Buttermilk Biscuits
I was 8 years old the last time I ate her homemade buttermilk
biscuits and sun-dried apple treats. Now, 32 years later, the tastes
and smells of those delectable treats embrace me.
Come with me back to a time when life was slower, simpler, and
satisfyingly sweet.
Her name was Mrs. Cavender. She was my babysitter and
replacement grandma. It was at her home that my sister, Leigh, and I
spent our summer breaks.
She was a delightfully spry old lady -- at least 60 years old.
And to a young girl, that was close to extinction. The summers we
spent there were full of wonderment. She lived in a very modest
house that was a pale blue -- a robin's egg blue -- with white
shingles and a detached garage. Sun catchers and wind chimes lined
the screen porch at the front of her home. The wind constantly urged
those chimes to sing. Huge oak trees covered the backyard like
protective soldiers guarding-guarding a time that seemed to be
suspended and in no hurry to catch up with the rest of the world.
Leigh and I were free here. Free to explore the natural wonders
that surrounded us. There were no electronic games, televisions, or
iPODs to fill our minds. We had our imaginations.
Our playhouses were made of branches and twine. Our
tic-tac-toes were sticks and stones. It was in this backyard bubble
we would spend four summers.
And it was during these summers that I was introduced to
homemade biscuits and sun-dried apple treats. These are the two
things I remember the most. If I close my eyes, I can faintly smell
and taste those biscuits. Those tasty treats filled to the brim with
mounds of melted butter that remained as a flavorful ring on my
napkin whenever I took a bite. Delicious!
I could tell it was a biscuit day the moment I would walk
through her kitchen door. The tell- tell sign of the Crisco
shortening can on the counter would greet me. A smile would form on
my lips. I remember the kitchen being very dark except for one small
illuminating window above the sink. When the sunlight hit that
Crisco can it was like a beacon welcoming me and urging me to grab a
napkin because the biscuits were hot and ready.
Before I began staying at Mrs. Cavender's house, the only way I
had ever eaten an apple was raw or sauced. She introduced Leigh and
me to the timeless tradition of sun-dried apples. I can still see
the boxes lined outside her front porch-lined with sheets, wire, and
sliced thin apples. The wire served as a drain and the sheets helped
keep the pesky bees and flies from tasting what would soon be our
afternoon treat.
When my Dad would pull up in her driveway with those apples
drying in the sun before me, I could not contain my excitement. I
have never again tasted dried apples quite as scrumptious as hers.
The tartness of the apples was replaced with a wholesome sweetness.
And rather than a crunchy sensation, my mouth was met with a chewy
delight.
Biscuits and apples. So seemingly simple, yet treasured memories.
When I reflect back on those days, it makes me grateful for the
simple pleasures. In Mrs. Cavender's world, simplicity was a way of
life -- a long lost forgotten art. I can't say I dry apples for my
family and couldn't bake a biscuit from scratch if I had to.
Instead I live in a world of Pop-tarts and Rice Krispies --
still served with love -- just by a generation a little too rushed
and not quite simple enough.
~ Lisa Morris-Abrams ~
Copyright © 2010
<lovealab at aol.com>
Lisa says, "I have been an educator for the last 20 years. I
currently reside in Crestview, Florida and teach 4th grade Language
Arts. I love what I do. I also love my two precious children and
four furry dogs. I am addicted to Labrador Retrievers. Recently I
have had a streak of publishing success, and I am hoping it doesn't
stop anytime soon."
[ by: Lisa Morris-Abrams, Copyright © 2010, ( lovealab at aol.com ) -- {used with permission} ]
Inspirational Stories
SkyWriting.Net
All Rights Reserved.
|