Showing posts with label Gold Pans and Iron Skillets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gold Pans and Iron Skillets. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

Apricot Jam and Canning Thoughts



Apricot Jam!
I fell heir to a few apricots this weekend. Too many to eat before they ripen beyond fit for human consumption, I chose to make some apricot jam. It was my first food preservation project since moving to Montana. It seemed like a good idea, however, locating my canning supplies was a bit of a challenge. I found the essentials but had to improvise as my canning funnel and bottle lifter were no where to be found. As I spilled hot jam down the sides of my jars and dripped it on my floor, I was reminded that sometimes it is okay not to preserve everything one can scavenge! I've had these thoughts before and even shared them with my readers.

Here is an excerpt from Gold Pans and Iron Skillets that further explains my thoughts on canning and preserving.



Enjoy!


Just Because You Can,
Doesn’t Mean You Should


I married a dairy farmer and soon learned that one of my major responsibilities as a farm wife would be to can and preserve fruits and vegetables for the coming winter. Having avoided these activities for my first twenty-five years, I was apprehensive of the tasks at hand. To my surprise, my initial experience proved a joy rather than a chore!

As our strawberry patch began to show signs of a harvest, my husband of just six months had a hint he was fond of using. “Soon, you’ll be able to make strawberry jam!” When the day arrived, I rolled up my sleeves, gritted my teeth, and plunged into my duty. As I stood stirring the thickening jam, I remembered Grandma Nelson—or rather, Grandma Nelson’s Back Porch. There was an old manual washing machine in the room we referred to as the Back Porch. Grandma had been afflicted with a stroke and her ten children shared the burden of caring for her in her own home. I can remember my mother washing clothes in that old machine when we stayed with Grandma after her stroke. My favorite part of Grandma’s Back Porch was an upright freezer. On the racks inside its door were bottles of strawberry jam. I can’t recall what other treats it contained; probably a trout or two from Teton Creek and some frozen corn. I remember opening the freezer door and touching the jars with my fingertips. I would hold my fingers against the glass until the frost melted and tiny windows revealed the red goodies within. Mom would catch me and growl at me for keeping the freezer door open, just as I now growl at my children for similar offenses!

I make strawberry jam every year. Whether I have five jars in my freezer or twenty-five, I complete the ritual. It has become a tradition for me. In a way, it helps to preserve my memory of Grandma, and of Grandma’s house, for each time I stir my strawberry jam I recall the first time I made it and the memories come flooding back. I will always keep frosty jars of strawberry jam in my upright freezer just as there were always frosty jars in Grandma Nelson’s freezer.

Not every canning project is as rewarding or goes as smoothly as did my strawberry jam efforts. Over the years, countless bottles have refused to seal, bushels of fruit have spoiled before the task was completed, and dozens of filled jars remain on my shelves because the family just doesn’t like canned peaches and pears anymore. They never did develop an appetite for the carrots and new potatoes I bottled just because I could. There are those items that remain unidentified because, as a beginner, I wasn’t wise enough to label and date the lids. They will never be eaten, but I am reluctant to dispose of them as I am confident they took much effort and time that I didn’t have to spare.

Red onions are abundant, free, and pretty. I thought it a good idea to save some for a rainy day. Having located a recipe for Vinegared Red Onions, I filled three dozen pint jars. I have only opened one. The pink onions were nasty! They lost a little color as they were processed, but the onion and vinegar flavors became stronger, too strong to use as a garnish, condiment, or main dish! They aren’t even worth using as a decoration, as the color has continued to fade to a dull brown.

I have streamlined my canning and preserving efforts over the years. I now strive to devote my time, talents, and cash to things that will be of use such as: green beans, pickled beets, apple pie filling, and frozen corn. Oh, and strawberry jam, because not only is it of sentimental value, it has become a staple in our diet. My family might perish without a freezer full of strawberry jam!
What about you? Do you have a food preservation experience that made you question the wisdom of the project? I would love to hear about it in the comments below.
If you enjoyed this essay, you can read more either in the hard copy or Kindle version of Gold Pans and Irons Skillets.
Running Granny Green encourages women, especially grandmothers, to gain greater fitness by providing tips and inspiration to insure long years of joyful grand-parenting. The cookie recipes are a bonus!


Happy Running!
Carol - aka Running Granny Green



Follow me on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram.

Monday, March 20, 2017

Strawberry Jam: A Sure Sign of Spring

Strawberry Jam: A Sure Sign of Spring
Two things are sure to indicate spring is here, Daylights Savings Time and strawberry jam. While I could write an entire post lamenting my struggle with the one hour time adaptation, strawberry jam is a sweeter topic for today. The following essay is from my book, Gold Pans and Iron Skillets. Funny, the memories that arise while making strawberry jam have evolved from those in the original article. They now take me back to my young married life and motherhood and my dedication for jam making. I'm not as dependable as I once was as there are not so many hungry mouths to feed. Strawberry jam making now occurs only biannually, if that often, but it still feels like a ritual. Enjoy the essay!



Just Because You Can, Doesn’t Mean You Should

I married a dairy farmer and soon learned that one of my major responsibilities as a farm wife would be to can and preserve fruits and vegetables for the coming winter.  Having avoided these activities for my first twenty-five years, I was apprehensive of the tasks at hand.  To my surprise, my initial experience proved a joy rather than a chore!

As our strawberry patch began to show signs of a harvest, my husband of just six months had a hint he was fond of using.  “Soon, you’ll be able to make strawberry jam!”  When the day arrived, I rolled up my sleeves, gritted my teeth, and plunged into my duty.  As I stood stirring the thickening jam, I remembered Grandma Nelson –- or rather, Grandma Nelson’s Back Porch.  There was an old manual washing machine in the room we referred to as the Back Porch.  Grandma had been afflicted with a stroke and her ten children shared the burden of caring for her in her own home.  I can remember my mother washing clothes in that old machine when we stayed with Grandma after her stroke.  My favorite part of Grandma’s Back Porch was an upright freezer.  On the racks inside its door were bottles of strawberry jam.  I can’t recall what other treats it contained; probably a trout or two from Teton Creek and some frozen corn.  I remember opening the freezer door and touching the jars with my fingertips.  I would hold my fingers against the glass until the frost melted and tiny windows revealed the red goodies within.  Mom would catch me and growl at me for keeping the freezer door open, just as I now growl at my children for similar offenses!

I make strawberry jam every year.  Whether I have five jars in my freezer or twenty-five, I complete the ritual.  It has become a tradition for me.  In a way, it helps to preserve my memory of Grandma, and of Grandma’s house, for each time I stir my strawberry jam I recall the first time I made it and the memories come flooding back.  I will always keep frosty jars of strawberry jam in my upright freezer just as there were always frosty jars in Grandma Nelson’s freezer.

Not every canning project is as rewarding or goes as smoothly as did my strawberry jam efforts.  Over the years, countless bottles have refused to seal, bushels of fruit have spoiled before the task was completed, and dozens of filled jars remain on my shelves because the family just doesn’t like canned peaches and pears anymore.  They never did develop an appetite for the carrots and new potatoes I bottled just because I could.  There are those items that remain unidentified because, as a beginner, I wasn’t wise enough to label and date the lids.  They will never be eaten, but I am reluctant to dispose of them as I am confident they took much effort and time that I didn’t have to spare. 

Red onions are abundant, free, and pretty.   I thought it a good idea to save some for a rainy day.  Having located a recipe for Vinegared Red Onions, I filled three dozen pint jars.  I have only opened one.  The pink onions were nasty!  They lost a little color as they were processed, but the onion and vinegar flavors became stronger, too strong to use as a garnish, condiment, or main dish!  They aren’t even worth using as a decoration, as the color has continued to fade to a dull brown.

I have streamlined my canning and preserving efforts over the years.  I now strive to devote my time, talents, and cash to things that will be of use such as: green beans, pickled beets, apple pie filling, and frozen corn.  Oh, and strawberry jam, because not only is it of sentimental value, it has become a staple in our diet.  My family might perish without a freezer full of strawberry jam! 

Running Granny Green encourages women, especially grandmothers, to gain greater fitness by providing tips and inspiration to insure long years of joyful grand-parenting. The cookie recipes are a bonus!

Happy Running!
Carol - aka Running Granny Green
Follow me on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram.

Thursday, March 31, 2016

April Giveaway - Go fish!



April is taxing! Best way to escape? Go fishing – or read a book about fishing! My April giveaway is all about fish from the humorous essays regarding how to clean, fry and bone a fish in Gold Pans and Iron Skillets to my children’s book, Gary Learns to Fish. I’m even including a fish themed bookmark so you can save your place when the napping bug bites.

How to enter:

1 – Visit this blog post. (You’ve already done that!)

2 – Follow me on Twitter @CarolMGreen1 or Facebook (You may have already done that!)

3 – Share this post on Twitter or Facebook with the comment “Go Fish!” and be sure to tag me so I know you entered! (Find Share buttons at the bottom of this post.)

Easy!

The giveaway will run from thru April 18. (Hey, the IRS is giving you a few extra days this year. I will, too!) The winner will be announced Tuesday, April 19 at noon MDT via Facebook, Twitter, and direct message if I have your contact info. Must be 18 years old to enter. Only ships to mainland United States.

Good Luck and Go Fish!
Carol - aka Running Granny Green
Follow me on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram.

Friday, January 15, 2016

Food Friday: Chocolate Chip Cookies




It’s Food Friday! Today I am sharing this essay about Chocolate Chip Cookies from my first book, Gold Pans and Iron Skillets. Not to worry – my favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe is posted at the bottom of the page. Enjoy!


Can a Cookie Cure a Cold?


In this day of natural health, homeopathic healing, and low-fat everything, it is refreshing to note that a good old chocolate chip cookie is not only a very effective, but often, immediate cure for many ailments. You disagree?
My three-year-old son skinned his knee. He came wailing to find me. Naturally, I was in the kitchen. Tears pouring from his eyes he cried, "I need a cookie!" I leapt to the refrigerator, jerked a zipper bag from the icebox, and produced the miraculous item. He took one bite and promptly announced, “I’m all better now." Amazing, the healing power of the cookie! Not convinced?

My husband of twenty years prefers cookies and milk for breakfast. I’ve tried to convert him to cold cereal. It has more natural and low-fat attributes. He tried some brand of wheat flakes for a few days. We couldn’t stand him! He was a grouch. So I baked and life was better.


While expecting our last child I was counseled to watch my carbohydrate intake. This was traumatic. "Doctor," I complained, "if I have cookies in the house my family is emotionally stable!" While one might discount the power of the chocolate chip cookie to heal open wounds, there is no denying its effect on our mental health.
"Pshaw,” you say? Consider: Offering of food shows love. We give gifts of food to those we love at Valentine’s Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. If someone gets married, we feed everyone. If a young man wishes to propose or even seduce, he offers chocolates to sweeten his beloved. We show love to newborns by offering mother's milk. We feed our cats.

Offering service shows love. It is an act of service to prepare a meal or a chocolate chip cookie. We work to make a living to buy food to prepare for those we love. Then we prepare it. Then we share it. Then we clean the kitchen! It is true that the simple and few complex carbohydrates in a chocolate chip cookie have a physical effect that produces a quick sense of comfort and well-being. They raise blood sugar levels and taste delicious! But the emotional effect is far greater. A chocolate chip cookie says, "Someone loves me. Someone took an hour and baked this cookie just for me. Someone cares enough about me to know how much I love chocolate!" And love makes all things a little better. Can a cookie cure a cold? Probably not. But hey, it's worth a shot!

My Favorite Chocolate Chip Cookies

Did you like this post? You can read more like it in Gold Pans and Iron Skillets.


Find more of my favorite recipes HERE.

Happy Running!
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Monday, April 6, 2015

Monday Mood Mender: So You Want to Buy a Boat

 
 
This Monday Mood Mender is an excerpt from Gold Pans and Irons Skillets.  As the weather warms we begin thinking about outdoor recreation and that can include buying a boat!  Enjoy!

So You Want to Buy a Boat

Are you nuts! Maybe you should wreck someone else’s boat first. There are a few facts regarding boat ownership that one should be familiar with prior to purchasing a boat of his own. These guidelines may very well save one’s sanity.

The first and probably most important guideline is to buy a used boat. Do not be tempted by the shiny paint and bright propeller of a new boat. The unblemished interior and perfect upholstery will not add to the level of fun experienced by boaters. Rather, they will elevate the level of stress the inexperienced boat owner will encounter while developing his boating skills. Look for a well-loved boat—one that has previously missed the trailer while loading, scraped up against an unkempt dock, had its propeller dinged by unseen rocks, and/or possesses rebuilt gears having had them stripped by a sandbar. This will not only reduce stress levels, it will also save a great deal of money and grief.

Money. Remember there are hidden costs to boat ownership. Though the monthly payments seem manageable, do not forget the rising costs of insurance, boat fuel, boat licenses, life jackets and boating toys, picnic lunches, boat storage, doctor appointments, insurance deductibles for boat repair, swimsuits, sunglasses, sunscreen, ibuprofen, and a new hot tub.

Grief. A boat can tear a hole in one’s heart in so many ways. The first time it gets damaged the owner may feel as if one of his children has been diagnosed with an incurable fungus. This will most likely occur on the maiden voyage in any number of fashions. If one is fortunate enough to have previous trailer experience, the jackknifed boat trailer may be avoided. If not, SUV may experience paint job damage, as well. It is inevitable that the driver of the boat will, at some point, miss the trailer while attempting to load boat. Hailstorms happen. Upholstery wears out. Some reservoirs have hidden obstacles such as, rocks, tree stumps, and sandbars. Boat plugs are small and cheap, but critical to boat buoyancy. Do not forget the plug!

The second guideline is to get help. Boats are not cars. They do not move like cars. They do not steer like cars. They do not have brakes. The steering wheel is on the right side of the boat, not the left. A valid driver’s license does not guarantee competent operation of a boat. It is advisable to take a lesson, take a friend (with boating experience), or hire a driver!

Bodies of water can be deceiving. Water, unlike pavement, is fluid. It is ever changing. What may lie well beneath the surface this week may be lurking just below the water line next week, especially if the body of water is an irrigation reservoir during a drought year. It is advisable to take a map, take a friend (that knows the area), or use a depth finder. The latter is probably not the best option as this is a well-loved boat. It lost its depth finder long ago.

Weather is unpredictable. Thunder. Lightening. Wind. Rain. Hail. It is advisable to get a weather report, get the boat out of the water, and get to cover.

The third guideline is to exercise patience. Not only is the boat owner new at this activity, the boat riders are also new. Communication skills tend to develop slowly. While driver can see individual in water behind boat or in front of trailer waiting to help with loading, he cannot hear due to the roar of the motor and propeller. There is a learning curve required to decipher hand signals, head nods, and arm wavings.

Remember, well-loved boat was purchased for a reason. It requires practice to learn to enter a boat free of muddy feet. It also requires practice to tie secure knots. Nervous drivers sometimes do bring the propeller into contact with foreign objects. It only takes a few minutes to swamp a boat, but boat will drain and dry provided it can be rescued in time. Keep spare boat plug in glove box.

The fourth guideline is to find joy in the ride. The motivation behind acquiring a boat was most likely to have a good time, spend time with loved ones, and relax. It may take time to accomplish this goal. It is difficult to have a good time or relax while panicking over learning to launch, load, and operate one’s newly purchased boat. Add a few scrapes and dings, discover that the boat still floats, learn to water ski or catch a fish, improve communication skills, and the experience will begin to be enjoyable. If, however, the motivation was to keep up with the Joneses, the best bet would be to purchase a brand new boat complete with shiny paint job and bright propeller. It would then be wise to park it in a rental storage unit to preserve the newness, take a few snapshots, and talk really big to the neighbors. The monthly payments and insurance will still be due, however many of the added hidden expenses will be avoided—as will the joy.
 
Moral: If you love something enough, even its imperfections are beautiful.

Find all my books in my Etsy shop or on Amazon and Kindle.

Happy Running!


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Monday, March 9, 2015

Monday Mood Mender: A story about a mushroom





This story is from my first book, Gold Pans and Iron Skillets. I hope it makes you smile.

New Mexico Puffball Incident 

My childhood was crowded with adventures, many of them real, some imagined. To the impressionable young mind of a five-year-old, even threatened adventures can be horrific. So it was with the New Mexico Puffball Incident.

Giant Puffball Mushrooms, technically known as Lycoperdon Maximum, can appear extremely menacing to a youngster upon first encounter. One particular puffball was discovered alone in a grassy field in the hills of New Mexico. The Miner Forty-niner, a.k.a. Wells, had taken his youngest girls and their mother on yet another adventure, mining Mica and Amazonite with the assistance of some New Mexico Natives and a few sticks of dynamite. On one damp morning the Giant Puffball was discovered. The Miner declared that Esther would be fixing this tasty dish for dinner. After all, we were living off the land. The idea did not seem too incredible as we were also residing in a pickup and camper, bathing in ponds and making imaginary motorcycles out of old tree stumps. Never having encountered a puffball, I was somewhat apprehensive. It resembled a batch of bread dough, minus the bowl and warm yeasty scent. I still associate the aroma of damp milkweed with bulging puffballs—and danger!

Esther, ever ready to play along, ceremoniously presented the monstrous mushroom on a large dinner plate. I was certain my parents were going to make me bite into that thing! Only when the knife was inserted and a triangle slice removed was I certain they could not force me to take a bite! The interior was dark olive green goo. Disgusting! It was so disgusting that my younger and older siblings have both blocked the experience from their memories. Esther denies it. Wells is no longer here to argue about it. But I know there was a puffball with a knife in it on a plate in a camper in New Mexico!

Lycoperdon Maximum. It is edible while yet unripe. It can grow to nearly 20 inches in diameter. Ominous! When ripe the flesh turns green, flaccid, and mushy. Odor and flavor become, yes, disgusting! As it continues to age, the green flesh dries and becomes a dark powdery sponge that escapes its skin, scattering spores to give life to yet more puffballs. If conditions are right—humidity and temperature allowing—additional ominous edible mushrooms may appear.
 Now I knew I didn’t like the looks of the thing when I first saw it. The Miner’s threat of consumption made it even more disagreeable; and on closer inspection, it was apparent that I would forgo the edible experience—at all costs! Fortunately, it wasn’t necessary that I snub my proper upbringing by refusing to clean up my plate—another sign of danger. The Giant Puffball itself saved me. Its hideous flesh had the last laugh, for neither of my prankster parents could bring themselves to partake of that green gooey surprise!


Buy it here!


Find all my books in my Etsy shop or on Amazon and Kindle.

Happy Running!
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Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Book Excerpt: Winter Survival


 
 
This one is for my family and friends in the east.  We've got blue skies and promises of spring here in the high desert of southwest Idaho, while many are still battling snow and freezing temps on the other side of the country.  This excerpt from Gold Pans and Iron Skillets is for you.
 
Winter Survival 

Winter survival is not a Boy Scout Merit Badge. It is a fact of life that long winters must be dealt with. There are a number of ways to do this ranging from hibernation to leaving the country. Neither of these options is very practical as one is not a bear, nor can the entire northern half of the country reside in Arizona. Suggestion? Don’t beat winter, enjoy it!

In the land of the Rocky Mountains in the winter there are two things a little girls needs—a pair of ice skates and a pair of snow boots. Oh, and quite possibly a couple of bread sacks to slip over her shoes enabling them to slide into her rubber snow boots. Those were the days!

Water does freeze and remain frozen long enough for outdoor ice skating entertainment. This can be done on a designated ice rink provided by flooding a vacant lot, or by skating on the frozen water remaining in the local irrigation canal, and sometimes on the street if the snow has been packed hard enough! First, one must don a coat, hat and mittens, then pull the bread sacks over her shoes, and stomp them into her snow boots. Then sling a pair of ice skates over her shoulder and brace to face the bitter cold outdoors.

If she is fortunate the trek to the ice rink will be short as her nostrils begin to stick together shortly after venturing outside. Upon reaching the rink she must locate a seat, usually a log or rock, on which to perch while removing her gloves, snow boots, bread sacks, and shoes. Then she must untie the knot joining her ice skate strings together. At this point she may need to pause to insert fingers into her mouth in order to thaw them enough to maintain dexterity. Inserting foot into ice skate, she then laces her skate and secures it with a bow. Again, she pauses for finger thawing then puts on the second skate. After skates are secured she quickly inserts her hands into mittens and puts her shoes and sacks into boots for safekeeping.

It is now time to enjoy the ice. Wobbling carefully onto the rink she soon finds herself caught up in the flow of skating traffic. So long as she remains upright and those around her do the same, she will continue to move in a counter clockwise direction, enjoying the glide of her skate blades across the ice. However, as with any forward moving traffic, there is inevitably a crash. It may be self inflicted or the result of another’s mishap, but the fall will come. If lucky, her feet will come out from under her and she will land on the padded most part of herself. Otherwise, her hands and knees will be the first to make contact with the ice, causing excruciating pain! She will pause to inspect the ice for indentations and cracks before returning to a standing position. When the joy has been had and she can no longer feel the pain of cold in her fingers and toes, it is time to return home. She must first remove her skates.

She removes her mittens as finger thawing must once again take place. It is not as effective as prior to skating for the girl is anxious to get home, and her fingers are much more frozen. Hopefully, she did not tie her skate strings too securely. She unlaces her skates and pries them from her frosty feet. Now, she must insert same feet into chilly shoes, bread sacks, and rubber boots. This process takes much longer than it did indoors prior to her skating venture. Her hands are cold. Her feet are cold. Her shoes, sacks, and boots are cold, thus refusing to slip easily into place. She attempts to tie her skate strings together, but aborts the effort as her fingers are now curled into a scratching claw-like position. She slowly pulls on her mittens, tucks an ice skate under each elbow, and trudges home.

Upon returning home the girl removes all of her outerwear and drops it conveniently just inside the front door where it warms and pools thawed ice all over the floor. Nose running, fingers stinging, and cheeks aflame, she heads immediately to the kitchen sink where someone has convinced her that running her fingers under cold water will warm them. When she can stand it no longer, she dries her hands, as best she can given the fact that they are not very cooperative, and proceeds to find some quiet indoor activity such as a nap.

Similar procedures (minus the skates) are required for snowman building, snow fort construction, and snowball fights. The outdoor gear must be donned and the thawing process occurs after the fun has been had.

What value this outdoor activity? Exercise, fresh air, sunshine, all of which are key to a healthy, happy existence. Esther swears that the winters she sent her children outside to play each day, they never experienced colds or flu. We justify our season ski passes as part of our overall health regimen. (Too bad the IRS doesn’t see it that way.) And it works. We are happier and healthier because we get out in it. Don’t ignore the cold. Don’t fight it. Embrace it. Experience it. Enjoy it. And send me the money saved on doctor visits.
 
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Find all my books in my Etsy shop or on Amazon and Kindle.

Happy Running!

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Keep a Candle Burning

This Christmas Eve I am sharing a story many of you may have read before.  It was included in my first book, Gold Pans and Iron Skillets.  This is a true story from Christmas in 1983. 

Enjoy and Merry Christmas!

Keep a Candle Burning


Candles have been used in the modern era mostly for ambiance. I don’t recall mood candles during my youth. Mostly, candles were used during power outages, a common occurrence in Southeast Idaho—the wind, you see. It seems it was after I moved away that Esther developed an affinity for candles. (If she had in fact used them previously, I in my self-absorbed teenage existence had not noticed.) Whenever I returned home for a visit, there would be a candle burning, often in my room.

A candle has many uses other than lighting. They are also valuable for mood setting, covering odors of deep fried foods or camouflaging mouse infestations, and message sending.

Message sending. This is not in reference to smoke signals, although a candle may suffice in a pinch. The messages sent by lighted candles are simple unspoken words of love. For me, a candle communicates, “Welcome Home.” Never was Esther’s lighted candle so appreciated as it was Christmastime 1983.

Bonnie, the Baby, and I were traveling home from Southwest Idaho to Southeast Idaho for Christmas. Young, single, and not very wise nor well-prepared, we were anxious to hurry home for the holidays and left Boise at 5:00 pm in a light snowstorm on December 23. The trouble with light snowstorms in Southwest Idaho is not only Southwestern Idahoans’ lack of winter driving experience, but also the fact that the storm’s counterpart in Southeast Idaho is most likely a blizzard.

The light snowstorm increased in severity as we traveled eastward. Halfway between our point of departure and our destination, at about 7:30 pm, the storm became so vigorous that the gas line in Bonnie’s Mustang began to freeze up. When this phenomenon occurs, the engine behaves as if the fuel tank is empty and the vehicle comes to a stop. Being quite familiar with the behavior of empty gas tanks, I proceeded to berate her for neglecting to fuel the car. She assured me this was not the case and we began to strategize. Hazards on. Wait patiently for help. Surely someone would come to the rescue. One problem. Folks don’t like to stop on freeways in blizzards at night. Second problem. Folks have difficulty seeing in blizzards. Third problem. Hazard lights don’t last long in blizzards.

The whiteout was severe enough that we could not determine our exact location. Not that it would do any good as this was in the days before cell phones. We waited. Our only hope was to attract attention and communicate the need for help. We began taking turns standing behind the car and waving the only signal item we had, a white grocery bag! We prayed. As the hazard lights were beginning to dim, we prayed some more and gave up on the white flag waving.

We were becoming most discouraged when not one, but two vehicles transporting Good Samaritans stopped to lend a hand. We were offered a ride to town, where we enlisted the help of a garage and tow truck. Bonnie then returned to the scene, accompanying the tow truck driver in an attempt to locate our abandoned vehicle. Several hours later the gas line was thawed and we continued our trek across state. As we reentered the freeway, we discovered that the blizzard was continuing to rage. The white out persisted, but we miraculously arrived home about 2:30 am December 24. As we pulled into the drive, I caught sight of a candle still burning in the window. What a relief! Its flickering glow seemed to communicate, “I’m waiting.”

Esther’s version of the story is quite different as she was the lighter of the candle. She has spoken of the relief experienced when she observed the glow of the Mustang’s headlights coming up the road. She saw the lights and knew we were safe.

Now I don’t know if those burning candles were used to set a mood, cover up the odor of a seldom used basement, or send a message, but they were a comfort to me. My own children are maturing and have occasion to be away from home. I have taken up the torch, as it were. A lighted candle now burns while I await their safe return. Mood setting? Maybe. Mostly, I burn the candle in remembrance of the relief it granted me, as a connection to my own mother concerned for the safe travel of her offspring, and to foster a tradition that I am certain my children will not fully understand until they have youngsters of their own venturing forth into the world. Maybe they too, will say a prayer and light a candle to beckon, “Welcome Home.”

I wish you all a safe and Happy Christmas!


Running Granny Green encourages women, especially grandmothers, to gain greater fitness by providing tips and inspiration to insure long years of joyful grand-parenting. The cookie recipes are a bonus!

Happy Running!
- Carol aka Running Granny Green
Follow me on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram!