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Like the strains of a
haunting melody on occasion a happening will float over and through
our lives. If the notes are of a tune we once knew and loved many pleasant
situations can be called to mind. This was how the gathering together of
members of their small community into a heritage fall festival gave an
opportunity for them to slip away from all the mediocrity of daily living.
Gramma at age 90 insisted
on having a food booth. For all the years gone by with her always
involved in food service in one way or another the knowledge of her
ability to do so was certain, but at a younger age. Today, her steps are
measured with care and she trails like the Pelican with one wing drooping
a bit. The utmost care and diplomacy must be exercised with all the
tactfulness necessary to allow her a bit of her remaining dignity.
We could have said, “Now
Mother, let's face it. There is no way we can allow you to do this.”
Instead, the loving caring
acts of her grandchildren and children were to allow the proud elder to
go through with her plans. These wishes of hers were to feed a population
of a small town “Indian Taco's.”
Gramma was full Indian but
married into a family who marks their roots as those of the Hunter family.
If, Indeed, these roots go back to the Hunter's who provided game for the
royal families of Scotland then one has to believe, certainly, those who
brought the wild game animals to the tables also knew how to prepare
delicious entree's from the meats. At any rate, the children of those
American women settled in the back wooded areas of Kentucky first. They
went on to Missouri, Arkansas and last the Oklahoma's non-populated
outbacks. They did bring ancient skills of food preparation down through
the generations to their daughters. These things, mixed with the Native
American skills gave Gramma the ability to prepare and serve food with not
an apology to be made.
Her food booth was no more
than a grouping of table, outdoor bar-b-que grill and small portable cold
boxes setting under an eleven-dollar tarpaulin on flimsy poles. Thankfully
the area was setting in a created valley at the foot of the massive
Marland mansion where there was virtually no wind. The great cut stones of
the castle were the back drop to her most humble booth. Women who worked
on the ground had decorated the great heavy stone arches with bright
colors in striking orange accents. Soft tanish brown stones supported the
striking hue. The wide stone steps coming down to the area from the
castle into this small almost grotto looking place had giant boulders
beside the walk. Between these great stones beautiful foliage of bright
light to dark greens hung there. In between these greens' flowers of rich
looking textures rested. The scene was altogether a feast to the eye.
Maybe this was an accident the creating of two moods together. One went
to the feeding the senses and mind the other to the more common one of the
stomach.
The family made every
effort to keep up with the lines of folks coming in on the small booth.
Indian tacos' some had tasted and wanted more, others had never had them
and wanted to try them for the first time. If the family had been free
from all the other weighty problems resting on them, maybe a better
arrangement could have been made. During these times of the survival by
the opportunist their plate was more than full in trying to rescue one of
their own from whatever situation was involved as to rising above the
riff raff of the area. that were themselves disadvantaged by more
powerful forces sucking up money from the dregs. Their family had
managed to triumph but it left them all with battle scars, mentally that
is. Like those from a battle won there was still a need to pull up
reserved strength in order to sally forth again but this they did with the
food booth.
The second day which was
with the heaviest traffic a bit more of a plan had developed. Some of the
cooking was done at home where greater amounts could be produced as
compared to the one or two burners of the bar-b-que grills.
If Gramma stood for long
hours on her feet turning out one piece of bread at a time it was of no
consequence, her dignity was preserved. The strong people who were the
craftsmen showing their wares seemed to understand her need to keep
battling for survival and for the woman's wish to teach her family how to
go about feeding great numbers of people. These consumers were patient.
Without a doubt this part of her mission was accomplished.
There was no way she could
instill or place the same loyalty and unity of her culture into the
hearts and minds of her grandchildren. This had been “dumbed down” long
ago. However, there were the still quiet strains of an ancient melody
going back to maybe the days of King David when he fed his armies from the
store houses of Michel. These notes were tinged with the echo of a soft
drum beat which had to be felt and recognized. |
