BLUEGRASS LITERACY - Fall WRITING CONTEST 2010
Read this WINNING ENTRY from Bobbie Bryant
TITLED: The Comfort of Home
Learning is a life-long adventure
On Saturday afternoon, November 6, 2010 at the Central Public
Library, Bluegrass Literacy recognized our Fall Writing Contest Finalists:
Jane McCord, Elias A.Gross, Geraldine Peters, Christel Broady, Clinton
Collins, Cynthia Nicholas,Jessica Swafford, Teena Halbig, and WINNER-
Bobbie S. Bryant. Finalists shared their words (fiction, creative non-fiction,
poetry) on the subject: Home is Where the Heart Is.
The annual event, sponsored in collaboration with Central Kentucky
Council for Peace and Justice, was created as a resource for sharing
original work and ideas of interest to literacy program participants
and others interested in writing. The goal is to promote writing and
reading experiences for pleasure, and to encourage English Language
discussion.
WATCH in August for Information
about 2011 Fall Writing Contest
Writing Contest Winner 2010 : Bobbie Bryant, 51, is currently a
public relations and community development professional with
the Kentucky League of Cities based in Lexington, Kentucky.
In the past she was a small business owner, a television personality
and has worked in the non-profit sector for many years.
In addition to business writing for the League, Bobbie is a
passionate freelance writer and author with her first book,
40 Acres and a Red Belly Ford- The Smith's of Calloway County,
to be released in January, 2011. A native of western Kentucky,
Bryant currently lives in Louisville. She enjoys spending time
with her family, delving into genealogy, traveling and cooking.
The Comfort of Home
The stove top glared its angry red, heating to just the right
degree as I poured oil arid watched as it spread. Carefully
timed to be sure the oil wouldn’t splatter, I remembered how
my Papaw used to do it. Taking the lightly coated chicken from
the bag of flour and gently lowering it into the piping hot grease,
I knew that he would be proud. You see, this is the legacy he
left for me — this heavy, well worn black iron skillet was the
one he used.
Some of my favorite family memories come from food and this
age-old pan. Papaw’s chicken is the most memorable. His
chicken would go on the stove well ahead of everything else.
He would slowly fry it to a crispy, golden-brown exterior. It
seemed to take hours to fry, as my mouth watered and my
stomach growled. The aroma remains with me today, an
everlasting part of my upbringing.
Papaw was so attentive to his cooking; he had some kind of sixth
sense intuition when it was time to turn each leg and thigh, always
at the perfect moment. Each piece was expertly cooked, crunchy
as you bit through to the incredibly juicy meat inside.
Of course, no fried chicken dinner could be complete without his
buttery mashed potatoes, creamed to our lumpy delight. Green
beans were cooked with chunks of country ham and finely chopped
onions that had cooked all afternoon the day before. Often this meal
was enhanced with corn on the cob or a simple dish of fresh tomatoes
and cucumber salad.
No meal was complete without the silver-dollar sized handmade
biscuits that his oldest sister, Bessie, taught him to bake. These
delectable treats were more like dessert, one more flakey than the last.
He also had a wonderful concoction to add to the biscuits that
we kids loved.
He’d cut a big chunk of butter and place it on his plate, then pour
homemade molasses into an oozing brown pool over the butter.
Taking his knife he would cut and mash the butter into the molasses,
making a creamy mess that we’d spread all over our last biscuit.
I can still feel the texture of this sweet and sticky spread of homemade
love. You may find it odd that a man was doing this cooking, but not us.
Our Papaw was one of 12, born on a farm in west Tennessee at the
beginning of the 20th centuly. His mother died when he was quite young
and his six sisters took it upon themselves to keep the house and care for
their dad. When Papaw was a young adult, he fell off a horse and broke his
leg and hip, having to stay in the bed for almost three months. During this
time he continued to help with chores, pulling his weight even with these
injuries. It was during this time that he learned how to cook and perfected
foods that came to be the inheritance he passed on to his children and
grandchildren.
But his talents didn’t end there; he was also an amazing tailor. Well,
what I mean to say is that he could sew. It wasn’t just any kind of sewing,
he could quilt. Beautifully. The other part of the heritage he passed along
is the family quilt he and my grandmother received as a wedding gift in
1934, handed down to me when he died in 1998.
A typical quilt pattern from the Depression Era, each of the 24 colorful squares
were lovingly appliquéd and signed by each quilter. Brilliant panels of hot pink
cotton framed every square, belying the poor environment in which they lived,
providing hope for a brighter future. Each quilter was either a member of one of
their families or a neighbor. The two center squares are quilted and signed, one
by my grandmother and another by Papaw himself. His stitches are just as
meticulous as any others on the quilt; a tribute to his attention to detail
and his desire to do a good job, making his sisters and his new wife proud.
If Papaw were here today, he’d love to watch the TV chefs on the Food Network.
He’d laugh along with Emeril Lagasse or carefully critique how high Martha
Stewart’s meringue stood on top of her coconut pie, or what color she was
using for finishing tape on her curtains. Now don’t get me wrong, he was
most certainly a man’s man and could hunt and fish right along with the
best of them. He could repair cars and actually ran his own service station
for many years. The best part is that he made his own way and didn’t
care if it might be deemed women’s work.
The comforts of home are clear to me each time I look at the family quilt,
appliquéd with love. And, every year when I prepare the table for a holiday
meal, I can’t help but think of Papaw. I always use the black iron skillet
for some element of the meal. From crusty cornbread to make my
homemade dressing at Thanksgiving or frying sausage for Christmas
breakfast, he is part of me, just as I am part of him.
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