Tuesday, February 03, 2004
GRANDMA STRICKLETT (PART TWO)
Grandpa Stricklett died October 10th, 1935 at home. He was 65-years old and grandma was fifty-two. Three younger children were still at home, Inabelle, Roger and Sally. Mary was teaching school and away part of the time but still basically lived at home as well. I don’t remember any of the family talking about their financial situation at that time but I do know how hard my grandmother worked to make ends meet.
She raised chickens and butchered and dressed them for delivery every Saturday. Once I ventured out to the “chopping block” to see how grandma killed them. One trip was enough for me……..grandma would hold their feet in one hand and in an easy motion would drop their heads down to the block. The right hand held the awful looking corn knife high in the air and when she brought it down it would cut through their necks with a muffled sound. At that moment grandma would drop the chicken and it would flop and flop for what seemed like a terrible long time. She continued this until the desired amount had been killed.
While she was outside, the girls had water heating on the cook stove and they were summarily dipped and taken to the porch where each girl would begin plucking the feathers. I hated that smell. Wet chicken feathers is a smell unlike any other. After the feathers were all off they were taken back to the stove where grandma had a piece of paper rolled in her hand. She would lift the front lid off of the fire box and hold the chicken quickly over, turning and turning until the pin feathers were all singed off. When she was satisfied with that they were laid on the kitchen table. It always had an “oil cloth” for a cover.
Usually there were three of the girls there to help grandma. The chickens were cut up neatly and then went through a series of cleansing and rinsing before they were packaged in paper trays. When people bought grandma’s friers they were ready for the skillet…..further cleaning was unnecessary.
Grandma also made cottage cheese and butter to sell. She would put the large kettle of sour milk on the cook stove and then strain it through a large colander with a sterile sugar sack lining it. The cheese was carefully crumbled, ready for the last stage. When it was dished up ready to deliver she would spoon sweet cream over the top. It was the best cottage cheese in the world to me. I would love to have some now.
Then the butter-making. Grandma had one of those big crock butter churns with a wooden dasher, and I always liked to help with that. Sometimes I would get too energetic and grandma would have to tell me to slow down for some of it would slosh up through the hole where the dasher moved up and down. Once the crock was full of butter chunks grandma would lift some out and begin “working it.” She had a large wooden bowl and a butter paddle. She would work and work the buttermilk out of the butter until there was none left. The butter was rinsed with clean water, worked again, and finally salted.
She had such an easy way of doing things. Nothing seemed like it took a lot of effort on her part. She had an old set of scales that she used to measure the pounds according to her orders. Once the butter was molded, weighed and ready to wrap she would take the butter paddle and press some little marks into the top for decoration. It was then placed in the ice-box ready for delivery.
I always liked to go along on the deliveries. Grandma would put on one of her better dresses (she made them all herself) and we would go around town taking them to the doors of the customers. It was a very pleasant experience for me. Everyone was always friendly and glad to receive my grandmother’s homemade products. Aunt Mary would drive grandma around till the last delivery was made and then we would go to the grocery store. It was an every week event.
When we came home grandma would write out a check for church the next day. She would read her Sunday School lesson and my aunts would be practicing their song to sing for the service. It meant bath time for me in the upstairs tub. This went on routinely any time that I would visit grandma. There was a goodness about it all that I love to think back on………….at grandma’s house.
Tomorrow we go to church.
Until then,
Essentially Esther
She raised chickens and butchered and dressed them for delivery every Saturday. Once I ventured out to the “chopping block” to see how grandma killed them. One trip was enough for me……..grandma would hold their feet in one hand and in an easy motion would drop their heads down to the block. The right hand held the awful looking corn knife high in the air and when she brought it down it would cut through their necks with a muffled sound. At that moment grandma would drop the chicken and it would flop and flop for what seemed like a terrible long time. She continued this until the desired amount had been killed.
While she was outside, the girls had water heating on the cook stove and they were summarily dipped and taken to the porch where each girl would begin plucking the feathers. I hated that smell. Wet chicken feathers is a smell unlike any other. After the feathers were all off they were taken back to the stove where grandma had a piece of paper rolled in her hand. She would lift the front lid off of the fire box and hold the chicken quickly over, turning and turning until the pin feathers were all singed off. When she was satisfied with that they were laid on the kitchen table. It always had an “oil cloth” for a cover.
Usually there were three of the girls there to help grandma. The chickens were cut up neatly and then went through a series of cleansing and rinsing before they were packaged in paper trays. When people bought grandma’s friers they were ready for the skillet…..further cleaning was unnecessary.
Grandma also made cottage cheese and butter to sell. She would put the large kettle of sour milk on the cook stove and then strain it through a large colander with a sterile sugar sack lining it. The cheese was carefully crumbled, ready for the last stage. When it was dished up ready to deliver she would spoon sweet cream over the top. It was the best cottage cheese in the world to me. I would love to have some now.
Then the butter-making. Grandma had one of those big crock butter churns with a wooden dasher, and I always liked to help with that. Sometimes I would get too energetic and grandma would have to tell me to slow down for some of it would slosh up through the hole where the dasher moved up and down. Once the crock was full of butter chunks grandma would lift some out and begin “working it.” She had a large wooden bowl and a butter paddle. She would work and work the buttermilk out of the butter until there was none left. The butter was rinsed with clean water, worked again, and finally salted.
She had such an easy way of doing things. Nothing seemed like it took a lot of effort on her part. She had an old set of scales that she used to measure the pounds according to her orders. Once the butter was molded, weighed and ready to wrap she would take the butter paddle and press some little marks into the top for decoration. It was then placed in the ice-box ready for delivery.
I always liked to go along on the deliveries. Grandma would put on one of her better dresses (she made them all herself) and we would go around town taking them to the doors of the customers. It was a very pleasant experience for me. Everyone was always friendly and glad to receive my grandmother’s homemade products. Aunt Mary would drive grandma around till the last delivery was made and then we would go to the grocery store. It was an every week event.
When we came home grandma would write out a check for church the next day. She would read her Sunday School lesson and my aunts would be practicing their song to sing for the service. It meant bath time for me in the upstairs tub. This went on routinely any time that I would visit grandma. There was a goodness about it all that I love to think back on………….at grandma’s house.
Tomorrow we go to church.
Until then,
Essentially Esther
