My Life in the Little Brown House, part 5: Sun Room and Kitchen

At the east end of the sun room along the south wall my mother had her sewing machine. My mother did not particularly like to sew but the exigencies of raising her brood of six children led her to considerable activity along this line. Like virtually all sewing machines in the community at the time it was treadle-operated. Part of her sewing was adaptations of hand-me-downs to a size and shape suitable for one of the children. I remember once she converted a coat from one of her sisters into a winter coat for me. She entered the product in the annual “corn show” and won a prize on it. Somewhere there is a picture of me wearing the prize-winning coat. My mother had this Kodak camera, a gift I believe from my father, and she used it sparingly. So it was indeed a special event for this particular picture.

In the northeast corner of the sun room there was a cupboard. The bottom was used for storage of children’s toys. Above that was a small built-in writing desk — the kind where a board is hinged to come down and form the writing surface. Above that was a taller cabinet where sewing materials were kept. Once of the few relics that my father had from his childhood was a cast iron toy — a little cart with two detachable horses. The horses would move in a sort of trotting motion (actuated by a little cam) as the cart and horses were pushed along the floor. Originally there had also been a little man and woman who would sit in the car, on two little projections. These had hoever been lost. The toy was kept on top of the upper part of the cabinet and occasionally we children were allowed to play with it. I believe that Marold [the youngest of the six children] eventually inherited this toy.

A substantial part of everyday activities was centered for the family in the kitchen and sun room. Meals were served at the table in the sun room and invariably there was breakfast, dinner (at noon) and supper, each at just about the same time each day. Breakfast would be after my father had completed his morning chores, like stoking the furnace in winter and, year-round, milking the cow and tending to it. I suppose breakfast would stat at about 7 a.m. or so, typically with all of the family assembled to start the meal with a table prayer, brief and by rote. I think my father would start work at the bank at 8 o’clock so by beginning the meal at 7 there would be time to finish it, have the morning “devotions” read (this would include a prayer centered I suppose on the nature of the reading for the day) followed by a recitation in unison of the Lord’s Prayer.

I do not recall, oddly enough, any Bible reading in conjunction with the devotional reading. For that matter I do not recall my parents systematically reading the Bible as a personal pursuit, as did the members of Grandmother’s household (at least such as my maiden aunts and my grandmother); probably the press of daily life shunted this activity into abeyance until such time as the lessening of familial duties brought it into play again.

I grew up with the vague impression that the Bible, in the Lutheran church and teaching, had as its main function to provide support for the decreed Lutheran dogma. Certainly for the most part, the use that was made of it was highly selective, with some portions that were difficult to explain, relative to the Lutheran doctrines, being either totally ignored or shunted into a category of things that existed but weren’t talked about. The meal would terminate with a closing prayer — the meal began and ended in common for all of the family.

Prominent on the breakfast menu would be cooked cereal, either oatmeal (which my father preferred) or cream of wheat. At a later date, I’m uncertain just when, oatmeal fell out of favor with my father when he decided it caused his periodic “sick” headaches. After that my mother never made it, which as all right with me as it was not then, nor now, one of my preferred breakfast dishes. It was eaten with an application of sugar (white, not brown) and cream, perhaps somewhat diluted with milk. No raisins, and my mother usually cooked it with more water than normal so that it would be less “lumpy” and more palatable to her children. This lumpiness was not a problem with cream of wheat which had a smooth consistency. Cold cereals were less common, although I remember Puffed Wheat, to a less extent Puffed Rice, and perhaps cornflakes.

Eggs were served but primarily as rather hard-boiled. They would be in a bowl passed around; my father would have two, the children one. The egg would be removed from the shell, and for the children at leas broken up with a fork into a more or less homogeneous state. Fried bread (never termed French toast) and pancakes were also on the breakfast menu. The pancakes were I think a recipe from my father’s upbringing and were typically a rather limp variety compared to those I’ve encountered in later years. They were eaten with Karo syrup (usually the dark variety, although occasionally it would be white Karo which was regarded as a real treat by the children, at least by me), molasses (one of my father’s preferred ways), or with cream and sugar (the best way in my father’s estimation). Pancakes with cream and sugar as my father ate was perhaps a carryover from his childhood; I have never encountered it outside of those early days in the little brown house. I recall trying pancakes this way but they didn’t really appeal to me.

Along with what I’ve described above, there were certain items available at every breakfast, indeed at breakfast, dinner and supper for that matter. These were coffee for my parents, milk for the children and bread for everyone. As far as my father was concerned bread was an indispensable component of every meal.

The coffee was made in a white enamelware coffee-pot. The procedure was simply to add the coffee grounds to the requisite amount of water and apply heat. I don’t know if one started with cold water or hot water from the tea kettle. I guess the grounds settled to the bottom of the coffee-pot after the prepared coffee had sat awhile, and the coffe to drink was decanted off the top. On more special occasions, as when coffee was being prepared at the meetings of the Ladies Aid at church, an egg would be added to the coffee after it was brewed to settle the grounds.

My father’s quota at each meal was two cups, I don’t recall about my mother; he (my father) seldom if ever drank milk. The milk came from the family cow, except when the cow was going “dry” before “freshening”; then for a month or so one of the two local dairies would supply it. The bread my mother made — it was a modified whole wheat recipe that used white flour in part. I’m sure it was the same recipe that my grandmother used.

Occasionally during the winter after my mother had made a batch of the Swedish delicacy known as gryn she would serve this for breakfast. This would be a real treat for me and the older of us children — I don’t think Marold and Verner, perhaps even Vincent had much liking for it. This dish was made from barley, pork liver and other pork meat; the mixture would gel and this would then be sliced and fried. I think it came from my mother’s side of the family; my father I think tolerated it but it certainly wasn’t one of his favorite foods.

Intermission

Hi! This is Laurel writing now, Carl’s daughter. It has been suggested that I elaborate on my reasons for starting this blog, which isn’t a blog in the usual sense of the word.

My dad left several notebooks that he wrote during his retirement years detailing his recollections of growing up in a small Iowa town called Gowrie during the Depression. I started with two shorter essays, “Barney and Birdie” and “The Barn.” The entries that comprise “My Life in the Little Brown House” will be many greater in number. The original handwritten manuscript is 60 pages long, and each post covers 2 to 4 pages.

After “My Life in the Little Brown House” will come “Recollections of My Life” which fills up 4 notebooks, plus 5 pages of a fifth. Then there is “Education” which runs about 77 or 78 handwritten pages (there is a page 76a written between pages 76 and 77 — C.P. generally wrote on only the right hand page).

Then, if I want to continue, I have family letters going back to the 1970s that he sent to his brothers and sisters, as well as some letters he wrote to his parents in the 1940s after he moved to California. There are also other family letters, some written in Swedish that were translated by one of my grandmother’s sisters.

My motivation for launching on this project is twofold. First, I think his surviving siblings may like to read these reminiscences for the memories they bring back, and their children (my cousins) may find them of interest as well, for the family lore. Second, I can’t help but wonder that some academic might find them useful as original source material, kind of like an oral history only written, not spoken. I figure that by posting this material, over time it will percolate through the interwebs to find interested readers.

A couple of additional notes: First, the images included in the posts are, with few exceptions, not original source material. They are images I found on the web that, I hope, illustrate with some degree of accuracy items mentioned in the posts. Second, posts after October 18, 2009, include more paragraph breaks, at my sister Palma’s suggestion.

My Life in the Little Brown House, part 4: Sun Room

The sun room, as its name implies, was a light airy room. It had one or two windows on the east and west ends of the room and the side facing south was lined virtually its entire length with windows. Along the bottom of the windows on the east and south sides was a ledge for potted plants. Here my mother had her geraniums — I suppose there were other flowers also but I only recall the geraniums. My mother was quite protective of her geraniums, from the hands and fingers of her offspring. Once or twice when there was an unusually cold night in the offing I seem to recall their being removed to a less exposed part of the house.





















Geranium

To the right as one entered the room from the kitchen there was a large closet (actually there was a west window in it) which was used for outdoor wraps etc. In addition to the hooks for wraps there were low drawers at the west end with a shelf above them. Beyond the closet there was sort of an ell, in which for a time my father had his roll-top desk. At a later time the desk was moved to a place in the boys’ bedroom where it stood the rest of the time we were in the little brown house. I think the desk was acquired by my father before his marriage. Alongside the desk was a stand in which he kept his file of National Geographic magazines. These extended back to the middle 1910s and most issues were included. This collection was moved up to the boys’ bedroom when the desk was moved. As children we were allowed to look at the magazines, and I at least spent numerous times leafing through them. My favorite issues were several that were sort of compendiums of fauna in various parts of the world. The collection went along with the family moved to the Peterson farm in the Depression; all during the Depression years my father continued his subscription, one of the few “luxuries” that he allowed himself during that period. The last time I saw them was on one of my vacation visits after I was working in California. At that time, they were in a cupboard in the southeast corner of the girls’ bedroom and were in a state of jumbled disarray. After my dad’s death they were disposed of by being donated to the high school library — a fitting end for them in light of his years of service as a school board member. Some of the earlier issues were fairly valuable. I think it was in Powell’s bookstore in Portland [Oregon] I saw their stock of these old National Geographics for upwards of $5 per copy. Most of the stock at Powell’s was on open shelves but I seem to recall that some of the older copies they had were under lock and key.
























National Geographic, January 1915