Bluegate Hill
The setting: Rural Vermont, circa 1964
Being a young mother during the Great Depression, she had to make do with resources close at hand. Foods like doughnuts and pies require shortening but my grandmother used lard. Have you ever tasted lard? Sure, try a spoonful! I'd recommend against trying it plain, but my oh my did it ever elevate the flavor of those doughnuts to blissful deliciousness! They weren't fancied up with any glaze; they were simple and plain. And delicious, in case you missed that fact.
Being a child of nine or ten years old, I wasn't cognizant of how many were made. I just knew they either popped into my mouth or into a clear plastic freezer bag for later consumption. Later?? But..baked goods are so much better in the NOW. Nevertheless the filled bags were stored in the old chest freezer in the kitchen cellar. The farmhouse was old and upon opening the cellar door, the air reminded of that fact. It wasn't unpleasant but rather a comfortable, homey scent. The wooden stairs were wellworn and shiny with use--to the point where the edges were rounded. I was usually accompanied by one of the current cats..one I recall the most was named Smoky because of his gray coat.
My grandmother Gail was a wonderful farm cook. I can see her in my mind's eye-- standing at the red formica counter in her shirtwaist dress with an apron tied at her waist, mixing up a batch of homemade cake doughnuts or rolling out a crust for raspberry pie.
Being a young mother during the Great Depression, she had to make do with resources close at hand. Foods like doughnuts and pies require shortening but my grandmother used lard. Have you ever tasted lard? Sure, try a spoonful! I'd recommend against trying it plain, but my oh my did it ever elevate the flavor of those doughnuts to blissful deliciousness! They weren't fancied up with any glaze; they were simple and plain. And delicious, in case you missed that fact.
Being a child of nine or ten years old, I wasn't cognizant of how many were made. I just knew they either popped into my mouth or into a clear plastic freezer bag for later consumption. Later?? But..baked goods are so much better in the NOW. Nevertheless the filled bags were stored in the old chest freezer in the kitchen cellar. The farmhouse was old and upon opening the cellar door, the air reminded of that fact. It wasn't unpleasant but rather a comfortable, homey scent. The wooden stairs were wellworn and shiny with use--to the point where the edges were rounded. I was usually accompanied by one of the current cats..one I recall the most was named Smoky because of his gray coat.
There might have been a washer and dryer down there but I honestly don't remember. The important item was that chest freezer that held all those goodies! Whenever I was asked to fetch something from it, I was admonished "Be careful when opening the freezer--it bites." Oh. Good to know! What does that mean to a child anyway? I quickly found out when I touched the metal handle--a fun little buzz, I thought. I had already experienced the buzz from hot wires around the pasture but not being otherwise educated in the various mediums that can be electrified, that first contact was a bit of a surprise.
