My grandmother had a monster of an old black stove. The kind with the fat chimney going into the wall. There was a small round area that looked like a tiny manhole cover on the stovetop. She had a tool to hook into the little cover to lift it. Small pieces of paper and string were tossed in there and burned to ash. I never gave it a second thought, since after all, she was my grandmother. Aren’t grandparents supposed to have antique furnishings?
I found it comforting. The chicken she fried in a big, well seasoned cast iron pan is still the best I’ve ever eaten. She fried it in filtered bacon grease collected in a coffee can she kept on the back of the stovetop.
In the corner of her sink was a sort of triangular plastic sieve. Potato, carrot and onion peelings were collected in it. She daily emptied the peelings onto a small hill at the end of my grandfather’s condensed garden. I’m not sure if she knew the word compost. I didn’t. And I didn’t realize until many years later that’s what she was doing. They had a well-groomed, albeit small yard. My grandfather’s garden lined one side. Besides vegetables, he had a few grape vines and one diminutive apple tree. He was able to graft a pear branch into the tree and for a few years, his tree produced both apples and pears.
My grandmother’s garden lined the side closest to the house. Her garden was lush with flowers in an array of brilliant color.
Right next to her compost hill was a tall metal can with holes cut out of the sides. She burned cardboard boxes in that can. My grandparents owned a little mom and pop store and had many cardboard boxes to dispose of. They burned or reused almost everything. They did have cans that ended up in the trash. Still, whatever they didn’t recycle was minimal.
We lived in a more progressive state. A state where we had more convenient amenities and everyone’s home had a modern stove. Being progressive came with more plastic, more waste and more trash. It was against the law to burn anything in large trash cans with holes. I suppose we could have had a compost pile, but we didn’t have a garden.
And now, many years later, with all the recycling programs, we produce more trash than ever.
I could almost smell the chicken cooking in Steffie’s big kitchen!
Good story, It makes one think about how we could be better at repurposing used items and trying to distance ourselves from overconsumption, purchasing items that have become disposable,”like washing machines.” Yet we have become so spoiled with consumerism making life so convenient. With your inspiration, I shall try harder.
It’s funny. I didn’t inspire myself. It was just an observation. But with your comment, I’ll try harder too.
Wish we could go back in time to visit one more time.