by Mary

The first table I remember at the farm on the hill was an old round oak table—it was old at my first memory of it. It had thick legs and seems like one was always propped up with a book or something. We sat around this for meals and it was covered with an oil cloth. The oil cloth (something like a plastic table cloth) had fruit or flowers or something colorful as it’s design. Mom loved busy prints! It would get so worn from all the meals served to at least 8 of us on any given day. (I don’t remember less than 8 counting Mom and Dad and a high chair to boot.) When the oil cloth finally had too many places worn through to the threads, Mom would get a new one. I still remember the “new smell”, and it took awhile for it to get “broken in” so it didn’t try to roll up by itself. The new, smooth surface was a whole lot easier to wash off!

That particular table not only saw numerous family meals, it was the place Mom rolled out the noodles. That was a sight! Two or three eggs, keep the largest half egg shell to measure the cream (one half egg shell for each egg used); flour; lots—add it a little at a time till the dough gets sticky, then pour the dough out on a pile of flour to knead till it is just right; rolling pin, only one handle on the one I remember but Mom worked wonders with it; sharp butcher knife to cut the noodles into just the right size.

I learned lots just watching her. Like, homemade noodles are best cooked before they are dried—in old hen chicken broth . I think my part in this event was cleaning up the table—at least part of the time. I remember the flour stuck in the crack in the middle. A good old table knife over the dishrag cleaned it out pretty well. You couldn’t leave flour crammed down in there without getting caught!

Noodles sure weren’t the only things prepared on that old table. I will never forget the butchering stuff that happened in that small dining room on that round table. Man, Dad would bring in the slabs of pork—once in awhile beef, but mostly pork. He would make the first cuts and trim off the fat for lard. Mom had her part in there—I think mostly reminding Dad what the cuts were. Of course, wrapping, taping and labeling were her specialties—and probably arranging it in the chest freezer on the porch just outside the living room door.

Then finally, it was time to CUT THE LARD! I got to get in the middle of this. I know I could see over the edge of the table standing flat-footed on the floor, although I don’t remember how old I was the first time I got to help. BUT, one thing I do know, I absolutely, under no circumstances would let one of my kids OR grandkids at ANY age weild one of Dad’s butcher knives. The way I remember, they were the sharpest knives I have ever come in contact with. I guess we must have been smarter or maybe more careful or capable. I don’t know, but I sure wouldn’t put any of them in the hands of my loved ones. We survived, though and have great memories of that fat yielding to the knife in our hand. I would always look for the strips that were more fun (easy?) to cut. Couldn’t particularly describe it to you, but I would know one if I saw one!

Many other special things happened around our farm table—-too numerous to mention. I do have two favorite mealtime memories around our table. It wasn’t necessarily the round one, we did get a rectangle one somewhere along the line which fit our family a lot better—we were growing fast you know!

Anyway, one favorite picture in my mind is the baby in the high chair placed between Mom and Dad. John is my most vivid memory—although Jim and Jeanie had their turns in that spot. There was a time we thought John might grow up to be a hairstylist. He loved to smear the mashed potatoes up his forehead into his hair. He could make the cutest curl and we always attributed his gorgeous cowlick to the mashed potatoes.

The other memory, and indeed my favorite, involves our brother Ron. We all had our “assigned” place at the table, and don’t you dare try to sit in someone else’s place. It went like this going clockwise, Dad, then Ron and Donna on the piano bench, Doris, Mary, Don, Mom, and the baby. Now, we all knew that Ron had the seat by Dad so Dad could, uh, keep him in line or something like that. It does seem like he was often the object of Dad’s annoyance (wrath?).

Well, Dad had gotten all of his teeth pulled and didn’t have his dentures yet. In those days, they didn’t put the dentures in till the gums had healed. I don’t remember what happened at the table, but we all knew Dad was not happy. Bless Ron’s brave heart. He was the first to speak. This is what we heard come out of his mouth with that “look” on his face, “Just grit your gums, Dad”. For once in his short life, Ron had gotten the last word! I remember waiting breathlessly for Dad to react. My recollection is that he finally laughed and broke the silence. Whew!!! I know I was relieved.

Conversations around the table were mostly Mom and Dad discussing events/plans for the day. We ALWAYS waited for Dad to arrive no matter what time of the night that would be during planting and harvesting. I can’t remember having supper without him during the years he was only farming. It was a given that we waited till he came in.

We had our assigned piece of fried chicken. I remember it like this, although I could be wrong. Oh by the way, Mom cut the chickens up after we butchered them, so the pieces were different than you buy in the store nowadays—Dad ate the backs (there were two), Mom had a thigh, the baby had a drumstick, the twins had the other thigh and drumstick, I had a wing, Donna and Doris each had a breast, we shared the gizzard and heart or took turns and Donna and Doris ate the liver. That’s my recollection—I’m open for correction if someone remembers it differently.

Our table never saw green jello, green kool-aid, buttered rice, spaghetti (till Jeanie got old enough to make it), lemon anything even though Mom liked it, and I don’t recall ever having chocolate ice cream around our table. Mom did venture out and have Neopolitan sometimes because Dad could dip around the chocolate layer. Do you get the drift that Dad’s likes and dislikes ruled the kitchen and table? We had fried potatoes way too often for my likes, but they were Dad’s favorite. And who could forget fried carp with a side of plain bread to chase down any bones that might have escaped our fingers as we mashed each piece checking for bones before we put it in our mouth. That was one long meal and I remember loving it.

Dad did always want to invent a trough that went around the table to catch the water spilled at every meal. He might have made a mint on that idea—just never got around to it!

And, at the end of the meal, right during conversation, our Dad would fall sound asleep!! Imagine that, with anywhere from 6 to 8 kids plus Mom, he could nod right off. We would just get up and leave him there snoring away—maybe that’s why Mom didn’t make us clear the table and do the dishes. She wouldn’t want to disturb our hard-working Dad during his naptime!!

That’s how I remember “around the table on the farm”. We were there for every meal—not around the TV. Well, let’s be honest, we didn’t HAVE a TV in those days—we were blessed! Family dinners continued around the table as long as there was room enough to crowd one more chair in with the addition of each new family member. I’m thinking Dad never quit sitting at the table with his plate no matter how many others went to the “other room”. He wasn’t about to give up his favorite nap spot!!

Oh, the memories! Warm and wonderful—NOW