A Poke and A Creep/ not what it sounds like.
Where do thoughts come from? I'm asking about the memories that pop into our heads without any apparent trigger? Especially when we are trying to empty our minds on those long nights when we can't sleep.
Last night (actually early this morning) my mind turned to Grandpa Bro..... Not my first father-in-law. This was my second Mother-in-laws Father. A sweet old man who lost his wife shortly after I started dating his grandson. I barely knew her, (she lived out her last years with colon cancer and being passed among her kids to be taken care of.) but I came to deeply love and respect him. His daughter, my mother-in-law, was one of seven children who grew up on his farm. His kids all called him Pappy. Even after they were grown. So I will call him Pappy here to simplify this story. When age advanced too far to make farming easy, Pappy spent his time with cabinetry and wood working. To the point of upsetting his daughters sense of clean by moving his efforts right into his kitchen. The old farm house was too big to heat all of it. So he lived and worked in the kitchen and living room. There was a big table saw, with all accompanying saw dust all over everything, right in his big farm kitchen where it was warm and handy. They couldn't change him, so they finally accepted what made him happy and that was the situation when I joined the family.
When W. and I started building our house, Pappy wanted to be the one to make the kitchen cabinets. And, he was afraid he'd die before they were finished. So they were started long before we were ready for them. He did a beautiful job, and to my surprise, they fit even though they were started before the kitchen was even framed. All he had to work from were the drawings (blueprints??) we'd made on draft paper. It did turn into a job where Pappy had to accept help from one of his sons to finish though.
Pappy's real passion though, was his grandfather clocks. He made one for each of his kids. Out of trees from his own land. They each chose the kind of wood they wanted. He had cords and cords drying in his barn from years of saving lumber from trees cleared on his land. Once he'd finished a clock for each of his offspring, he started on clocks for the grandkids. W. wanted his to be cherry wood. When we showed Pappy the floor plans we'd drawn up ourselves, I pointed out the spot where his clock was going to stand. His face lit up like I'd given him some enormous treasure.
But, I've strayed from the original thought that popped into my head early this morning. It was the first time I was taken out to his farm to visit. Pappy was still growing a huge garden and sharing everything with his family. The farm sprawled across both sides of the road and the garden was across the road from the house, and quite a walk at that. While my Mother-in-law tried to tidy up the house a bit, Pappy took my Father-in-law, W. and I across to raid the garden. After a bit, Pappy turned to me and said, "Girl, would you go get us a poke?" I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. The others acted natural and there was no hint of any prank. Not willing to show any ignorance, I headed for the house thinking R. would know what a "poke" was. Every step of the way though, I was remembering another occasion. The time my own Fathers leg was broken and he asked my then boyfriend if he'd go fill the creep with calf food. And the boy friend refused to believe it was a real request and refused to be fooled. We laughed and laughed because the "creep" was a calf feeder. It was called a creep because the cows would have had to crawl (creep) to get under the low fence and the calves could just walk in. (Can't you just picture a cow on bent knees creeping under a low fence?)
So, all the way to the house I was wondering if I'd been sent on a fools errand for a poke. Should I have laughed and refused to go....and been a fool.....or go....and be a fool? I glanced back several times, but they weren't laughing at me. So I went all the way to the house and asked R. for a poke. She hunted up several bags/sacks/.....pokes, without a comment and sent me on my way. And, my new family never knew that I'd never heard a bag called a poke. I've still never come across anyone but Pappy to use that word. (Though I've since seen it used on T.V. and in books.)
And, why on earth did I remember that somewhere around 3 a.m. this morning???
Last night (actually early this morning) my mind turned to Grandpa Bro..... Not my first father-in-law. This was my second Mother-in-laws Father. A sweet old man who lost his wife shortly after I started dating his grandson. I barely knew her, (she lived out her last years with colon cancer and being passed among her kids to be taken care of.) but I came to deeply love and respect him. His daughter, my mother-in-law, was one of seven children who grew up on his farm. His kids all called him Pappy. Even after they were grown. So I will call him Pappy here to simplify this story. When age advanced too far to make farming easy, Pappy spent his time with cabinetry and wood working. To the point of upsetting his daughters sense of clean by moving his efforts right into his kitchen. The old farm house was too big to heat all of it. So he lived and worked in the kitchen and living room. There was a big table saw, with all accompanying saw dust all over everything, right in his big farm kitchen where it was warm and handy. They couldn't change him, so they finally accepted what made him happy and that was the situation when I joined the family.
When W. and I started building our house, Pappy wanted to be the one to make the kitchen cabinets. And, he was afraid he'd die before they were finished. So they were started long before we were ready for them. He did a beautiful job, and to my surprise, they fit even though they were started before the kitchen was even framed. All he had to work from were the drawings (blueprints??) we'd made on draft paper. It did turn into a job where Pappy had to accept help from one of his sons to finish though.
Pappy's real passion though, was his grandfather clocks. He made one for each of his kids. Out of trees from his own land. They each chose the kind of wood they wanted. He had cords and cords drying in his barn from years of saving lumber from trees cleared on his land. Once he'd finished a clock for each of his offspring, he started on clocks for the grandkids. W. wanted his to be cherry wood. When we showed Pappy the floor plans we'd drawn up ourselves, I pointed out the spot where his clock was going to stand. His face lit up like I'd given him some enormous treasure.
But, I've strayed from the original thought that popped into my head early this morning. It was the first time I was taken out to his farm to visit. Pappy was still growing a huge garden and sharing everything with his family. The farm sprawled across both sides of the road and the garden was across the road from the house, and quite a walk at that. While my Mother-in-law tried to tidy up the house a bit, Pappy took my Father-in-law, W. and I across to raid the garden. After a bit, Pappy turned to me and said, "Girl, would you go get us a poke?" I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. The others acted natural and there was no hint of any prank. Not willing to show any ignorance, I headed for the house thinking R. would know what a "poke" was. Every step of the way though, I was remembering another occasion. The time my own Fathers leg was broken and he asked my then boyfriend if he'd go fill the creep with calf food. And the boy friend refused to believe it was a real request and refused to be fooled. We laughed and laughed because the "creep" was a calf feeder. It was called a creep because the cows would have had to crawl (creep) to get under the low fence and the calves could just walk in. (Can't you just picture a cow on bent knees creeping under a low fence?)
So, all the way to the house I was wondering if I'd been sent on a fools errand for a poke. Should I have laughed and refused to go....and been a fool.....or go....and be a fool? I glanced back several times, but they weren't laughing at me. So I went all the way to the house and asked R. for a poke. She hunted up several bags/sacks/.....pokes, without a comment and sent me on my way. And, my new family never knew that I'd never heard a bag called a poke. I've still never come across anyone but Pappy to use that word. (Though I've since seen it used on T.V. and in books.)
And, why on earth did I remember that somewhere around 3 a.m. this morning???
posted by LeeAnn | 1:24 PM
1 Comments:
That's where "a pig in a poke" came from. In the "old country" you could buy a young pig in a bag, but you'd better check to make sure it was a pig, because sometimes a crooked vender would sell you a cat claiming it was a pig.
A "pig in a poke" meant you were foolishly buying something at face value, and wouldn't find out that you'd been cheated until you "let the cat out of the bag".
No idea why it popped into your head around 3:00 a.m., and no idea why I feel the need to explain the origins of something you already know, except that now it's 5:00 a.m., and my mind seems to work much like yours....
Thanks mom.
(grin)
Post a Comment
<< Home