Buttermilk Biscuits.

Buttermilk Biscuits

I was 8 years old the last time I ate her homemade buttermilk biscuits and sun-dried apple treats. Now, 32 years later, the tastes and smells of those delectable treats embrace me.

Come with me back to a time when life was slower, simpler, and satisfyingly sweet.

Her name was Mrs. Cavender. She was my babysitter and replacement grandma. It was at her home that my sister, Leigh, and I spent our summer breaks.

She was a delightfully spry old lady -- at least 60 years old. And to a young girl, that was close to extinction. The summers we spent there were full of wonderment. She lived in a very modest house that was a pale blue -- a robin's egg blue -- with white shingles and a detached garage. Sun catchers and wind chimes lined the screen porch at the front of her home. The wind constantly urged those chimes to sing. Huge oak trees covered the backyard like protective soldiers guarding-guarding a time that seemed to be suspended and in no hurry to catch up with the rest of the world.

Leigh and I were free here. Free to explore the natural wonders that surrounded us. There were no electronic games, televisions, or iPODs to fill our minds. We had our imaginations.

Our playhouses were made of branches and twine. Our tic-tac-toes were sticks and stones. It was in this backyard bubble we would spend four summers.

And it was during these summers that I was introduced to homemade biscuits and sun-dried apple treats. These are the two things I remember the most. If I close my eyes, I can faintly smell and taste those biscuits. Those tasty treats filled to the brim with mounds of melted butter that remained as a flavorful ring on my napkin whenever I took a bite. Delicious!

I could tell it was a biscuit day the moment I would walk through her kitchen door. The tell- tell sign of the Crisco shortening can on the counter would greet me. A smile would form on my lips. I remember the kitchen being very dark except for one small illuminating window above the sink. When the sunlight hit that Crisco can it was like a beacon welcoming me and urging me to grab a napkin because the biscuits were hot and ready.

Before I began staying at Mrs. Cavender's house, the only way I had ever eaten an apple was raw or sauced. She introduced Leigh and me to the timeless tradition of sun-dried apples. I can still see the boxes lined outside her front porch-lined with sheets, wire, and sliced thin apples. The wire served as a drain and the sheets helped keep the pesky bees and flies from tasting what would soon be our afternoon treat.

When my Dad would pull up in her driveway with those apples drying in the sun before me, I could not contain my excitement. I have never again tasted dried apples quite as scrumptious as hers. The tartness of the apples was replaced with a wholesome sweetness. And rather than a crunchy sensation, my mouth was met with a chewy delight.

Biscuits and apples. So seemingly simple, yet treasured memories.

When I reflect back on those days, it makes me grateful for the simple pleasures. In Mrs. Cavender's world, simplicity was a way of life -- a long lost forgotten art. I can't say I dry apples for my family and couldn't bake a biscuit from scratch if I had to.

Instead I live in a world of Pop-tarts and Rice Krispies -- still served with love -- just by a generation a little too rushed and not quite simple enough.

~ Lisa Morris-Abrams ~
Copyright © 2010
<lovealab at aol.com>

Lisa says, "I have been an educator for the last 20 years. I currently reside in Crestview, Florida and teach 4th grade Language Arts. I love what I do. I also love my two precious children and four furry dogs. I am addicted to Labrador Retrievers. Recently I have had a streak of publishing success, and I am hoping it doesn't stop anytime soon."

[ by: Lisa Morris-Abrams, Copyright © 2010, ( lovealab at aol.com ) -- {used with permission} ]

Email Friend.     Back.     Print Page.

Inspirational Stories     SkyWriting.Net     All Rights Reserved.