightning bugs; giggling and running in the prairie winds. Even as I headed in to bed, they lingered around the table- visions of the day danced in my dreams.

   The old picnic table now makes it's home with me, way down south. Never do I pass it by that I don't see the gathering of family or hear the chatter of loved ones. When we sit at the old table, I share the tales of long ago, when my family gathered on the farm with simple food, simple lives, simple fun.

 

Farmhouse Dill Pickles

4 qts. medium cucumbers

8 sprays of dill

4 garlic cloves

1 qt. vinegar (here I used white)

1 c. salt

3 qts. water

The day before, we wash the cucumbers and cover them with water in a bowl. They stand overnight.

The next way, put a spray or two of dill and one clove of garlic in each jar. Pack your cucumbers (prepared as you like) into your jars (size of jar depends on your preference...I use whatever is available). Combine vinegar, salt and water in a pot and bring to a rolling boil. Fill the jars to overflowing with the vinegar mixture. Now seal them in your water bath or pressure canner.

You can dig in anytime you want, but for best flavor, we let them cure for six weeks in a dark pantry before opening.

While Weeding the Lettuce

     This weekend found me very busy in the garden. Already this season, weeds are cropping up where the rabbits have yet to wreak havoc. One of the most difficult places to combat weeds (aside from the carrots) is the lettuce patch. That being said, I obviously spent a lot of time squatting and pulling in that row.
      While I kneel alongside the tender baby leaves, my mind wanders back to the prairie kitchen where my grandmother stands. In her kitchen there were no bottled dressings- heaven forbid "Ranch" be found there. Convenience food was a waste of time and a hindrance to health. Today I heartily agree with her, forgoing the conveniences and making much of my own. However, there is one thing I never could quite find agreement with- her 'wilted salad'.
        There in the garden between the onion stalks and Doc's pen, my nose wrinkled up and my mouth puckered at the remembrance of that dreadful salad. Beautiful greens that had grown from tiny seed were fresh picked and thoroughly washed. What happened next, I'm sure, was an abomination to nature. White vinegar was boiled with sugar and other dreadful things before assaulting the greens in a most vile manner. The smell of that dressing permeated every fiber of your being and caused a violent shiver that reached deep into your soul.
         Mealtime would find me seated with dread as that vile smell overpowered every morsel before me. My heart broke at the sight of that lettuce- once so crisp and fresh- now wilted and pathetic looking. Hours would be spent starting at that mess on my plate - you didn't leave until you finished, of course. Choking down that horrible disaster was a test of my grit and a scar on your taste buds.
         My husband laughs at the recollection of such things- he is quit sure my naughtiness was to blame for it, after all, the salad couldn't have been that bad. Fortunate for him, I have no copy of that recipe to torture him with- not yet, anyway.

Food from my Prairie: Pickled Eggs

   On a farm, fresh eggs are a harvest that ebbs and flows; sometimes a feast, sometimes a famine. Preventing spoilage is a constant challenge. Often clean fresh eggs are simply refrigerated in cartons which are flipped over every few days to delay spoilage; this is not a long term solution. My prairie grandmothers used a basic pickling brine as a method of storing eggs.
   Strong believers in the 'waste not' movement, they used any left over pickling juices for their hard boiled eggs; a favorite was the bright pink brine from spicy pickled beets. Recipe found here. The eggs were cooled and peeled before being placed in the beet brine and allowed to 'work' for several days before eating.
   In and amidst the daily doings of life, extra brine was not always available; therein a recipe was required. A basic pickle brine recipe filled the gap. Being flexible cooks like me, this recipe is set for a dozen hard boiled eggs, but can be easily doubled or divided for your needs.

Pickled Eggs

    

Boil together:

2 c. white vinegar

1 c. water

3 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon pickling spice

1/2 teaspoon each:

celery seed

minced garlic

turmeric

For canning: place three to four eggs in pint canning jar. cover well with brine, process 10 minutes in basic water bath canner. 

Or: place all twelve eggs in large canning jar (gallon size), cover with brine, refrigerate. Let 'work' a few days before serving.

   These flavorful eggs were served by my grandmothers with cold meats and crackers, but they are wonderful as an egg salad, sliced on a salad, or placed in a sandwich. 

Food from the Prairie: Hot Dog Relish

   Back through the years I go wondering; over time and distance to the place where my bare feet dared to run...back to my prairie. Grandmothers are in the kitchen gathering with cutting boards and canning jars; we're making hot dog relish..a recipe all her own.

   Let me be honest- I completely dislike the stuff. Of the many canning projects I recall doing with my grandmothers this is my absolute least favorite..I have no idea why, but then, I don't like pickle relishes at all. Never the less, every so often..when my mom gets a craving for it (and the cucumber harvest is good) my kitchen fills with the aroma of vinegar and mustard...where my teens gather around cutting boards to prepare the elements of my grandmother's own recipe for hot dog relish.

Grandmother's Hot Dog Relish

6 cups diced cucumbers (I peeled mine)

1 cup diced onion

2 cups diced green peppers

the sauce:

2/3 cup sugar

2 tablespoons flour

4 teaspoons salt

1 cup vinegar

2/3 cup water

1/2 cup prepared mustard

Once the veggies are chopped, stir them together and set aside. For the sauce, stir the sugar, flour and salt together in a heavy bottom stock pot. Add the vinegar, water and mustard and cook over medium heat until it comes to a boil.

Stir in the cucumber mixture and return to a boil; cook at a boil for five minutes.

Immediately ladle into 4 hot pint jars and process in a boiling water bath for fifteen minutes. 

Makes 4 pints of relish.

A few notes:

* the family ate this on everything: burgers, hot dogs, any meat based sandwich

* though it didn't say to, I peeled the cucumbers and seeded them..seemed logical to me

* a dear woman from our church loves it so much, she eats it straight out of the jar:)

* my farm boy says it would be better with some cayenne's in it

   As I stir, the familiar aroma fills my home...tangy vinegar and pungent mustard. My mind drifts over time where Grandpa dollops large spoonfuls over his hot dog..cooked the way he liked it..split in half and fried to a crisp on both sides. I smile..he spooned this stuff on nearly everything causing my face to scrunch every time.
 

  

Food from the Prairie: Pickled Eggs

   On a farm, fresh eggs are a harvest that ebbs and flows; sometimes a feast, sometimes a famine. Preventing spoilage is a constant challenge. Often clean fresh eggs are simply refrigerated in cartons which are flipped over every few days to delay spoilage; this is not a long term solution. My prairie grandmothers used a basic pickling brine as a method of storing eggs.
   Strong believers in the 'waste not' movement, they used any left over pickling juices for their hard boiled eggs; a favorite was the bright pink brine from spicy pickled beets. Recipe found here. The eggs were cooled and peeled before being placed in the beet brine and allowed to 'work' for several days before eating.
   In and amidst the daily doings of life, extra brine was not always available; therein a recipe was required. A basic pickle brine recipe filled the gap. Being flexible cooks like me, this recipe is set for a dozen hard boiled eggs, but can be easily doubled or divided for your needs.

Pickled Eggs

    

Boil together:

2 c. white vinegar

1 c. water

3 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon pickling spice

1/2 teaspoon each:

celery seed

minced garlic

turmeric

For canning: place three to four eggs in pint canning jar. cover well with brine, process 10 minutes in basic water bath canner. 

Or: place all twelve eggs in large canning jar (gallon size), cover with brine, refrigerate. Let 'work' a few days before serving.

   These flavorful eggs were served by my grandmothers with cold meats and crackers, but they are wonderful as an egg salad, sliced on a salad, or placed in a sandwich. 

Back to the Prairie: In the Night

   Nightfall can be an eerie time on the wide open prairie. A silvery moon quickly casts ghostly shadows brought to life by coyotes howling in the distance. Stillness creeps over you with not even the faintest breeze to calm you.
   There in my bed the silence is overwhelming. I strain to hear even a faint chirping cricket, but find none. Tonight even Buffy is restless. The heaviness of the day's burdens carries over into a restless night. Slipping from my covers I creep to the door and listen for signs of movement in the house. Ever so quietly my tip-toes take me down the dark hall.
   In the kitchen I find my grandfather sitting quietly at the table. The faint light of the oven reveals his face drawn and tired. Burdens of the day weight heavy on him tonight. With a ragged breath he spies me and gives his soft smile inviting me to join him.
   Her in the night we sit alone there in the big farm kitchen. Here on this sleepless night we share a late night treat; a favorite snack. Crunchy, salty crackers stacked with slices of hard cheese are topped with the best part of all- tangy summer sausage. Together here in the night there are no words, just him and me and our late night treat putting to rest the heaviness of the day and the restlessness of the night.

Grandpa's Summer Sausage

2 lbs. lean ground beef, uncooked

2 tablespoons canning salt

1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

1 cup water

1 1/2 tablespoons liquid smoke

1/2 teaspoon onion powder

Knead all ingredients well and shape into three small logs. Wrap each log in plastic wrap and refrigerate for twenty-four hours. 

Unwrap and bake one hour at 300 degrees. After baking, cool and drain the sausage on a wire rack.

Enjoy with salty crackers and sliced cheese! 

Back to the Prairie: A Little Glimpse

   Spring prairie days full of work and wonder kept us oh so busy; work and play were full of wonderful prairie sunshine. My grandmother worked hard and long getting the garden in and working her flower beds; rarely did I see her still. At her side I stayed quite busy....until distraction carried me to far corners of the farm for play and mischief.
   A full morning of bright sun and dry winds brought a longing for something cold; bare little feet carried me over the soft new grass toward the big farmhouse. Now, I have never been known for treading lightly...more for being told not to slam the door or to walk more softly, yet for some reason I paused at the screen door.
   Glancing in it seemed my grandmother was busy at something. It seemed a magical moment; something I had never seen. Daylight filtered through the window casting a gently glow over the scene. I held my breath to keep from interrupting this unusual moment.
   As quickly as it came, the magic of it went. Grandma straightened tall again, setting her determined look to her face, went about cleaning up and putting away before disappearing down the hall. Tip toeing into the house, gently creeping over to the big counter I discovered a work of wonder.
   There on the counter stood a beautiful sugar egg; so delicate and pretty. Soft pastel ruffles of frosting edged glittering walls of the sugar egg. Hidden ever so slightly inside a fluffy chick nestled in soft grass. I stood astonished at the wonder, realizing...here in this moment I had seen a rare glimpse at my grandmother's tender side. 

Back to the Prairie: Bounties of Spring

   Down in the garden Grandma has a knife in hand and large buckets to fill; spring cabbage is ready for harvest. Pulling back the large outer leaves, she cuts the large firm heads. My job is to load them into the buckets as she chops them but the fresh spring air and warm sparkling sunshine keep distracting me.
   Back in the big farm kitchen the cabbage heads are washed before the hard cores are cut out. One by one the cabbages are shredded into fine pieces and sprinkled with plenty of fine salt. Worked and wrenched the salty shreds fill bowl after bowl all around the room. Time for the big brown crock to make it's way to the garage....we're making sauerkraut.
   In the coolness of the garage, Grandma fills the large crock with the salty wet cabbage shredded the day before..the wooden 'plate' is set in it's place to weight the cabbage under it's juices. It takes forever for cabbage to become kraut! Yet, as we daily 'churn the kraut' our minds wander to the various things she will make with this tasty treat: kraut and hot dogs, even my favorite sauerkraut pizza!
   Day after day we wait for the kraut to be just right..then packing and canning and setting on the scary basement shelves...just another blessing of this spring's bounty.

Back to the Prairie: The Good Earth

Spring sun shines brightly over the prairie as soft fresh grasses make their appearance. Tender patches dot the land bringing with it the hope of spring. There drifts a fresh crispness in the air drawing me down the gravel drive; a gentle barn kitty greets me there.

Kitty and I find a warm place in the sun; snuggles and nuzzles meet with purring and pawing. Together we sit just enjoying the sunshine. Across the prairie there rises a distant familiar sound.

Far across the land a rumble grows..the sleepy soil is waking. Tractors and tillers are busy at work. Hearty aromas of stubble and stick drift over the prairie breeze stirring thoughts of the past harvest. 

My eyes close as I draw in the warmth of the sun and the scent of the land. Visions of bountiful fields and hearty gardens fill my mind; beans and cabbages..hay and wheat. My heart longs for the bounty and the beauty of the good earth.

Back to the Prairie: New Arrivals

   Patches of leftover snow dot the soggy prairie soil forcing the continued use of shoes. The trek down to the barn is filled with the unique sounds only prairie mud and rubber boots can make. No one is watching; full liberty to splish-splosh and swoosh into every single puddle and patch, giggling all the way.
   Nearing the barn the kitties venture from their cozy hideaways to scavenge the land. I lose myself in the wonder at their fickle attempts to avoid getting muddy; tiny paws held up trying to flick away every spot of mud and puddle. The sound of grandpa's tires on the gravel stir my attention; a new excitement is to be shared!
   His familiar greeting calls to me you up for all day? causing me to rush to his side. There we meet together near the barn door where the old fence is just right to climb up on. Sloppy boots steady on a rail, gloved hands hold the top one tight; I lean over as far as I can. Together we watch.
   Little tails swishing; wet noses are sniffing...there are new arrivals on the farm. Venturing near us, soft brown eyes so gentle and sweet look cautiously; tiny hooves make tiny prints in the soft earth. Stretching further my ungloved hand rubs the warm fur; cream and clay colors decorate their bodies. A rough tough finds ringers to lick causing a burst of giggles to escape; startled he runs away.
   Grandpa's blue eyes sparkle as a smile graces his weather worn face; he loves new calves as much as I do. Together there we watch their wandering and whining as they get to know the land. A warm comfort fills my soul as I close my eyes and stretch my face toward the soft spring sun breathing deep the familiar scent; feed and fur, fodder and hay. Hope for the upcoming year is sparked when there are new arrivals on the farm.

Back to the Prairie: The Familiar Aroma

   Cold winter days find me down in the basement with the old toy chest and my dear Siamese friend, Buffy. The old milk truck, Holly Hobby, and the pull behind dog fill my morning with imagination and mischief. Hours and hours of creative wonder are spent (sometimes in the pink sewing room where patterns and fabrics call my name).
   Lunch time is drawing near and drawing me out of my imaginative world. My feet start the climb up the green basement steps as a familiar aroma finds me. I pause, taking a deep breath to be sure..yep..the unmistakable scent of cabbage cooking. Wonder if I can linger here on the step undetected all through lunch.
   If there is one thing that I would rather die than eat it's cooked cabbage and my grandmother loves to make her cabbage casserole..often. Tomato and hamburger are no problem at all, but the cabbage is a thing I just can't get past.
   Called from my dreadful pondering, I climb the stairs and head to the kitchen. No doubt I will be sitting at the table for a long time because here on the farm you do not waste food and you do eat what you're given.

THE CABBAGE CASSEROLE

1 head cabbage, rough chopped

1 medium onion, chopped

1 lb ground beef

1 can tomato soup

Grease a casserole dish and place cut cabbage in bottom. Brown hamburger and onion in a skillet and drain. Spoon over cabbage. Spread tomato soup on top. Do not stir. Bake 350 degrees for 45 minutes or until cabbage is tender.

Back to the Prairie: Auction Day

   In the early morning hours chores are done extra quick today; there is an auction today. We pile into various vehicles to travel over a county; estate sales are a family favorite event. I wanted to ride in the big truck, however, I ended up stuck in the car squished between my great grandmother and my aunt. Stiff while seats are extremely uncomfortable and the constant warning not to 'mess them up' doesn't help.
   After a ride that seemed to never end, we arrive at a large metal building; a sea of cars fill the parking area. I can hardly wait to roam the isles of items, but the walk from the car is endless..grandmothers do not walk as fast as a little farm girl.
   Inside my heart races at the rows and rows of amazing things. On tip-toes I peak over table tops and into boxes to spy on treasures unknown. Dishes chipped and scratched from loving use; millions of warm meals they must have held. Nick-knack's that once graced the shelves in a house now empty; was this one a gift from a grandchild? Handed down from a parent? I try to envision how this home must have looked.
   A bit farther along tools are found in buckets and boxes. Did worn weathered hands hold this plow? Maybe the boot that pushed this shovel had a hole in it like my grandpa's. Screwdrivers make me giggle..do other people use them to start trucks and tractors like we do?
   Furniture! Some simple and plain; some with fancy scroll work and jewel-toned cushions. I envision a living room filled with these things..I bet no kids got to play in this room! But the appliances are next. It is hard to enjoy washers and ovens unless they are really old and quirky looking; these are not.
   Now the fun begins as the auctioneer starts his calls and people banter back and forth over this and that's from tables and rows. The adults lean close to each other chatting over fair price and who out bid who. I struggle to see anything..grown ups are so tall.
   Standing near me a very tall woman catches my eye. Her shoes and dress are so plain; simple flats and a denim one piece dress. Her hair is shiny and soft; twirled on the back of her head like a big cinnamon roll. I love it! Draped over the top of her head, a pretty doily lacy and white. Trying to ask my grandmother about her gets me 'the look'- you know, they hush up look. Next to this beautiful lady is a set of children all lined up like ducks in a row..she's a mommy! Then and there I decide..I want to be her when I grow up. Hair down to there all twisted up on my head, long dresses and simple shoes..with a whole row of stair step babies.
  
   Back home that night all tucked in my bed, I don't remember if we bought anything or whether we bought lunch or had sandwiches from home. I'm not sure if we stayed to the end or left early to 'beat the traffic', but I remember her. I close my eyes and try to envision me standing there with my family; a plain and simple mother standing there with her family on just another auction day.

Back to the Prairie: Cold Winter Night

 

   Chill creeps across the floor causing my toes to wiggle in my thick woolen socks. Clothed in my soft flannel nightgown, I slip into bed. There I am greeted by crisp cool sheets and layers of warm blankets. The coolness of the pillow against my cheek give me a chill as I click off the little lamp that rests over the top of the head board.
   There in the darkness wind howls low and slow outside the window; moonlight filters through gauzy curtains. A branch waves, casting shadows across the room. Softly a little meow is heard; Buffy has come to share her warmth on this cold winter night.
   She snuggles close; her purr brings comfort in the cold. My eyes close as my mind wanders. Grain waves in a prairie wind and sunshine warms the grass beneath bare feet. Cattle graze in the distance and the combine hums in the field. I draw in a deep breath, longing for my warm wide prairie.
   There in the darkness beneath layers of quilts I snuggle close to Buffy. Together we dream of warmth and wonder on a cold winter night.