Granny’s Stove

This past weekend, I took the kids to visit my grandmother, “Granny.” It had been a couple months since they’d seen each other, and I knew we had a busy few weeks ahead, so we packed up and headed down to visit her and some other family members for a couple of days. The little community where she lives (also where my mom and her siblings grew up, where I spent the first half of my childhood) used to be a busy hollow filled with literally hundreds of houses. At one time, it had its own zip code, elementary school, small grocery store, playground, and ball fields. Now it’s full of grassy fields and maybe a couple dozen houses. If you’d drive through (which is unlikely, I realize) you’d never imagine the kind of bustling community that inhabited the narrow valley. Now it feels just left of the middle of nowhere.

Anyway, when I called to tell her we were coming, she mentioned she’d cook a little lunch for us. I said that would be nice. But I got to a bit of a late start and knew the kids would have to eat before we would arrive, so I called her that morning to tell her we’d just eat a bit, but please not to fix too much food. My request, of course, was in vain.

When we walked in, the stove was already simmering with green beans she’d been cooking for hours (you know – Southern Style – sans the pig). There were also some mashed potatoes that were ready and warm. After we’d visited a bit, she said she’d go ahead and fix the rest of the lunch. And literally within about 15 minutes she had fried up some chicken cutlets, whipped up a batch of delicious from-scratch cornbread (a recipe that years ago she and my Aunt sneakily copied to their memories from The Pirates House restaurant cookbook in Savannah, GA, then promptly went to the car to write down. One remembered half the ingredients/quantities, one the other half. They love to tell the story on themselves. The rebels.) Then she remembered she had some frozen cooked apples, so those got warmed. And she pulled a plate of perfectly sliced and placed tomatoes, onions and peppers.

It was of course, delicious. And featured about three more items that I typically serve when I have guests over. So much for a small lunch. But I was grateful.

Here’s the thing, though. When I think of someone who epitomizes the simple part of Simple Modern Life, it’s my Granny. She’s cooking on a stove so old it still has push buttons. And her cookware is significantly older than me. In fact, she’s probably bought me three times the amount of bakeware over the last ten years than she’s bought for herself. Her home is decorated with a mixture of family heirlooms, natural items (lots of potted plants and several rocks and shells she’s collected over years of travel). If you run across something new, her children probably bought it for her. Yet she is sincerely one of the most kind, generous people I have ever known. And I don’t just say that because she’s my Granny. Ask anyone and they’ll confirm my assertion.

So while I’m sitting here trying to figure out what kind of desk lamp I’d like to have to replace my perfectly functional (although not terrible aesthetic) one, she’s sitting on the same furniture, walking on the same flooring she’s had for decades, and is perfectly content. And let’s be honest, the food that comes out of those old, beat up skillets is more delicious than anything I whip up using fancy cookware and gourmet ingredients. I think she’s on to something.