I always slept in the extra bedroom — the one on the front of the old house. This little room was maybe 12 by 12 feet. The walls were covered in shiplap before shiplap became recognized as fashionable through the shows of Hometown and Fixer Upper. A bare light bulb hanging from the low ceiling that cast shadows against the walls and a small single bed covered in a handmade quilt with a feather mattress that I would sink into as I slept.
Very early in the mornings, just as the sun slipped through the pines and touched the earth, I would be brought from sleep with the mooing of old Bessie. My granddaddy was milking their only cow, and she was not really in a good mood to be milked so early in the day.
I could hear the clatter of an iron skillet being set onto the old wood stove and the crackle of the flames coming to life in the little firebox of the black iron oven. Red, her behemoth Rhode Island rooster, seemed to be just outside of my window crowing and squawking his morning wake-up call. And I am sure he was anticipating and waiting to chase me to the outhouse down under the hill.
If I had been home, I would have stayed under those warm covers for at least a couple more hours, but I knew those big ole buttermilk biscuits had just been slipped into that hot oven and that fresh ham and redeye gravy was simmering on the stove. And all of a sudden, I would be ravenously hungry. I would put on my running shoes and try my best to outrun Red.
After we had our breakfast of my grandaddy’s big, plate-sized biscuits and my grandmother’s sweet tea and RC cola, and my fill of the scrumptious food, my grandmother and I would clean the clutter, and sometimes we worked in her garden just outside her kitchen door or washed a load of clothes in her Maytag wringer washer. But somedays, on my favorite days, we would walk down to the spring that spewed clear cold water up from the fresh stream that tasted like no other I have tasted since. There were several persimmon trees growing along the banks of the overflowing spring, and in the spring of the year, the trees were loaded with ripe fruits. We would gather enough to make a batch of jam and seal it in those big Mason jars to eat with her buttered biscuits.
I love telling stories about my times at my grandmother and grandaddy’s old house and the days I spent learning and preparing for my life from her teaching. I especially love telling my grandchildren about these times, and I hope someday they will tell their children how much they enjoyed staying at this grandmother’s house.
Persimmon Jam – 6 ripe persimmons, 1 cup sugar, 2 T. water, 1 T. cornstarch, juice of l lemon
Peel persimmons and mash with a potato masher. Pour this into a saucepan over medium heat and add sugar and boil. Add water and cornstarch mix and let simmer about 15 minutes. Seal in jars.
