GRANDMA'S KITCHEN
This article is a tribute to my Grandma who passed away in 1974.
Grandma's kitchen had no modern appliances, no fancy gadgets. It didn't even have electricity. It was a place that throughout my childhood remained much the same.
As I stepped through the door of that room on a hot, sunny summer's day, the interior was cool and dark. The veranda at the side of the house kept the early morning sun from penetrating Grandma's sanctuary. When my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I would see the gas lantern hanging above the old, oak table. This was no ordinary table - nothing like the fancy chrome ones of today. It had two leaves in the center to accommodate the eight people that sat around it three times a day. In the summer kitchen against the wall, stood another eight leaves. This table was gigantic compared to the small drop-leaf table that stood in front of the window in Mother's kitchen.
I was thrilled when Grandpa offered me that old, oak table when he gave up his house to move in with my uncle. It now graces my kitchen and is my pride and joy.
An oilcloth covered the coarse, grained top where scars had accumulated over the years. Around the table, like sentinels, stood six matching press-back chairs.
Besides the table and chairs, Grandma's kitchen was filled with other things that fascinated me. An icebox stood against one wall and a gingerbread clock perched high on a shelf nearby. I loved to listen to it chime out the time.
Once a day, Grandma would climb onto a chair, open the glass door adorned with golden flowers and insert a key into the face. She would wind it several times, being certain not to wind it too tight, then lay the key safely in the bottom of the clock and close the door with a click. I loved that clock. We had hydro (Canadian term for electricity)at home and our clock couldn't hold a candle to the lovely, gingerbread that stood high on the shelf in Grandma's kitchen.
Against the south wall of the room, stood a monster cookstove. I would watch as Grandma blackened it with stove polish. Around the edges the chrome sparkled and a white porcelain circle in the center of the oven door bore the name "Hartland."
At one end was a reservoir filled with water from the cistern. It held warm water for small tasks. But the warming closet was my favorite part of the old stove. Out of it came tasty treats - cinnamon buns, baked bread, and pancakes to be served with real maple syrup and cloverleaf rolls. Grandma made all of these with loving hands.
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