Something Cooking

Somethin Cookin

She's ninety something, been blind for several years and she was shouting that she had a visitor. She just knew it was either her son or me. She said it must be her son because she could always smell the "Tabac" cologne that I wore when I visited the old folks home. Since that smell hadn't reached her yet, it must be her son and she began calling his name. I just stood there with tears burning my eyes and trying to keep a stiff upper/lower lip. Everyone was deathly quiet and I didn't
have a clue as to what I should do. The old cook had me by the sleeve and said that no one had told her that her son had died some weeks before.
I went over, sat down beside her and took her hand in mine.
Talk about alert! "Mr. Crider! It's you, I can smell your Tabac and I know the shape of your hand. You didn't come in the front door." I told her I had made ten pounds of venison sausage the day before and I had brought it for them to share. Sandra and I wouldn't eat it but two or three more times and we didn't want it to get old. It seems when her son came to visit he always
brought stuff to cook for everyone also.

She started to talk about a November a long time ago when her and her family used to hitch up a wagon, load it with supplies and leave Corpus Christi and head for the brush down near Laredo. It was all dirt wagon trails and would take a week or more to get to their hunting site.

I had heard this story numerous times before, but it made me feel good to hear it again. She is such a strong person and I know she was probably as tough as a boot heel, yet kind as a puppy when she was young and raising a family. She continued weaving her tale, "We'd set up our camp and they'd bring in the deer every day. I'd skin 'em and bone 'em out, then salt 'em with cure and put the meat in the barrels.
Every meal we'd eat the fresh loins fried in the fat that we had brought from the McCord store in Corpus. I would make onion gravy and simmer it 'til it was just right. And I'd make the most perfect biscuits. There were plenty of canned greens, tomatoes and other stuff from our big garden. The men just loved it.
I did too, but it was a lot of hard work for me being the only woman along. But I had to do it or my family wouldn't get fed right for the next few months."
I just sat there listening, trying to imagine the backbreaking long hours and effort this elegant old woman had put into making it comfortable for her family.

Though she had lost her sight several years ago, her senses were phenomenal. She knew my hands, my smell and my voice.

I bet if I had worn hard soled shoes or boots instead of the soft soles she would have known that sound also.
The cooks came out and announced brunch was ready. As the assistants began to get everyone to their tables, I held her hand and helped her to her place. It was hard for me to keep my composure as she kept telling everyone her son would arrive soon and he would bring them something wonderful to enjoy also.

She and the other residents thanked me for the venison sausage. I know they will savor it as much as I did. I can see them enjoying it and digging in for more as I slip out the back door leaving them to
their dreams of years and families past.

As I drove off, I recall the pretty things she had pinned on her shawl. One of her sons had died on Guadalcanal during the war and the son who had just died was also a veteran. It was their medals she had pinned on her shawl. I guess she will wear them to her grave. Seems sad that such a strong yet graceful and soft
woman should outlive her sons.
Don't know if they should tell her about her last one. They told me she passed away a few days after Veterans Day this year.
Reflections by
Mark Crider

Story ID:	3578
Written by:	Mark Crider (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Organization:	Corpus Christi Coating & Machine Inc.
Location:	Corpus Christi Texas U.S.A.
Year:	1980