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Memories of the Diamond R
Before, during, after breakfast when we were kids….
I was awakened to talk from the kitchen. Men folks having a conversation
‘bout a cow or some farm stuff. Occasionally hearing something ‘bout Mr.
Wolf and his place. But really wanting to drown out the noise so I can
go back to sleep. It was early for me, 5:00 am or somewhere that time.
Been all snuggled up in my blue cotton sleeping bag with big bright
yellow and orange flowers on the TV room floor. Some folks might have
called it the living room, but there were a couple of rooms in Grandpa’s
house that could have been a living room, like the one with the
telephone or the TV.
Anyway, I was sleeping on that old turquoise carpet that felt like a
burr on some boy’s head. It sure was rough and hard, but in a sleeping
bag and many sheets and blankets, it wasn’t so hard to get comfortable,
especially when you’re sharing the floor with your sisters and cousins,
you didn’t notice too much of the hard floor underneath.
The good thing though was the smell of that coffee brewing.
That aroma would fill the house in no time flat. Especially if
there was a breeze coming through the windows. The grandparents didn’t
have central heat and air, so a window or two would be opened in the
warmer times and gas stoves or wood-burning stoves would be used when it
was cold outside. Anyway,
smelling that coffee sure was something good to the senses, imagining
why in the world folks loved to drink it when the taste was not as
appetizing to me.
Occasionally, one could go back to sleep smelling that coffee. I suppose
I did many a times, all snuggled in my sleeping bag. My pillow though
could have been fluffier. Someone managed to get it during our deep
sleep and left me with a hard cushion whose fluff must have conjured up
some kind of stiffness over its years.
Somehow or another, I must have gotten more sleep, ‘cause I was awakened
to “breakfast is being served! Get up and wash your face and come eat!”
Well, how can you beat that when you begin to hear something
sizzling on the big, white gas stove. MMMMM good, and then your stomach
begin to talk to you saying hurry up and feed me that delectable food!
Many of us always tried to beat the crowd to the only bathroom of
the house, getting in to do your business and getting out as quickly as
you can, was the goal.
Walking through the other living room or what we usually called the
‘telephone’ room was a treat, especially if the wood burning stove was a
blazed with wood to keep the place heated. (The hall way to the bathroom
was always ice cold and one would skedaddle out of there to feel the
warmth of the telephone room.) And into the kitchen where those men folk
were finishing up their early morning coffee and food and off to their
chores, we walk in ready to fill our bellies with home cooking.
Grandma sure could make fluffy biscuits, bacon cooked just right,
not too crispy and not too limp. There would be plenty of toast to put
real butter on and sometimes fresh plum jelly. Then there was orange
juice or more coffee. Sometimes hot tea or water was served too.
Always, first, though was the saying of thanks to our Creator. Thanking
for our food, the family, the fine sleep we had the night before and
blessing of the new day. Then, with proper manners, us kids sat at the
yellow table in the kitchen, and waited for food to be served on our
plates, or asked for someone to ‘please, pass’ whatever it was we
wanted.
The adults, and sometimes one of the older cousins, had the privilege to
sit at the big dining room table. It was grand, made of dark wood, and
it was a privilege to get to eat at that table. The room had windows
that faced the
Back to breakfast, we usually had our eggs scrambled with a little bit
of salt and pepper to add to the taste. Us kids would eat, and had to
keep our conversation to a very low key or not at all. It was hard to
not try to get someone to laugh or whatnot. Then we would get a scolding
to hush, ‘cause it was the adults that got to talk. ‘Kids were to be
seen not heard.’ But, no complaints really, ‘cause that food was so
delicious and felt good all warm going down our throats and into our
bellies. Grandma sure knew how to make that food taste so good. And many
thanks from their chickens and their eggs!
After breakfast, and dismissed from the tables, we all had to go and
pick up our bedding. Fold them up properly and out of the room. Then we
had to get dressed, get our hair brushed and usually braided. While the
older cousins or women helped grandma clean up the kitchen and get food
put away. The scraps were
put in a bucket to be sent out and thrown behind the chicken house in
the pasture, or given to Brad and Billy, the two watchdogs to eat away.
Surely, those two dogs felt the same love us kids felt, eating
that good, warm food that always satisfied our bellies.
~~©melccampos
April 11, 2009
One summer visit at the Diamond R that ended with liver detesting…
One summer, around age eight or so, I had the good fortune to get to
stay with my grandpa and grandma at their farm. Saying my goodbye’s to
my parents and other siblings as they drove off in their station wagon.
Listening to what would be expected of me and using manners. One of my
sisters got to stay up in the Village with one of my aunts and uncles
and their kids. So, I knew some family was not too far, even though I
really wanted to stay with my grandparents.
I remember helping them in the garden and having to walk a bit to get to
it. I guess you could call it a mini-pasture where there was a pond that
sure had lots frogs croaking at night. There was either an apple or pear
tree growing near it too, and sometimes in later years, we would ride
the horses there and pick them off the tree and eat away. The garden was
big too, and fenced in with a gray wooden fence and some barbed wire.
The gate was of gray wood that had to be kept shut so the cows
wouldn’t make their way into the garden. Later on, though, he built a
step ladder over the garden to make it easier to get in and out without
having to open up the gate.
Grandpa had all kinds of good vegetables and fruits planted, some were
ready to eat, and some not yet ready to get.
He had cucumbers, green beans, potatoes, peaches, blackberries,
we even got to eat some of them right of the bush. But was warned to not
eat too much or I would have a belly-ache and I sure didn’t want that.
Sometimes there were snakes hiding in that garden, and you had to be
real careful where you walked or might happen upon one of the creepy
things.
I’d be taught how to wash, dry and snap those beans. Then grandma would
put them in a big silver kettle-like pan and let them boil then simmer.
Sometimes she would put in some bacon and oh how they tasted so
good when they were served with our meal. We’d peel and slice cucumbers,
and then sometimes those slices would be put in a mixture of vinegar and
water for soaking. Nothing
like having cucumbers and white onion slices that have been soaked in
vinegary water on a hot day!
Sometimes, I got to help get eggs from the chicken coup, and had to be
careful of snakes there too. Guess snakes lived in just about anywhere
out in the country and near your house. I learned that real quickly
along having to be wary of rolling cobblestones over cause of scorpions
or spiders. That part of farm living really was not something to look
forward to. So many chores to be done at the farm, helping grandma
sweep, prepare food, or getting to go with grandpa to feed the horses
and cows.
The farm was sure big inside the house and out, and so pretty, cause the
One time, while I was on the east end of the house on the patio and I
was lying on the old green swinging bed, I began to cry. Those tears
just kept falling out of my eyes and trying my darndest to not let my
grandparents know I was crying. I would look up into the big cedar tree
and into the sky. Something ‘bout that sky, the way the yellow of the
sun turning pale and evening was coming, that made me just cry. I cried
something awful and trying to hide my tears was hard. I didn’t want my
grandparents to worry or make them sad with my crying so much.
The next morning, though, I remember grandma brushing my long black hair
out with a wooden brush with metal ends. She would talk to me about her
days as a child. I got to
sit in her closet with a window that faced to the north, and you could
watch those slick hills, thinking ‘bout all those days when grandma was
a girl. Living on the land like the old Kiowas used to do. Riding
horses, hunting, and just living the way she would tell me.
It was a privilege to get to be in their bedrooms, much less getting to
be in their closet. I was so badly tender-headed, and it would hurt
something awful, but she would wet it and brush till it was not tangly
anymore and then braid my hair. I could sit on that braid, because that
was how long my hair was. Grandma would braid her hair too, and put it
up in a bun.
My grandparents did see me crying the night before, and it sure worried
them. It was decided to let
me stay with my sister up at Aunt Bunny’s house in the Village. I really
didn’t want to leave them, but I was so lonesome, even though I played
that it wasn’t really that way at all. I sure felt bad having to go,
wishing my sister could stay with me instead of me having to go there.
Aunt Bunny didn’t live too far away, bout 5 minutes up the road and up
the hill into the Village of the Boat Landing which was the north part
of
Well, it was nice to be with my sister, until one night we were going to
be served liver.
‘LIVER!!!! Oh my, why make us eat that nasty smelling stuff?!?’
One of my cousins told us we could just eat three bites and cover
it with lots of catsup, that’s how they did it.
Oh we fretted so much, and how I really wanted to go back to my
grandparents. I remember sitting on the front porch which faced the west
toward the farm and kept wondering if grandma and grandpa would even let
us go there to escape from eating that yucky stuff. And in our minds, we
knew that maybe grandma wouldn’t even be happy with us thinking that,
and grandpa would have to listen to her and take her side too.
Well, somehow, through the tears and coaxing by the two cousins and
Uncle Walter that we managed to get that stuff down our throats. More
like me getting it down, my sister just couldn’t get it down. Much
gagging took place, and getting sick caused a reaction by Aunt Bunny,
that we were told to leave the table and go to our room where we were
sleeping in. Oh man, oh man, we sure wanted so badly to run away.
We couldn’t go to the city, cause it was too far away, and so we sure
schemed how to get to the farm without much notice. But then we knew we
would have to explain to grandma and grandpa, and somewhere in all that
scheming, we knew the end result would be us having to apologize and
stay with Aunt Bunny. ‘Cause I was so lonesome that I cried in the
evening too much!’ Now how can you explain all that to your
grandparents? That you wanted to stay with them so you wouldn’t have to
eat yucky liver?
Well, my sister and I stayed with my aunt, until my parents came back,
and then we all stayed at the farm once again with my grandparents. I
remember trying to explain why I was so sad all the time, and really, to
this day, I cannot even explain why. There’s just something to that kind
of sky, in the mountains, in the memories of times long gone before me,
that just brings tears. My poor aunt, too, she really felt bad about
that liver incident. She
has apologized and still feels bad, to this day and into her 80 plus
years. Of course, my sister and I have long-gone forgiven her too.
Although, I still am not a fan of
liver and it sure is hard to be around when it’s cooking.
Blah!
©April 13, 2009, ~~melccampos
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