The window on the back porch

It’s bright, hot and muggy in Tokyo today. Not hot like its going to be in a couple more weeks. Not muggy in an unbearable way, like it will be in a month. Just hot enough and muggy enough to make you want to turn the ceiling fan on, but not hot enough to close up the house and turn on the a/c. Hot enough to crave fresh lemonade; not so hot that you think about limiting the number of hot cups of coffee you will drink. It is hot enough to start thinking about an escape.

It was round about this time each year that my grandmother, for reasons no one but she understood, would make her summer escape to the back porch and begin washing dishes at the back porch sink instead of at the kitchen sink. The kitchen sink had a window above it that faced due west. Through it you could see the sugar maple that set between the house and the garden; the garden that seemed to stretch a little too far – and farther still if you had a hoe in your hand; beyond that lie some pasture, a house, another pasture and beyond that the interstate.

The back porch had three windows and was painted white which made it lighter and brighter than the kitchen. It smelled of Ivory with hints of lye and cedar: Lye from the soap setting on top of the wringer washer; cedar from the wardrobe that sat in the corner next to the door that led into the kitchen. These would be overpowered at times depending on what fruits and vegetable had just been brought in from the garden. Cantaloupe, tomatoes set in an open window sill to ripen a bit more, new potatoes that carry the aroma of slightly wet dirt, and whatever bean that needed to be snapped or podded into a pot.

The screen door opened to the north, and thanks to a tight spring always slammed shut to the south. A precarious set of wooden green steps led to a well house, a barn and a collection of old farm sheds in various degrees of disrepair. The well house was white, but heavily textured with the chipping paint; the other buildings clung to their buttermilk red paint.

The back porch sink was deep and had high counters on either side. It too had a window above it, framed by white cabinets. This window faced east. It overlooked the clothesline and a small patch of white lillies backed by a barbed wire fence. The view took in most of their pasture land with cows, a collection of Guernseys and Ayrshires, dotting the landscape. The pasture rolled down into a holler on the north-side and into another pasture and trees farther to the east ending in a line of green tree tops and blue sky. To the south-east were (and I am quoting here) “mean ol’ Ms. William’s woods” (this was usually followed by “‘n’ I reck’n she thinks she’s gonna take ‘em with her”) and the dirt road that was my grandmother’s nemesis in her fight to keep the house clean and the lace curtains white.

Dishes were carted out to the back porch, washed, dried and then carted back into the kitchen after each meal. Cutting, peeling, chopping and whatever else went into canning happened on the porch between meals with the light from that window streaming in.

On the middle shelf of the left-most cabinet was a big empty tin of baking powder. In it were stuffed old recipes.  I never saw my grandmother use a recipe that was written down.  But with terms like “a pinch,” “a dash,” ” a little bit,”  “some,” and “some more,” its not like they were any more decipherable than my daughter’s attempts at kanji.

The weather, and the fact that I ran across a copy of these recipes while cleaning yesterday (I honestly have no idea why I have a copy of these things here), has me feeling a bit nostalgic. So if you have some lard or dandelions hanging around, know how to measure a pinch, or have an empty back porch with a sink and window, you can try these recipes:

January 25, 1938            Soft Gingerbread        E.B. Carper
Full 1½ cup lard
3 eggs
1 ½ cup molasses
1 ½ cup brown sugar
1 ½ teaspoons cinnamon
1 ½ teaspoons ginger
Pinch of salt
3 pinches soda
1 ½ cups warm water
4 ½ cups of flour

There is an additional note: Makes large quantity (Good to know, thanks grandma.)

There is no date on this next one, but it makes me laugh every time I see it:

No Date        Dandelion Wine    E.B. Carper
2 quarts dandelions – scalded and then strained
Two lemons to the gallon – slice the lemons and put in with three pounds of sugar to the gallon.
Then let stand 24 hours
Then strain and put away for use.

Hope you enjoyed the visit back to the old farm house…let me know how the recipes turn out.