Category: Memories

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Sun Tea and One Time Meetings

Making Sun Tea is just fun!

My first experience with sun tea was in college while I was on Campaigns Northwest, 1979. We stopped in Ontario, Oregon just over the eastern Oregon border for the night and church the next morning. As was our custom we stayed all night with host families from the church of Christ. I stayed with a family in Vale, Oregon on their ranch. The house had many windows facing out over the land and on the deck railing sat a gallon jar of sun tea. They were a sweet family. I enjoyed seeing their land and seeing them work the cattle, and just getting to know them a bit. This was just a one night stop yet they hosted a stranger for the night and treated her like family.  So never underestimate the impact of one time meetings. Memories of those meetings may well follow you through your life and to eternity.

I am in the sunny south and I must tell you it is iced tea drinking time! Mid 90’s today.  It is very simple to make and may seem funny for me to give instructions. Regardless,  I will share how I make sun tea.

To make a gallon of sun tea you will need:

1-gallon glass jar with lid

1-gallon cold water

2-3 quart size or 6-8 regular tea bags

Fill your gallon glass jar with cold pure water. Add 2-3 quart size tea bags (depending on how strong you like your tea) We like 3  the best. Place the lid on the jar and set it in the sun to brew. Depending on your season, temperature, and the direction of the sun it may take 1-5 hours. Mine was ready in an hour or so. However, I live in the sunny south and it is summer! After your tea is ready you may sweeten it with honey,  sugar or any sweetener of your choice.

 

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Cotton Patch – She’s My Curly Headed Baby

When a student’s father is the school principal, it can be either an advantage or a disadvantage, depending on circumstances. My father was my principal for most of my public school years, and it generally gave me a feeling of security, but there were a few times when I wished that he didn’t have to know about my less-than-perfect behavior. The following incident happened when I was in the first or second grade and my two sisters were in upper elementary or Junior High, which were all in the same school complex.

My hair was blond, very straight and shingled in the back. If I ever had a curl it certainly was not natural. There was a time when my sisters decided to either wave or curl my hair, and since it was before setting gels and hairspray, a mixture of sugar and water was used to do the “holding” job! Do I need to tell you what happened when they tried to comb through it? Anyway, all you need to know before my intended story is that my hair was unquestionably straight.

Recess at school was often unorganized and unsupervised. Children could play on whatever equipment was around, or there were balls and long jump ropes available for group activities. Sometimes, the girls and boys segregated themselves and did their own thing, and sometimes they would play together. On this particular day, we girls were trying to play by ourselves. We started out just walking around, talking, and we ended up in an old shed in back of the school building which we liked to make into a playhouse. The shed was partially open, but even in the walls that it did have there were numerous ‘peepholes’, or in this case, ‘holler-holes’.

As soon as we girls got together and began to organize our activities, one little boy decided it would be fun to follow me around singing “She’s My Curly-headed Baby”. The only other part of the song that I remember is, “She’s from sunny Tennessee.”

Well, whether the boy liked me or not, my hair was certainly not curly and I was not from Tennessee. The message didn’t ring true, and I was very irritated at the whole scene. My friends began to prompt me to pick up a rock and throw it at the pest, but it was not until he persisted in following us through the halls, around the playground, and even stuck his face in the crevices of our playhouse, singing all the while. Enough is enough, so I picked up a black piece of coal and let it go in the young boy’s direction. To my immediate horror, blood began to gush from his forehead, and the teacher had to know…then the principal had to know…and even my sisters learned about it!

I was thoroughly ashamed of myself and fearful. At first, the fear was for the injured boy, but when one of my sisters discussed the incident with me, my fear turned toward myself. She warned me that there might be a police investigation into the incident after school. Well, I was scared enough to go home and hide in a closet, but no policeman ever came, and I don’t even recall my teacher nor my principal being particularly harsh with me. Perhaps, it was my good record, or maybe they just understood human nature in little boys and girls… For whatever reason they did not punish me, I am grateful. I firmly believe that my punishment was sufficiently severe when I saw the blood gush from that forehead, knowing that **I **had caused it!

Fear is a powerful force that can be used for either good or evil. Fear of punishment could prevent wrongdoing, or it could cause one to lie and commit other wrongs in order to avoid being found out. Fear of hurting someone could be used to prevent abusive behavior, but taken to the extreme, it could increase the jeopardy of a threatening situation.

My sister, as many siblings have done through the years, used the threat of a police officer to create fear designed to prevent the repetition of a bad deed. In spite of this incident (or because of it), I managed to develop a rather healthy regard for law-enforcement agents.

I believe the security of having parents that deal justly and with understanding, when a child’s behavior is unacceptable, helps the child develop a desire to do well.

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Soft Gingerbread Cake

Soft Gingerbread Cake

Maybe you have a memory of soft gingerbread warm from the oven. I have such a memory but not from my childhood. When I lived in Reedsport, Oregon in 1984-1985 a friend invited us to dinner. I do not remember what she served for dinner. But for dessert, she served warm gingerbread with applesauce. It must have been VERY good because I still remember it today. Gingerbread does remind me of homey things and long ago days. I usually think of gingerbread in the winter but here I am home on a rainy stormy day and thinking of gingerbread. It is made from simple ingredients and ready to eat quickly. Because of this memory and my usual make do attitude, I went searching for a soft gingerbread cake recipe using ingredients I have on hand. I found a simple recipe at Once Upon a Chef. I adapted it a little. I used granulated sugar because I only had granulated sugar. I found it works well. I also love to use my flour sifter to sift the dry ingredients.  I chose to bake it in my small 13X9 cookie sheet pan so that it would be a bit thinner. I think you will like this recipe just as it is… My grandchildren happened along at the right time and shared in the sampling. We all agreed it tastes wonderful with a cold glass of milk.

You can find the recipe on the website below.

( Adapted from https://www.OnceUponaChef.com/recipes-Gingerbread-cake.html )

When I got ready to make a picture this is all that was left!

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From the Cotton Patch-Memories

We may truly believe in the accuracy of our memories, only to discover years later that our version of what happened disagrees with the versions of others who were there. This can be particularly true of children who blindly trust others and who tend to take things literally. Children whose older siblings tease or use scare tactics may have memories of what was told them or what was impressed on their emotions rather than what really happened.

Having two older sisters who sometimes worked together in creating impressions on me, I had some ‘memories’ that were later “put to the test” and found wanting. In laying the foundation for one particular story, however, it seems reasonable to relate things that they did to me before my memory kicked in. As you read this, please, keep in mind that all is told in sisterly love… for they have long since been forgiven.

My birth weight was guessed by the country doctor who delivered me as he hefted me up in his hands….. twelve pounds! (As you can imagine, even if he were off by a pound, I must have been a very large baby). As my mother became strong enough to take on her household duties, she relied a great deal on my sisters to keep watch over me. They probably did as good a job as any six and seven-year-olds could do, but the imaginations of the two together sometimes led them to try things that one, alone, might not try.

A proposed fun thing to do was to put me into our rural mailbox. Here, my weight turned out to be a blessing. As they tried to stuff me into the box, I was too big…. but that’s not the end of the story! They weren’t satisfied to give up on such a neat idea, so they ran to tell our mother that they had stuffed me into the box and couldn’t get me out. Needless to say, Mother was not nearly so thrilled with their joke as they imagined she would be, even after she saw that I was not harmed.

Another before-memory escapade that must be told concerns two china-head dolls that belonged to my sisters. They had each received a doll, of which they were extremely proud, so there was no need for jealousy. Right? Well, so it was in the beginning, but dolls with china heads are quite fragile, and it was not surprising that one of them got broken.

The tragedy happened at the hands of the doll’s owner so she could not blame anyone else, but she could be jealous that her sister still had a doll. In fact, she was so jealous she plotted to have baby sister “accidentally” break the surviving doll. After laying the doll down on a hard surface, my envious sister placed a stick into my small hands and instructed me to hit the doll. She had not counted on my inability to hit the doll hard enough to break it, so she did what she had to do… she broke it herself! Naturally, the owner was told that I had broken her doll, and that account was believed for several years. I ‘learned’ of the wrongdoing when I was about ten years old, as we were riding home from the funeral of a young cousin. The seriousness of the occasion must have pricked an over-burdened conscience, for the guilty sister made a full confession!

Memories of ‘sister abuse’ all center around my fifth and sixth years. The reality of ‘mad dogs’ gave rise to scaring little sister over any strange dog that came around. Once a dog wandered into the school building where some of us were playing, and one of my sisters declared that the dog had rabies. I was duly terrified and clambered to safety where I remained until the dog had gone on its way.

Sometimes fears that are impressed on children make them overly fearful as adults, but I had the story of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” to help me develop a “wait and see” attitude. I was also blessed with a very practical mother whose calmness allayed many fears that were self-induced as well as those projected by others.

It is with good feelings that I recall my family and our rural Alabama home. The cotton patch is one identity of those years, but for now there are several sister stories left to tell.

This is the eleventh basic article of “From the Cotton Patch”. As a grandmother, I have seen older siblings tease the younger ones in ways that sometimes seem cruel. I prefer to believe that teasing within the family can help buffer one against trials of teenage and adult years.

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30 Minute Cure

Whenever Mother knew that some of the children in school had scabies (itch), she was ready and waiting for one of her own children to start scratching. I’m sure she kept up with the latest treatments offered by the medical world, and even though sulfur and grease was considered a reputable cure, it took **time **to do its job. So when Mother heard of the “30 Minute Cure”, there was no justification for denying her family of this modern method of dealing with the problem.

The time came when we, or some of us, started scratching, and Mother was ready. No more days and days for her children to get rid of the little critters that were buried under their skin causing the red rash with its awful itching. Her children were going to be cured in thirty minutes…….. The only picture that I have retained about that memorable scene is that a #3 “bathtub” was in the middle of the room when Mother began treating her afflicted children. I do not know who was first nor how many of us were introduced to the “miraculous” liquid, before the howling became so intense that our dad jerked up the miracle cure and threw it out the door and into the yard (the same yard he had thrown the burning lantern into a few chapters back). I don’t recall that any of us were treated for scabies after that, nor do I recall Dad throwing anything else out of the house!

Several years later, however, Dad did come to my rescue again. It seems that I had a rash which I attacked with rigorous scratching, and Mother’s fear of scabies returned. To allay her suspicions and to save me from her threatened reaction, Dad took me to the doctor. Needless to say, it was not scabies, or I would not be telling this, and probably just as needless to mention is the gratitude I had for Dad’s sparing me the embarrassment of the old treatment with its telltale smell or the impossible pain of the “30 Minute Cure”.

Before leaving this story, I must describe that particular trip to the doctor. Most people today are aware that family doctors made house calls in the first part of this century. How common it was for patients to do as Dad and I did on that occasion I do not know.

It was on a Sunday, and Dad, as usual, had a preaching appointment in a neighboring community. I accompanied Dad to his appointment, and when it was time to leave, we returned by way of our family doctor’s private home. We drove into the front yard and Dad summoned the doctor to come outside, which he did. I remember standing on the lawn as the doctor looked at the rash on my hands, arms, neck etc. He believed that I had a food allergy and “prescribed” that I restrain my appetite for sweets. Whether he was right or not, I’ll never know, but after that, I probably restrained my urges to scratch more than my urges for sweets! Giving up sweets would have been almost as bad as suffering through the treatment for scabies. Besides, I have a suspicion that my weight had more to do with that “prescription” than the rash, and I’ve also toyed with the idea that the doctor and Dad may have had a conspiracy going.

Having followed several of my ancestors into becoming a public school teacher, I understand the fear of exposure to all the “bugs” that attack school children. I am thankful that scabies seemingly ran its course and became much less of a threat during the years that my own children attended school and during the years that I taught. The dread of those years was head lice! Medical technology has provided, however, for the development of a shampoo that works quite well for head lice without the embarrassing smell or other telltale signs that accompanied the treatment of scabies.

Families are better educated today in preventive measures, normal households are better equipped for the practice of personal hygiene, and visiting the family druggist can often save a visit to the doctor.

I will have to submit that the “good ole days” in medical matters was not “back when”!

This article is the tenth one.

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Making Plain Old Fashioned Lye Soap

Lye soap

I started my soap making adventure back in the early 1990s. My first batch was plain lye soap. Back then I could make a year’s worth of soap for about $8. I have continued to make soap for many years.  A few years back I took some of my soap to the flea market where I was selling books. I sold a lot of soap. People especially liked my soap in the spring when they were clearing undergrowth or cutting down trees and had the possibility of coming in contact with poison ivy. They told me they would wash in lye soap and they would not break out. I have never broken out from contact with poison ivy so I do not know if it works.

I am not sure where I got this recipe but the first recipe I got came from a magazine called Gentle Spirit. 

Plain Old Fashioned Lye Soap

1 can Red Devil lye (10 and 3/4 oz.  can)

2 1/2 pints of distilled water in a glass jar

10 cups lard or beef tallow (I have always used lard for this recipe)

Slowly pour the lye into the water (remember it will get very hot) Do not breathe this!!!

Set in the glass jar into cold water to cool down or set aside away from children.

Measure the lard and melt slowly on low. It will be easier to cool to the right temperature if you do not overheat.

 

After these are both done you need to check the temperatures.  When the temperatures are between 95 and 98 slowly pour the lye water into the fat and stir until trace. (Or use a stick blender)

If it is not getting thick after stirring a while then leave it alone for 10 minutes or so and stir some more. Usually, I have no trouble with this one it traces very fast.

After it traces pour it into your mold (I use a box lined with plastic) and cover with a board and blanket and set in a warm place for 24 hours. Uncover it if it is set then turn it out on a protected surface. It will eat up your table if you do not protect it well! Cut with a sharp knife and allow it to cure for two weeks. It will now be ready to use.

Lye soap
Lye soap
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From the Cotton Patch

From the Cotton Patch
by Someone’s Grandma

We awoke early, had a good hot breakfast of biscuits, butter, sausage, eggs, gravy, and jelly, all of which were homemade or home processed. There was also good, fresh, wholesome milk to drink. The biscuits and gravy contained flour and a few other ingredients that were “store-bought”, but everything else was made from things grown or raised on Granddad’s and Granny’s farm. I *could* have milked the cow, churned the butter, gathered the eggs, picked some of the fruit (apple, grapes, cherries, blackberries or strawberries) for the jelly, turned the sausage grinder by hand and stuffed the sausage into a “stocking” cover. I *may* have washed and peeled fruit washed the canning jars with water that was drawn out of a deep well with a contraption called a windlass. (A windlass was a big cylindrical wooden drum with a handle). A rope, attached to the windlass, went up and through a pulley in the ceiling of the well-house and down into the well. When a bucket attached to the rope filled up with water, the windlass was turned by hand to bring the fresh cool water up out of the well. It took a lot of buckets of water to make sure the jars were clean and rinsed, but the windlass was fun to let go flying round and round as the bucket fell into the water. The flying handle could be treacherous if you got in its way, but we all learned that scientific fact rather quickly! …But, back to my story…

After breakfast, the adults busied themselves with various chores, while we younger ones watched the sun creep up over the treetops, revealing a very beautiful dew-drenched earth. It was rather cool and damp out on the front porch as we waited for the signal to load up so we could get to the cotton field for a day of work and fun. We youngn’s each wore a straw hat and a long-sleeved shirt to protect us from the hot sun, and we each had a garden hoe, and some of us may have worn cotton gloves so the hoe handle would be less likely to rub blisters on our hands as we chopped at the weeds in and around the young cotton stalks.

Often there was one last ritual before we climbed into the wagon to head for the field. That was hoe sharpening. One or more of the older folks would take a metal file and sharpen the cutting edges of the hoes. In the process of thinning the cotton stalks and chopping out the weeds, our hoes would often strike rocks. It was kinda neat to us youngsters to see the sparks fly when the metal struck against the rocks, but the veteran cotton choppers knew sharp hoe blades would work faster and more efficiently than ones that had been dulled. Hoe sharpening was essential to getting the job done better and more quickly.

Well, the sun, which was finally up, was causing the dew all around to turn into a vapor and rise into the air. Little low lying patches of fog were just as beautiful as the dew-covered plants. No one needed to tell us how beautiful God made the earth…we not only saw it….we felt it!

At last, it was time to climb into the wagon pulled by a team of mules. We bounced up and down on wooden seats as we were carried along the long country lane edged with sweet-smelling pink hedge roses, and not one of us had a thought about being discontent nor deprived of the luxuries that may have belonged to somebody…somewhere….There were songs waiting to be sung, butterflies waiting to chase, and cool shade trees at the end of the long rows of cotton waiting to be enjoyed by hot, sweaty, tired bodies as they shared a gourd dipper and drank from a cool bucket of water.

 

This is the first article of a series in an attempt to give the younger generation a glimpse into the past that belonged to and helped to shape the ideals and principles of their grandparents and great-grandparents. Not every one belonging to those generations had the privilege of working in a cotton patch, but they all shared a closeness to nature that has all but been destroyed by our modern lifestyles.

Windlass at Cannonsburg Village Murfreesboro, TN

Special thanks to my wonderful mother-in-law, Jo Redding, who agreed to let me share these articles. Thanks to the editors of Redding Magazine for letting me reprint them here. This article was first published in Redding Magazine in 1996.

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Campaigns Northwest Part 3

As I continue our story. Our second stop takes us to Tacoma, Washington where we worked with the Lakeview Church of Christ. This congregation was started as an outreach to the military. As was our custom we stayed with members of the congregation for three weeks. I stayed with Sandy and Dave Newman and their two little girls. The church was in the prep stage for building a new building. They shared with us the new design which we thought was pretty exciting. The pulpit was to be in the middle. Floyd Brazil was in charge of our group. Obert Henderson preached a meeting while we were there. He “taught” us a new song to go with one of his lessons,  His Grace Reaches Me, which is still one of my favorites. We went door to door sharing the scriptures. This meant we had to do a lot of Bible study on our own too! Morning quiet times and devotionals stand out in my memory of my time in Tacoma. Again we studied with old and young alike. This will not be the end of the story of my connection with Lakeview.

My third stop was to Seattle, Washington. Our team all met up at Mountlake Terrace Church of Christ. Six of us were chosen to work with a new congregation just getting started. West Seattle Church of Christ. We again stayed in the homes of church families. I stayed with Roy and Jo Vaughn. The church shared the building with another church. Roy had an old VW Van which he put a sandwich board sign on top of to tell the church was meeting. Most of our work was knocking on stranger’s doors and asking if they would like to study the Bible. We also helped conduct services of the church. I met many wonderful people some that would remain a part of my life to this day. One dear lady, Betty Coleman,  agreed to a Bible study and I went every day with my door knocking partner and we studied through the book of John together. This sweet lady became a Christian while we were there. My life would also reconnect with this congregation a few years down the road. It was time for our group to leave but I was allowed to stay a couple of days longer. Madge Boubonik (I am sure the spelling is butchered) taught me to make communion bread. http://www.redaredding.com/communion-bread/ ‎ Les and Mildred’s daughter Mary, took me on my first trip to the Pike Place Market in Seattle where we bought fresh crab for my first taste! It was wonderful of course!

My love for the Pacific Northwest began in 1979 and still impacts me today.

And a little bit of the continuing story………..

Fast forward to 1985 when we move our family from Reedsport, Oregon to Burien, Washington to start a house church. The nearest congregation was West Seattle and of course, we reconnected with many of those same people I had met in 1979 and that connection remains to this day. Also, new family members were added to our friends list and the ripples continue.  And I am sad to add that West Seattle closed its doors last year.

Fast forward to 2007. We move to Spanaway, Washington near Tacoma! Only 7 miles from the Lakeview congregation. I walk into Lakeview as a grandma now. The building was completed several years before. Many of the same people I met in 1979 were still at Lakeview when I arrived. It was a wonderful reunion. Friendships continue. Floyd Brazil was still busy about the Lord’s work when we arrived and driving us around on a new door knocking adventure. And a few more years down the road his sweet grand-daughter Stephanie would move to Aberdeen, Washington where we were working with the church there. And the ripples continue.

Campaigns Northwest – Part 1

http://www.redaredding.com/campaigns-northwest-part-2/ ‎

 

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Campaigns Northwest – Part 1

In 1979 I had my first adventure to the Northwestern part of the United States. I traveled by car with a group of college students from Freed-Hardeman College and Harding University and the Obert Henderson family who had started Campaigns Northwest. The idea was to bring Christian college students to work with small churches in the Northwest for their summer break. Students who might want to settle there eventually and strengthen these Christians and churches. Many students brought their own cars. So we loaded up and No we didn’t head to Beverly but we headed to the Northwest. Obert arranged for us to be hosted by churches along the way who would house us for one night and feed us dinner that night, and breakfast the next morning and pack a sack lunch for us.  (Years later I would realize what a HUGE undertaking this was). There were about 50 students if my memory serves me correctly. The plan was to go to three congregations for about 3 weeks each. We also had a training session on the trip out while staying at a camp in the Colorado Rockies. Mid-Point we met up at  Camp Yamhill in Yamhill, Oregon.  (Is there a more glorious place?) Many experiences from this trip are seared into my mind. This trip and group of people as well as those we met probably impacted my faith and life more than any single event I experienced in my young life. I would be forever changed. I did not know this at the time.

 

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Traveling with Children and Ironing Sandwiches

Several years ago when many of our children were little we did a lot of traveling! Whether moving,  out of town overnights for doctor appointments, traveling to visit relatives and friends, or mission trips, we were on the move. We did a lot of different things to maintain our sanity and to make the trip fun. Today I will share a few.

Car picnics. Most of the time I packed a cooler. We especially like raw veggies. I would make peanut butter and jelly or honey sandwiches in the van and hand them out on napkins. Or plates if we were having other foods.

At night I sometimes made ironed sandwiches. I would take a roll of aluminum foil and cheese and bread. If I didn’t have those on hand almost any store would, including convenience stores. You will also need an iron. I usually take an iron (I wear cotton) and almost any motel will have one, if not in the room, at the desk. I place the cheese between two slices of bread and wrap the sandwiches in foil and iron each side of the foil until the cheese is melted and the sandwich is toasted. (And no we did not have Panini makers way back then either.)  Even if we were going to eat out some, we got tired of fast food very quickly and this helped save time and money.

Motels. Because of the labor-intensive work of unpacking and repacking the car each night we came up with a simple solution. We would just take in the sleepwear (for whoever wore any) and toothbrushes, etc. After the kids went for a swim and/or took a shower and were ready to settle down and watch a movie, sleep, read, etc. I would gather up all the dirty clothes and wash them at the motel laundry. They would put them back on the next morning. This made stopping for the night and getting back on the road a lot simpler!

Entertainment in the van. There were various ways to keep children entertained in the van to avoid utter chaos. We memorized scriptures, ABC verses, multiplications, parts of speech, and worked on complicated math problems. There was always singing, mostly spirituals.

We usually had read-aloud books and other books for the children to read on their own. We also made use of audiobooks. I have several fond memories of listening to classics on the road. Sometimes we had themes for the day: kindness, sharing, courage, etc. Sometimes I wrapped up little surprises. When people started getting restless I would give a surprise. Some things we tried worked better than others. Some we used with the older kids and should have used it with the younger ones too. Some we just didn’t think of with the older boys.

Bathroom breaks,  fuel stops, and rest stops. At times to cut down on bathroom breaks I would control when the kids would have a drink. If I knew we were going to make a stop down the road in the next half hour or so I would give the children their drinks. I didn’t want 10 people drinking at 10 different times and all wanting to go to the bathroom at every exit. Each stop takes up a lot of time.  When we were stopping for fuel we tried to take care of everything that we could. Bathroom breaks, snacks, stretching, etc.

Sometimes we needed an extra stop between fuel stops. We made use of rest stops. Everyone got out of the van. We would take the younger kids for a run around while everyone finished their business. We didn’t have to encourage the older ones to stretch their legs they found ways! Climbing trees, on the roofs of rest stops, etc. It felt good to stretch. If we were just making a quick bathroom stop I would make a game of it by timing how long it would take for us to all go to the bathroom and water fountain and back to the car and on the road again. I know this sounds torturous to some but we all survived just fine.

I absolutely loved traveling with my children. I am not sure my children loved it near as much as I did. For many years there were no cell phones, no electronics, no TVs, etc. It was a glorious time for me to spend time with my children. Sometimes it could be long and tiring for all of us but I have many wonderful memories of our traipsing about.

I know that many of you have great ideas so please share them in the comments below. I would love to read them!