Whether summer or winter the morning would start the same every day.
First the thumping of an axe as my father chopped kindling and the bang
of the cook stove lids as he fired up the old Martha Washington cook stove.
Soon the smell of wood smoke and warm currents of air drifted up the
stairs to awaken everyone in the house.
First the thumping of an axe as my father chopped kindling and the bang
of the cook stove lids as he fired up the old Martha Washington cook stove.
Soon the smell of wood smoke and warm currents of air drifted up the
stairs to awaken everyone in the house.
The first order of business, after the fire was lit, was the
making of his cowboy coffee. A large speckle ware coffee pot that held
at least a gallon, was set over an open burner. Orange flames jumping
against its blackened bottom and my father would add more dry oak
wood. The water need to roll with boil, as he said.
making of his cowboy coffee. A large speckle ware coffee pot that held
at least a gallon, was set over an open burner. Orange flames jumping
against its blackened bottom and my father would add more dry oak
wood. The water need to roll with boil, as he said.
Soon as the water was rolling up and small droplets jumped and
spattered across the now hot iron of the stove top, my father would
flip back the pots round lid.
spattered across the now hot iron of the stove top, my father would
flip back the pots round lid.
“One, two, three, four, five, six,” he would count, adding heaping
scoops of ground coffee to the bubbling water. I think he counted
for the benefit of his young daughter who watched closely, trying
to learn the exact science of this wonderful morning brew that
everyone in the house drank, even ones perhaps too little.
scoops of ground coffee to the bubbling water. I think he counted
for the benefit of his young daughter who watched closely, trying
to learn the exact science of this wonderful morning brew that
everyone in the house drank, even ones perhaps too little.
“Now” he would nod to me and I knew it was my turn.
“One thousand one, one thousand two…” and I would count for exactly
15 seconds. On 15 he pulled the coffee quickly off the hot burner and
back to the cooler back of the stove.
15 seconds. On 15 he pulled the coffee quickly off the hot burner and
back to the cooler back of the stove.
“Now get the egg shells”, he ordered. Yes eggs shells to trap the
grounds at the bottom of the pot and I would hand him shells saved
from yesterday’s breakfast. Into the pot they went and he would smile.
“Won’t be long now,” he would say. I would fetch the mugs and wait
with him as we watched the time tick slowly out another five minutes
on the old Seth Thomas clock above the stove. This was a precise
art that could not be hurried. Sweet smells teased our noses and
made our mouths water. The second hand swept past 12.
with him as we watched the time tick slowly out another five minutes
on the old Seth Thomas clock above the stove. This was a precise
art that could not be hurried. Sweet smells teased our noses and
made our mouths water. The second hand swept past 12.
Finally it was time; he would pour the black, strong liquid into the
mugs. Only two thirds full, then the milk, swirling like the currents of
the early spring floods, brown and dangerous.
mugs. Only two thirds full, then the milk, swirling like the currents of
the early spring floods, brown and dangerous.
Heaping spoons of sugar, a quick stir and a cup so full it always
spilled on the way to our lips.
spilled on the way to our lips.
For just a moment hesitation was best, just as the mug reached your
waiting tongue and warm, sweet , coffee flavored steam condensed on
your lip and nose and stirred your mind to awaken fully.
waiting tongue and warm, sweet , coffee flavored steam condensed on
your lip and nose and stirred your mind to awaken fully.
He would raise his eye brows and then wink.
“Good stuff,” he would tell me.
“Good stuff,” I would agree.
"Now lets feed them horses," he would say as he headed for the door.
"Yep, horses," I would run after him. After all I now had lots of energy.
At least three more times,the old speckled pot would be filled before
the day burned out.
the day burned out.
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