My kitchen, my way

The first years of marriage are always a big adjustment. Some of my memories about those early years aren’t so pleasant. When I married and went to Kentucky in 1937 we lived with my husband’s folks nearly two years.

Water had to be carried from the well behind the house down by the barn. Dishwater was scarce and it was considered wasteful to empty it before it was thick with grease and homemade soap from usage. My mother-in-law said drying the dishes with a well-used dishrag served the same purpose as rinsing. Without window and door screens, flies were everywhere. The soapy water was good for the hogs and had to be carried even further.

I was used to washing dishes and canning jars so they would be CLEAN as Mom has taught me – lots of hot, clean water.

I was so thankful to finally have my own home on the mountaintop! After my mother-in-law was gone, I gave everything in the kitchen a real scalding. We had CLEAN dishes there!

After our move up the mountain, my husband fussed about the small amount of food on the table. With only the two of us and one baby, he grumbled that he didn’t like “such batching.” If he could, he would have stayed under his mother’s roof as long as he lived.

He really fussed about the first bucket of my discarded dishwater. He said I couldn’t even make dishwater fit for the hogs. (However, he was teaching the baby to call me Mammy like he called his mother until I taught the baby to call me Mom.)