The House That Built Me

When I was a little girl, visiting relatives was a treat. Although they only lived a few miles away, my folks acted like we were going cross country. I suppose they would have been considered introverts nowadays but back then they just called us homebodies.
I grew up in a Czech community in Central Texas where there were small towns. Now, these small towns are not on most maps anymore. They were either consolidated into bigger towns that were consolidated themselves further down the line, or they just vanished. Roads were named after them so when the local general stores finally got torn down, they were still there in the older folks’ minds.
But I digress. We were talking about visiting.
I enjoyed going to my grandparents’ houses. My stepdad’s grandparents’ home was tucked down in a field off Red Ranger Road. (Red Ranger was one of those towns I mentioned but I will talk about that in another tale.)
I loved that house. I had the layout of it memorized as it was what I considered my dream home. It was what my late husband would have called a shot-gun house. Back in the day the front door would be lined up with the back door so one could shoot the shotgun from the front door and get a trespasser in the backyard. Scary but true. In actuality, the design just made it where the breeze would flow through the screen doors easily and the houses would be cooled.
When you entered, you stepped into a large living room. Now, I realize that the living room may not have been as big as I remembered. I was a scrawny, gangly thing back then. But regardless, in the corner was a wood-burning stove for heat. A TV sat on a table but I never remember it ever being on other than to watch the news. A long couch trailed one wall and a wooden coffee table sat in front of it. Sitting on that couch was a bit like sitting on a wooden chair. Not comfortable but it served its purpose.
Next to the living room was the kitchen which I swear was bigger than that living room. A big square dining table sat in the middle surrounded by chairs. A door to a pantry we were never allowed in stood closed in the back corner. Two walls were lined with counters and an icebox. For those of you that don’t know the difference between an icebox and a refrigerator, this is it. A refrigerator is cooled by electricity flowing through coils while an icebox is cooled totally by a giant cube of ice. When I say giant, think of the size of a modern (2026) microwave. That’s it. Everything stayed chilled in there.
From the living room, the hallway led to the backdoor, as I said before. The first door to the left was always closed. My mom used to say it was granny’s sewing room. God asked permission to go in there. The next room was my Uncle Johnny’s bedroom. He kept it open and aired. Not to mention spotless. I remember seeing his bed made with a beautiful, scalloped quilt granny had made. On the opposite side of the hallway from Uncle Johnnie’s room was my grandparents’ bedroom. It also stayed open and tidy. Across from Granny’s sewing room was Uncle Gus’s room. It stayed closed. Yeah, even country folks have its rebels.
Granny kept that house tight as a drum. She had a bowl of candy on the coffee table but loose wrappers were forbidden. There was also a small bowl of sugar mints. I loved them a bit much. Granny would limit me to one then make me go outside to play if I snuck another. To be honest, I got sent outside for a lot of things. Running down the hallway, not sitting still, asking a lot of questions about silly things. Yeah, I played outside more than in.
When I was inside, I remember delicious lunches at that dining table. Chicken noodle soup straight from a jar she canned herself was my favorite. We would have slices of homemade bread to dip in and never wasted a drop. I have tried to make the same flavor in my own soups, but it is still a work in progress.
Lots of home-canned foods came out of that mystery pantry. It must have been huge! I used to watch her from the kitchen doorway while she canned. Sometimes she would have my mom join her. Us kids weren’t allowed in there unless it was time to eat. She canned soups, and stews, but I was so fascinated watching her can meats. Sausages, chicken (sometimes half a chicken squished into one jar!) and beef filled the jars and pressure cookers were rattling on the stove throughout the day. All I could think of was I want to be them someday.
As it stands, I am working on using what I learned along the way. All of my grandmas and mom taught me so much I want to teach my kids. I am not as proficient as they were, but every run starts with a step.