My mother's grandparents, Anna and Stanley, lived in Mosinee, Wisconsin. They had a working farm with cows, chickens, and several barn cats. There may have been other livestock, and perhaps a dog, but I don't remember much about the farm other than the barn cats, their kittens, Great-Grandma's kitchen with its large cast-iron, wood-burning stove, and Great-Grandpa sitting in his rocking chair next to a large radio that sat atop a side table to his right.
Even at my young age of about seven years old, I was aware that I had stepped into history. These people, my kin, lived a different lifestyle than my brother and me would know. Stories of my Great-Grandma Anna giving birth to twelve children in that very house; cooking meals entirely on her wood-burning stove; not needing to consult cookbooks or handwritten recipes when preparing baked goods; killing and butchering chickens for that evening's meal; her large garden, and root cellar - here is where that all took place.
While seated cross-legged on the floor in front of my Great-Grandpa, I can recall wondering about the life he had lived thus far, and about the stories he must have to tell. A flight of stairs leading upstairs was behind me and I yearned to climb them and investigate the second floor, but it would have been rude to do so, and so I remained seated and stared in wonder at my Great-Grandfather, who was likely well into his 80's at the time, as my parent's talked with him.
Some years after our visit, although I don't remember the time frame, Great-Grandpa Stanley died. Before the farm went up for sale, we made another visit to Mosinee and to the farm. By that time, Great-Grandma was already living with one of her children. Although we could not go inside the home's interior again, the storm doors leading down to the root cellar were not padlocked. Mom opened the doors and as she did so, my eyes must have been as big as saucers. This was a stairwell that I could traverse, and did so with great enthusiasm. Mom said something about spider webs but by that time my feet were already planted on the earthen floor and marveling at the wooden shelving to my right that held many jars full of various things that Great-Grandma had canned over the years.
I don't remember much else about the root cellar aside from the shelves that Great-Grandpa likely made, and the mason jars that rest upon them. This may have something to do with the fact that the only light source was from the open cellar doors behind me. Mom eventually came down to join me and briefly explained to me that those jars was how food was preserved to last through the winter months.
Those two experiences at my maternal Great-Grandparent's farm left an indelible impression on me. Whenever I garden, especially in the vegetable garden, I think of my Great-Grandma Anna. Likewise, when in the kitchen baking and canning summer goodness, I feel that my Great-Grandmother is with me.
Even at my young age of about seven years old, I was aware that I had stepped into history. These people, my kin, lived a different lifestyle than my brother and me would know. Stories of my Great-Grandma Anna giving birth to twelve children in that very house; cooking meals entirely on her wood-burning stove; not needing to consult cookbooks or handwritten recipes when preparing baked goods; killing and butchering chickens for that evening's meal; her large garden, and root cellar - here is where that all took place.
While seated cross-legged on the floor in front of my Great-Grandpa, I can recall wondering about the life he had lived thus far, and about the stories he must have to tell. A flight of stairs leading upstairs was behind me and I yearned to climb them and investigate the second floor, but it would have been rude to do so, and so I remained seated and stared in wonder at my Great-Grandfather, who was likely well into his 80's at the time, as my parent's talked with him.
Some years after our visit, although I don't remember the time frame, Great-Grandpa Stanley died. Before the farm went up for sale, we made another visit to Mosinee and to the farm. By that time, Great-Grandma was already living with one of her children. Although we could not go inside the home's interior again, the storm doors leading down to the root cellar were not padlocked. Mom opened the doors and as she did so, my eyes must have been as big as saucers. This was a stairwell that I could traverse, and did so with great enthusiasm. Mom said something about spider webs but by that time my feet were already planted on the earthen floor and marveling at the wooden shelving to my right that held many jars full of various things that Great-Grandma had canned over the years.
I don't remember much else about the root cellar aside from the shelves that Great-Grandpa likely made, and the mason jars that rest upon them. This may have something to do with the fact that the only light source was from the open cellar doors behind me. Mom eventually came down to join me and briefly explained to me that those jars was how food was preserved to last through the winter months.
Those two experiences at my maternal Great-Grandparent's farm left an indelible impression on me. Whenever I garden, especially in the vegetable garden, I think of my Great-Grandma Anna. Likewise, when in the kitchen baking and canning summer goodness, I feel that my Great-Grandmother is with me.
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| My mother snapped this photo of the farm house from the hay loft of the barn at the age of 13. The cellar doors are visible under a window near the right-hand side of the photo. There is a person standing in front of a wicker rocking chair at the far side of the clothesline, and I believe that is Great-Grandma Anna. |
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| My brother and me seated with our paternal grandmother and maternal Great-Grandma Anna. |
