A Sunday
We were geared to enjoy the patios today. That lasted until noon when the hot dry winds became uncomfortable.
Dennis headed for the patio porch where the fans were on helping the breeze to blow through one open door and out the other. He did have feathers to clean up. Snuggles had caught a bird and was playing with the wounded chirping victim. Dennis scooped up the bird and flung it to the skies. The bird looked like it was going to be just fine as it began to fly . . . until Snuggles beat feet it outside and caught the bird in mid air. Dennis didn’t think the ten pound plus cat had it in him to jump that high. Needless to say, all patio porch doors closed as to not have a repeat of a bird dragged inside.
I headed for the studio. I had not turned on the sewing machine in some time as I had gotten busy with cleaning flowerbeds. This seemed the best option for me as it was too warm outside. As I stitch, my mind still seems to wander . . . right back to pies and farm days.
Thinking on those pie crusts made with that great white lard that we rendered. I used it for all our baking and even had a small crock for pan frying. We never had a shortage. Orlin’s two brothers, Frank and Eugene, had the meat market in Hector. Orlin’s mother, Esther, lived in Hector. We visited often, many times coming home with trimmings from the meat market ready to render out.
I had a huge blue speckled roaster that the trimmings went in . . . never more than three forths full. On a low temp of the oven, stirring often, the crackling needed to be watched. When the liquid was very light, and the crackling had shrunk down from their bulk, the cracklings had been roasted out. If the cracklings roasted too long the liquid would be a dark yellow . . . not good. Rendered trimmings that were done correctly delivered pure white lard. It was no light task having the crock ready with cheese cloth stripped over the top and secured with butcher’s string.
Orlin would be on hand to carry the roaster, holding the boiling hot liquid, to the the table, slowly pouring the hot liquid lard over the cheese cloth that was straining out the small bits of cracklings. Towards the end, squeezing the cheese cloth for the very last of the lard . . . sweet. There may have been more than one batch done on these days, with more than one piece of cheese cloth used. After the lard set up to be in the solid form, it found its place in the cool cellar in the basement. Generally, a huge kitchen dinner plate was kept on top on the crock.
Obviously, no small people were allowed near this process. There was bound to be cartoons on the television with boundless snacks for Kevin and Carrie.
It was a normal part of the day when baking was being done to make a trip to the cellar and retrieve that wonderful white lard.
Hmm. Even with a wondering mind, I got a fair amount stitched on Megan’s blanket. It is bulky and there is only so much time I can spend on it before the arms and hands need a break. There is always another day.
This next week looks like temps that I really enjoy . . . I hope you do also.