Apr 14

Written by: ngreditor
4/14/2010 2:03 PM 

Recycling of Long Ago

Norma Larson

Yes, when I was a youngster our family practiced recycling but we called it “necessity to stretch the dollar.”

My mother’s kitchen was on the north side of the house so was the coldest place in the house. In winter months it was not unusual to wake up to ice in the tea kettle. Of course, we had the old Monarch cook stove for the purposes of cooking and keep from getting too cold. As soon as one entered the back door, he was greeted with a warm blast and the beginning of our recycling program.

Our stove was not just used when the electricity was off, as we had no light fixture in the middle of the room. In fact, there were no sign of a light bulb anyplace. Only people who lived in town had such a luxury.

As one stepped from the cold outside to the cozy kitchen, all were expected to wipe their feet on the braided rug placed right by the door for that purpose. It had been made by hand from strips of cloth that had been our clothes worn out and were now recycled into a functional decorative accessory in our kitchen. They were found throughout our home to avoid coming in contact with the inevitable cold floors and save wear and tear on the floor covering whether carpet, hard wood or linoleum.

The cozy, homey kitchen was not that way by gas or electricity, but the hard earned cobs which had already served their first life as well as wood harvested from the man power with an axe and a saw from trees on the farm had provided shade and homes for various birds and insects earlier.

Looking around the room you may see an empty half gallon Karo pail which had held the syrup for the morning breakfast of pancakes. Yes, it was in its second life as well as it carried my noon meal to school each weekday. I attended a two room rural school as a student with six other second graders.

I always enjoyed Monday’s fare the most; as I had a chicken leg mom had saved from our Sunday dinner. Some may call it leftovers, but today it would be called recycling. And when Dad requested fudge in the evening, the last piece was saved for my dinner pail the next day. My sandwiches were usually peanut butter: the jar being saved for use to hold leftovers for another meal; again a form of recycling.

No new waxed paper was unheard of as liner in our dinner pails as liners from cereal boxes served the purpose. As far as I was concerned, the wax paper’s use was combined with a comb to produce a “musical instrument” for a little country only child.

Meals were simple, plain, and monotonous but appreciated on the farm in the 1930s-composed of fruits and vegetables grown on the land supplemented with milk, cream and eggs from our own cows and chickens. Sunday dinner always included home grown fried chicken and banana pie.

Each Saturday night we went to town (the social time for the Johnson’s and most of the neighbors). A few minutes before closing time for the grocery store, Dad would “barter” with the Mr. Carlson, the owner. They both knew those bananas hanging from the ceiling would not hold any appeal for the next week’s customers so Dad “helped the cause” by relieving the grocer of them and the Johnson family had our Sunday banana pie, as well as bananas in Jello, banana bread and eating them fresh.

Doing the dishes after a meal was never a fun time for anyone. Before we ate the meal, my mother would fill the tea kettle with water from the pump in the kitchen so it would be hot for the dreaded chore later.

As soon as we were done eating, my mother would bring out two large dish pans which were used for other things between meals, pouring hot water in both. Her dishrag had been recycled many times probably beginning as an apron, a dress, or perhaps sheets and now rondavue with the plates and cups until shiny clean. I was handed a white dishtowel whose “first life” had been holding chickenfeed and then bleached, laundered, hemmed to be a bright white dishtowel; perhaps fancied up with a bit of a cheerful embroidered design in one comer.

The kitchen, the heart of the farm homes, probably could have had the title “Queen of Recycles” but a stroll through the rest of the home would follow same pattern. Newspapers provided the news from far and wide, sports and comic pages devoured, crossword puzzles completed before finding their way to the shelves in the pantry to catch any unexpected spills.

A seven year old girl in the 1930’s had a very limited wardrobe. I was fortunate among my classmates, as I had a cousin a bit older whose clothes was passed on which certainly helped my wardrobe as well as my parents bill fold.

The rest of our home also had many recyclables. The Montgomery Ward catalog was the favorite “reading material”. Oh how I looked through it and dreamed of better days coming. And its “after life” was as paper dolls for playtime in the days before television. I remember sleeping on a feather mattress and those feathers had been some fowls clothing. And now you know recycling is not a new way of life.

Copyright ©2010 Newman Grove Reporter