BY KYLE LOVERN
I often write about my memories of the past and growing up. Recently a photo of a rhubarb and strawberry pie on social media brought back many memories.
My mother, Charlotte Hope, was a great cook and made everything from scratch. (I know most everyone thinks their mom is a great cook.) You have to remember her generation came up through some tough times, so they learned to cook, can, preserve and make things from scratch. Nothing was wasted.
That generation did things like saving cooking oil or white Crisco. They would use tin foil over again (aluminum foil for youngsters) and save paper bags from the stores. There were no plastic bags back then.
Mom could whip up a cake, pie or homemade candy with just a few ingredients. She and her generation were taught how to do this by their mothers and older siblings. It was a way of life.
Mom could make some of the best home-cooked meals. We didn’t know it but were truly blessed to grow up like this.
I recall my sister Karen, Mom and our neighbor from across the street, Mrs. Dora Booth, walking across the railroad bridge at Nolan and heading down the then dirt road on Route 292 in Martin County from Nolan to Mrs. Virginia Duty’s house. My mom and Mrs. Booth got rhubarb from her. I’m not sure if she gave it to them or they bought it. Who knows? They could have traded something. I was quite young then and cannot remember those details.
To be honest, I don’t even remember how the rhubarb and strawberry pie tasted. I guess I’ll have to buy one from someone that still makes it to see how my palate reacts to the taste. I think rhubarb is tart, but mixed with strawberries and sugar makes for a tasty pie.
The internet had this definition of the rhubarb plant: “Rhubarb is a spring vegetable, one of the few that is still truly seasonal. The edible part of this perennial plant is the vibrant pink stalk, which is almost always cooked with lots of sugar because it is very sour.”
Not only did Mom make a pie from this, but from a sour gooseberry bush we had in our backyard. I would say many have not heard of this greenish berry, which is said to have come from Europe, no doubt brought in by the early settlers. Gooseberries are most often described as tasting like very sour grapes, which is why sugar is considered to be a crucial ingredient for a gooseberry pie.
Of course when it was blackberry picking time, we either picked blackberries or there were always neighbor kids who picked them and would sell them. I can almost taste a blackberry cobbler now. My sister Karen can make a delicious cobbler from Mom’s old recipe.
We also had three cherry trees on our property. When they would get bright red, Dad would get a ladder and pick a couple of buckets full. He had to beat the birds from chowing down on the cherries, but who could blame them? Those homemade cherry pies were awesome.
We also had a small strawberry patch in our backyard. My sister and I would pick a few to put in our oatmeal or cereal on those hot summer mornings.
The plumb trees were also popular. That purple fruit was sweet and juicy, and we would pick those right off the tree, wipe them on our T-shirts and enjoy. The neighbors also enjoyed them, as did the birds.
Dad had planted apple trees years before on the hill up the steep hollow where our family cemetery was located. So he would get some of those fresh apples, and we would enjoy mom’s homemade apple pies every year. I still recall her rolling out her homemade crust with that wooden rolling pin.
Of course my dad usually had a garden and would grow peaches and cream corn, half-runner green beans, potatoes, bright red tomatoes and other fresh vegetables. We always enjoyed those meals in the summer. You cannot beat a plate of half-runner beans, a couple of slices of tomatoes, cucumbers and a slice of hot cornbread right out of the oven.
What we couldn’t eat, Mom canned. I remember going down to the basement in the autumn or winter to get a Mason jar of tomatoes or beans mom had canned to preserve. That is how that generation grew up. There was no using canned goods from a store. Everything was grown or preserved at home.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried growing a garden in my backyard. We have enjoyed the fresh “maters” and cucumbers from that small patch of ground. It’s not like Dad’s. However, it brings back fond memories and connects me with the past.
As I wrote this on Mother’s Day weekend, I thought I would give anything to taste one of Mom’s pies or cakes again. Those loving memories fill my heart and soul.
(Kyle Lovern is a longtime journalist in the Tug Valley. He is now a retired freelance writer and columnist for the Mountain Citizen.)