One thing about it, one thing for sure, my grandma was the best cookie maker there ever was. During the war things were rationed and on top of that we did not have much, but one thing for sure, one thing for dang sure, was that come Christmas, my Grandma would get out those two big old black cookie sheets and bake up a whole mess of cookies. Now Grandma had eleven children, ten boys and one girl, so there was a bunch of us grandkids around. I was too young to go to school so I would stay with my grandma. We were poor, well we did not know we were poor for everyone else had about the same as we did, but we were happy with what we had and we were glad to have it. At Christmastime my Grandma would go up over the hill in back of the house in Mister McCurdle’s pasture field and we would gather a big basket of black walnuts. Then we would sit out on the edge of the cistern with a large rock and a hammer and crack them. Slow and tedious, as you know if you have ever cracked black walnuts, and you can not appreciate them if you have not. Anyhow, after the walnuts were cracked and she had the number of cups of black walnut meat she would need, we would dump the hulls in the pig pen and then it was step two. Of course I was there helping, helping like all small boys do. My grandmother was a very patient woman. She would explain, show, then explain and show again, until I got what it was she was trying to teach me. Then it was on to the next step. She had a special place where she got her ginger for ginger snaps. I do not remember the man’s name, but you went down the hard surface road past Mister Henry Thomas’s store, then at the big tree you turned right, and about a mile down that road there was a big old two-story house, a house which could have been used for any modern horror movie. It looked as if it had never been painted and there was no front porch, or even a stoop, just a log to step when you went in; step up from the ground to the log then into the house. There was a door on the second floor which opened out to no where. At one time, it had a front porch and that was the door which lead out to the upstairs porch. But it had been gone for a long time. My Grandma would send me with twenty-five cents. She would take that twenty-five cents, tie it in a knot in my handkerchief, and then she would pin the handkerchief into my pocket so I would not lose it. Anyhow, I goes there and a boy big and mean came out and wanted to wrestle. I got scared, real scared, but his ma sent him off as the man came out. “Mister Botcher, my Grandma, Mrs. Freeman, wants a whole quarters worth of your ginger,” I said. I said my piece as if I was in a Sunday school program. Anyhow, he goes out back, then a few minutes later, he brings me a paper sack, about a five-pound paper sack, if I recollect right. He takes my quarter and gives me the bag. “Thank you sir and I do hope you and your family have a great Yule season,” I say as big as all get up. Then I head for home. Now I saw that big boy go out to a shed then walk down toward the creek, and the road where I had to go, so I saw me a flat rock and picked it up. It fit right in my hand. My Grandma had told me, “You don’t start no trouble, and if it comes a knocking, you try to run. But if you can’t run, you step up and give it all you got and see if you can’t over come it the best you can, for I will know you would not start no trouble.” I get down to the log, which is the bridge across the crick, and there he stood. “Give me a nickel or I will throw you in the crick,” he said. I was scared. “Ain’t got no nickel, all I got is this here ginger I just bought for my Grandma.” I started across the foot bridge but he stepped on it and said, “Then I will take that there sack.” I nearly peed my pants cause he was a lot bigger than me. I just scrunched my eyes, gripped that bag real tight, squeezed that rock in my hand, and walked across the bridge. As soon as I get close I saw his fist ball up and I just let my hand, the hand with the rock, just dangle. I looked at his right ear and I swung that hand as hard as I could, aiming for his right ear. Kerpop! I hit him just in front of his ear and he just slowly went down and fell in the creek. I hit the ground a running and did not slow down until I was in our own yard. Either he did not chase me or I out ran him for he was not in sight. I take the poke in and gave to my Grandma. She takes the ginger and grates it, grates it, then she puts it in a piece of cloth and pounds it with the hammer. The next morning she takes all the ingredients and measures them out. Man oh man, there were black walnuts, raisins, citron like you put in fruit cake and chocolate chips, plus the ginger. She mixed up her dough, all the while making sure that big old cook stove was just the right temperature, and then she takes and puts a spoon of the batter every so often on the cookie sheet. Then she wets the spoon and squashes the glob of dough, and into the oven it goes. Now today everybody has to have a timer and time everything, but my Grandma never timed anything. She just seemed to know when it was just right. Heck, maybe that is why she was such a good cook, the best cook. And so she would put a batch in the oven then get the next batch ready. When she took one batch out it was in with the next one until she was done. After the last batch was put on the cookie sheet, I got the spoon and bowl to lick. After they were all baked and spread out to cool she would look them over and find one that was messed up. I would get that one along with a glass of cold sweet milk. Man oh man, I can still taste those cookies today, yes siree bob, I can. She would put some in containers and then I would deliver them all around the area. Funny, here I was a five or six year old boy, or something like that, and heck, I was sent miles on errands. I knew where I was going and went and came by myself. Funny how these days everybody gets in a car and drives, and boys like me are too dumb, well I assume they are too dumb, to go in and out of the house. My, how times have changed. Then when her boys would come visiting with their families they would be given a tin of those cookies, but of course she kept some out for us to eat. Best dang cookies I ever had. ~ © Tom (tomWYO@aol.com) ~ November 30, 2003 If you use my graphics, please add my button to your page along with a link back. http://www.geocities/wcseptember2003/ If you enjoyed this page, check these out: My Last Christmas Doll Red Velvet Sledding Italian Is Ice Cream Momma's Clock When Santa Was A Boy Snowballing And.......for many others, click the link for HOME. Home: Writers' Corner Index