The Cream Always Rises to The Top
My aunt and uncle lived on a farm in
southwest Missouri where Uncle Bill and his son farmed nearly 500 acres. I
recall the beautiful corn and golden wheat fields near harvest time which we
drove through on the country roads that took us to their
home.
During rainy seasons the river that ran through their farm would often flood. As the waters would recede the roads were left almost impassable, but we somehow got through the low areas. I remember the slow going as we neared the bridge. My father loved to stop in the middle of the bridge as this always brought loud, anxious protests from my mother. She was terrified of the ancient bridge, believing that we would fall through at any moment. All the protesting never prevented my father from stopping every time we crossed.
Just about a mile from the bridge was the road into the farm house. The front yard was a large acreage of soybeans. These provided a rich, thick, deep green "lawn" which was splendid.
Coming from a large family, we often gathered at this house set deep in the countryside. Family dinners held there were pages from a storybook.
Upon arriving we always entered through the rear of the house. Passing through the summer porch you could smell the food being prepared. Aunt Edna was an excellent cook. Her skill was enhanced by the quality of her ingredients. The meat was from the cattle they raised; the mile from their cows; the eggs from their hens; most of the vegetables from their garden; and the flour ground from their wheat.
She then took those things from the earth they farmed and turned them into dishes for our delight. On her table were two items which had a taste that is with me always when I recall those meals-home churned butter and homemade cottage cheese.
You generally saw huge gallon jars of milk in her kitchen. They would be sitting while the cream rose to the top. From that cream came the special ingredient for many of my aunt's preparations.
I believe the real secret to the success of her meals was something you didn't see sitting out on the counter, something you didn't find on a shelf, something that was evident, however, if you looked about you.
That "ingredient" was patience. She could not have prepared the bread, the butter, the cottage cheese, the homemade noodles, the mashed potatoes, the cakes from scratch without patience.
Like the cream which slowly rises, the food of the greatest quality comes about slowly and requires our involvement.
I appreciate the wonderful foods that we have at hand today. While we have many good tastes to choose from, most of these can be had quickly. A simple thing such as a cup of tea demonstrates the difference of what I am thinking about. I take my cup fill it with water, place my tea bag in it, place it in the microwave and after three brief minutes I can enjoy tea time at the window as I watch the butterflies and the bees doing their work in the garden.
In the past I would have had to fill the copper tea pot, boil the water, steep the tea , and then, I could finally sit down to look at nature. Today most meals and snacks come prepared to some extent, if not entirely. The microwave brings us nearly instant dishes, perfectly seasoned and ready to enjoy ad nourish us. Not much patience is needed.
Even our shopping is changing as we can now sit at our computers and pick our books, clothing, even our computers and peripherals, order then on-line and receive them overnight. Little patience is required.
It wasn't that way when we crossed the bridge and traveled to the farm for the family gatherings. Everything required patience. in the late summer afternoon we froze homemade ice cream. Poured over this was Aunt Edna's rich chocolate syrup which she heated on the stove.
The memories I am reflecting on are from the days prior to rural electrification. At dusk my aunt would open the dining room cabinets and take down the oil lamps. As she lit them her lovely home took on a warmth and softness as evening descended. It is as though the lamps brought a unity to the group, brought out kindness in their natures allowing them to cross differences in their points of view.
My uncle was a staunch Republican conservative whose political perspective was a total contrast to my father's loyal Democratic views. My father was a Kansas City-bred Democrat from the old school.
Even these extreme differences were able to be bridged in that lamp light. They would discuss their viewpoints intelligently, respectfully.
Today, although the cream still rises slowly, we have become unaware of its rising because the gallon jar is not sitting in view. The rising takes place somewhere out of sight. The bread is baked for the most part somewhere else. The butter is from the grocery dairy shelf. Sitting nearby is the cottage cheese. Down the isle you can select the entire meal, fully prepared. Just place it in the microwave and have it in 5-7 minutes.
But the cream slowly rises. Perhaps this ability to access our world instantly, this ability to have immediate results has cheated us out of learning the character trait known as patience. When we encounter problems now we often expect instant solutions. Many solutions to interpersonal problems can not be found instantly. It takes patience to discover truths in each others' point of view. It takes patience to resolve important issues. It takes patience to discover within ourselves those views which we must accept as incorrect. And it takes courage to admit that those views just don't work any longer. It takes courage to change and it takes patience.
(written January, 2000)
During rainy seasons the river that ran through their farm would often flood. As the waters would recede the roads were left almost impassable, but we somehow got through the low areas. I remember the slow going as we neared the bridge. My father loved to stop in the middle of the bridge as this always brought loud, anxious protests from my mother. She was terrified of the ancient bridge, believing that we would fall through at any moment. All the protesting never prevented my father from stopping every time we crossed.
Just about a mile from the bridge was the road into the farm house. The front yard was a large acreage of soybeans. These provided a rich, thick, deep green "lawn" which was splendid.
Coming from a large family, we often gathered at this house set deep in the countryside. Family dinners held there were pages from a storybook.
Upon arriving we always entered through the rear of the house. Passing through the summer porch you could smell the food being prepared. Aunt Edna was an excellent cook. Her skill was enhanced by the quality of her ingredients. The meat was from the cattle they raised; the mile from their cows; the eggs from their hens; most of the vegetables from their garden; and the flour ground from their wheat.
She then took those things from the earth they farmed and turned them into dishes for our delight. On her table were two items which had a taste that is with me always when I recall those meals-home churned butter and homemade cottage cheese.
You generally saw huge gallon jars of milk in her kitchen. They would be sitting while the cream rose to the top. From that cream came the special ingredient for many of my aunt's preparations.
I believe the real secret to the success of her meals was something you didn't see sitting out on the counter, something you didn't find on a shelf, something that was evident, however, if you looked about you.
That "ingredient" was patience. She could not have prepared the bread, the butter, the cottage cheese, the homemade noodles, the mashed potatoes, the cakes from scratch without patience.
Like the cream which slowly rises, the food of the greatest quality comes about slowly and requires our involvement.
I appreciate the wonderful foods that we have at hand today. While we have many good tastes to choose from, most of these can be had quickly. A simple thing such as a cup of tea demonstrates the difference of what I am thinking about. I take my cup fill it with water, place my tea bag in it, place it in the microwave and after three brief minutes I can enjoy tea time at the window as I watch the butterflies and the bees doing their work in the garden.
In the past I would have had to fill the copper tea pot, boil the water, steep the tea , and then, I could finally sit down to look at nature. Today most meals and snacks come prepared to some extent, if not entirely. The microwave brings us nearly instant dishes, perfectly seasoned and ready to enjoy ad nourish us. Not much patience is needed.
Even our shopping is changing as we can now sit at our computers and pick our books, clothing, even our computers and peripherals, order then on-line and receive them overnight. Little patience is required.
It wasn't that way when we crossed the bridge and traveled to the farm for the family gatherings. Everything required patience. in the late summer afternoon we froze homemade ice cream. Poured over this was Aunt Edna's rich chocolate syrup which she heated on the stove.
The memories I am reflecting on are from the days prior to rural electrification. At dusk my aunt would open the dining room cabinets and take down the oil lamps. As she lit them her lovely home took on a warmth and softness as evening descended. It is as though the lamps brought a unity to the group, brought out kindness in their natures allowing them to cross differences in their points of view.
My uncle was a staunch Republican conservative whose political perspective was a total contrast to my father's loyal Democratic views. My father was a Kansas City-bred Democrat from the old school.
Even these extreme differences were able to be bridged in that lamp light. They would discuss their viewpoints intelligently, respectfully.
Today, although the cream still rises slowly, we have become unaware of its rising because the gallon jar is not sitting in view. The rising takes place somewhere out of sight. The bread is baked for the most part somewhere else. The butter is from the grocery dairy shelf. Sitting nearby is the cottage cheese. Down the isle you can select the entire meal, fully prepared. Just place it in the microwave and have it in 5-7 minutes.
But the cream slowly rises. Perhaps this ability to access our world instantly, this ability to have immediate results has cheated us out of learning the character trait known as patience. When we encounter problems now we often expect instant solutions. Many solutions to interpersonal problems can not be found instantly. It takes patience to discover truths in each others' point of view. It takes patience to resolve important issues. It takes patience to discover within ourselves those views which we must accept as incorrect. And it takes courage to admit that those views just don't work any longer. It takes courage to change and it takes patience.
(written January, 2000)
Posted: Tue - January 24, 2006 at 06:06 PM
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"Chance favors only the prepared mind." - Louis Pasteur
"Art arises from basic needs-a strong need to express and celebrate our everyday events.
In a museum most people spend less than twenty seconds looking at a work of art."
"Art arises from basic needs-a strong need to express and celebrate our everyday events.
In a museum most people spend less than twenty seconds looking at a work of art."
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Published On: Jan 24, 2006 06:07 PM
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Published On: Jan 24, 2006 06:07 PM