I loved teaching in a portable. Control of the AC. Make all the noise I wanted. Usually had a bathroom. I was gonna postt this in the serious thread but i figure its about things children will never experience or most kids will not. A huge part of my youth and early adulthood.
Kitchens
On this day where people find comfort in their faith and families I remember two places I always felt loved and safe. One from my very first memories as a boy and then later after I became a man.
My grandparents lived in a small town just south of Lakeland Fla called Medulla. It had a very old school my dad attended for elementary school, a RR running through it and a swamp and orange groves. My grandparents had an old mining house right on the edge of a swamp where grandpa planted his grove. The most wonderful citrus I never get anymore.
The front room as you come in the back of the house was a big square kitchen with at least a twelve foot ceiling. I remember it was yellow with two windows facing north and west. Grandma spent much of the day there. When we visited I never could get there before her in the morning. Always ready to make my favorite breakfast it seemed. Grandpa would sit at a small side table reading the Lakeland Ledger or Tampa Tribune where he had a small reading light.
I always headed to the fridge when we rolled in at night from our ride from Archer. She had a jar of maraschino cherries I swear she kept just for me. I have a picture of my dad and youngest brother sitting in there reading the paper. Acrees read newspapers always. Both are gone now along with the real newspapers we used to read. Grandma’s kitchen was my safe place. Where I saw her work for her family to have wonderful homemade rolls, pancakes and bacon, old molasses cookies and ambrosia from their citrus grove. I can still see the phone on the wall with the old green children’s high chair under it. Just a seat at the top of two little steps. No safety to it. I kept it for many years. I keep her kitchen in my heart and memories now.
My other kitchen came along when I graduated from HS. Her name was Grann Grann and she was close to the battles in WW2. A nurse and extraordinary woman. She basically adopted me when her youngest brought me home to become part of the family for three decades. Emily was the mother I dreamed about. Her kitchen was bigger than grandmas. But had much of the same things. A small metal grease catcher to season her amazing vegetables. I stainless steel sink I washed many dishes in. And a long old table with sweet and low along with instant coffee in the middle. I cannot tell you the color of the kitchen but it was warm and always waiting for me to grab a chunk of her incredible pound cake. Seems like there was one always sitting there, much like the maraschino cherries grandma had. I've never tasted a cake that good anywhere. Always made from scratch. She made mustard greens I could eat everyday. They were so perfect and I still tell people about her liver and onions and pies. But more important was her love for all of us. She was so positive and caring and it was unconditional for me. She bought me my first suit jacket and pants from the old Penneys downtown Gville. She did so much for me I am tearing up as I type this. I have some apologizing to do in heaven one day but seeing her again will be a real highlight. Kitchens may mean different things at times but I had two that were run by two amazing women born long ago and touched my life in ways I can never repay.