| Before the vegetables are cut, even before the cutting board comes down, I rummage through the basement for the soup pot. In the underground dim I find it where it has waited since the last time used. It is old, older than me, from a time before. Little ping-holes are indented around it's lip where soup ladles have made a trail...a circle gone complete. The lid is missing. I carry the ancient vessel to the kitchen sink to prepare for cooking. As I labor with hot water and soap suds, I am immersed in ritual. Done many times before, this time is yet once more. My grandmother cooked in it. My mother cooked in it. I cook in it. My daughter will cook in it. The soup kettle lays upside down on the drain board, waiting for the next step. Its gleam has gone, all that remains is a patina created by long usage. The pot bottom is a permanent black from years of hot flames. A well seasoned tool, it waits for the master craftsman's hand. Now, before the chopping and cleaning of vegetables begins, I place the pot on top the stove. Calico beans create a colorful cascade as I pour them into the pot from where they have soaked overnight. Once again I marvel at the soup pot scarred from many years of hard use. Where the indentation is found, I am reminded of my grandmother, who lifted the hot, full vessel shoulder high and tossed it out the kitchen door while Grandfather tried his best not to laugh. It had been her very first effort and it fell short of being eatable. He always roared his loud lion laugh when, later in life, she blushed at the telling. He said she was so strong, proved by that toss out the door, he would never tangle with her. But she wasn't strong at the end. She was very fragile. As a child will do, I crept close to the casket and studied her laying there. She never wore make-up before and now she was like a caracture of herself. This has stayed in my impressionable mind all these long years. Her ring was yet on her hand. Grandfather took it before we left for the cemetery. I couldn't see why then, but the adult me understands he wanted that part of her to remain with him always. We buried it with him five years later. There are times I yet seem to hear their voices.. I brown the pork hocks slightly first, then put the pot to simmer. The cutting board lays ready to receive the vegetables. My hands deftly peel and slice carrots and add them to the brew. Celery brisks into the cauldron waiting. I always put off chopping the onions till last, and when that is done the long cooking begins. Salt and pepper will be added just before the serving. I sit down at the cleared table to have tea, and my mother comes to mind. When she owned the pot, a favorite thing we did together was sit on the back porch swing, snapping green beans together. In the over-all scheme of growing up, many things jump out at me, too many to recall completely. But the sounds of Snap, Snap, Snap are so crystal clear I can let myself travel back to swat the flies away while we worked and sang hymns. I still have my mother's aprons, something we modern cooks have laid aside. I only wear one of hers on soup day. My family will enjoy the meal cooked for them; for me the cooking is better than the end result. My eyes peer out the kitchen window, now obscured by cooking steam. Through the mist I see the walnut tree nearby, and as the rivulets of condensation stream a course downward, I am reminded of the tree of life, the genealogy of me and mine. It's a blessing how the continuance brings such comfort. The family is home now, peeking at the cornbread baking in the oven. They place cold hands down my back and I swat playfully for them to scoot. Later, after the supper meal has ended and the soup pot sits cleaned and ready to be returned to the basement, my son begs to be allowed to do that for me. I smile OK to him. It is family tradition for the pot to be hidden out of sight. I have grown wise to all the best spots they have come up with, but traditions go on. The old battered pot has traveled through generations without ever being lost. Let this be again. There it will wait for the next use...for the next pair of hands. * * * BEAN SOUP: 2 ham hocks or left over ham & bone 2 lb. bag of uncooked beans of choice, soaked overnight 3 large onions diced 4 carrots cut to choice 5 stalks of celery chopped ------------------------ Brown meat and add to sufficient water in pot, don't spare the liquid. Add pre-soaked beans Prepare vegetables and add to mixture. Allow to simmer, checking occasionally, until soup reaches desired consistancy. Serve with fresh baked cornbread and butter. ___________________________________________________________________________ |
 |
| MAXIMIZE PAGE FOR VIEWING |
| A Soup Day |
 |
 |
|
 |