Thursday, April 21, 2016
Monday, August 29, 2011
the sweetness of cashmere bouquet
Do you have those things that you save, moving them around each time you clean, but never throwing them out because "I'm gonna do something with that someday" ?
Today is someday. I finally have not just moved the wrapper from a hotel-size soap that I've had around my dresser drawer for two years. I've "done something" by looking up "Cashmere Bouquet" on line. I already knew it was an old-fashioned product of Colgate-Palmolive because the moment I opened up the mini-bar in the hotel room, I ws transported back to the porch of my grandparent's farmhouse in Twin Bluffs, WI. This "porch" was actually a 8'X8' room into which you entered into their home; then you passed into their kitchen by going through another door with a glass window. The importance of this room was evident by the extra refrigerater, portable washing machine and other items lining the walls, surrounding the small open floor space in the center.
Right by the door there was a wooden chair with a small rug , so you could sit down and take off your boots and shoes--thus ensuring that dirt, or worse, didn't travel into the house any further. Above the chair was a calender with notes about milk pickup dates, birthdays, or other events noted in pen or pencil. There were hooks for a couple of jackets and hats, but most outerware was put away into a small coat closet that also included strange items such as hair clippers, pink permanent rods, a jar of Dippity-Do, and extra towels because that wooden chair also became the barber or salon chair occasionally for any of four generations who Grandma thought "needed a trimming" or a "wave". It was an ideal salon because of the large basined sink built into one corner--perfect for washing up after milking chores or for the many rinses of perms. In the mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink, you could find combs, brushes, bandaids, bactine, udder balm and Ponds cold cream--with preference to udder balm for hands chapped by winds and snows of rural Wisconsin winters.
Even now as I sniff the empty wrapper, I can "see" that bar of Cashmere Bouquet on the corner edge of the farmhouse sink. I knew then that the luscious rose-floral scent was from exotic places like France or Italy where my dad had been stationed between the Korean and Vietnam years. It was just more proof that my grandmother was a "lady" farmwife, who paid attention to nice smells and fresh fingernail polish, even with berry stains on her fingers during summer canning sessions.
On a website about the history of the soap, http://www.brandlandusa.com/2008/12/10/history-of-colgates-cashmere-bouquet/, I learned that Cashmere Bouquet was the first milled, perfumed toilet soap, introduced in 1872. It was seen as a luxury soap then, when many were making DIY soap from animal fat and lye that is still used in the process.
Alas, I have not been finding Cashmere Bouquet and Palmolive--another old-time hand soap--in any stores. It is primarily sold in discount stores and used in hotels--which is where I ran across my little cossetted bar. Ironically, it is easier to find these MADE IN USA products in Europe, U.K. and Australia (according to the website) as there it is viewed as a natural soap, made of animal tallow, lye, fragrance, glycerin and a few other ingredients.
I have held onto this soap wrapper as if a talisman that would lead me back to the simple pleasures I enjoyed as a child on my grandparent's farm. Did my grandmother love this soap, too? Did it reduce her tension and stress amidst all the bustle of daily farm life? Who says aromatherapy is a new idea!
All I know is that I want some Cashmere Bouquet in my day.
Today is someday. I finally have not just moved the wrapper from a hotel-size soap that I've had around my dresser drawer for two years. I've "done something" by looking up "Cashmere Bouquet" on line. I already knew it was an old-fashioned product of Colgate-Palmolive because the moment I opened up the mini-bar in the hotel room, I ws transported back to the porch of my grandparent's farmhouse in Twin Bluffs, WI. This "porch" was actually a 8'X8' room into which you entered into their home; then you passed into their kitchen by going through another door with a glass window. The importance of this room was evident by the extra refrigerater, portable washing machine and other items lining the walls, surrounding the small open floor space in the center.
Right by the door there was a wooden chair with a small rug , so you could sit down and take off your boots and shoes--thus ensuring that dirt, or worse, didn't travel into the house any further. Above the chair was a calender with notes about milk pickup dates, birthdays, or other events noted in pen or pencil. There were hooks for a couple of jackets and hats, but most outerware was put away into a small coat closet that also included strange items such as hair clippers, pink permanent rods, a jar of Dippity-Do, and extra towels because that wooden chair also became the barber or salon chair occasionally for any of four generations who Grandma thought "needed a trimming" or a "wave". It was an ideal salon because of the large basined sink built into one corner--perfect for washing up after milking chores or for the many rinses of perms. In the mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink, you could find combs, brushes, bandaids, bactine, udder balm and Ponds cold cream--with preference to udder balm for hands chapped by winds and snows of rural Wisconsin winters.
Even now as I sniff the empty wrapper, I can "see" that bar of Cashmere Bouquet on the corner edge of the farmhouse sink. I knew then that the luscious rose-floral scent was from exotic places like France or Italy where my dad had been stationed between the Korean and Vietnam years. It was just more proof that my grandmother was a "lady" farmwife, who paid attention to nice smells and fresh fingernail polish, even with berry stains on her fingers during summer canning sessions.
On a website about the history of the soap, http://www.brandlandusa.com/2008/12/10/history-of-colgates-cashmere-bouquet/, I learned that Cashmere Bouquet was the first milled, perfumed toilet soap, introduced in 1872. It was seen as a luxury soap then, when many were making DIY soap from animal fat and lye that is still used in the process.
Alas, I have not been finding Cashmere Bouquet and Palmolive--another old-time hand soap--in any stores. It is primarily sold in discount stores and used in hotels--which is where I ran across my little cossetted bar. Ironically, it is easier to find these MADE IN USA products in Europe, U.K. and Australia (according to the website) as there it is viewed as a natural soap, made of animal tallow, lye, fragrance, glycerin and a few other ingredients.
I have held onto this soap wrapper as if a talisman that would lead me back to the simple pleasures I enjoyed as a child on my grandparent's farm. Did my grandmother love this soap, too? Did it reduce her tension and stress amidst all the bustle of daily farm life? Who says aromatherapy is a new idea!
All I know is that I want some Cashmere Bouquet in my day.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Green Tomato Chow Chow
Grandma Moore--my Mom's grandma--was one of many of the generation who knew how to thrive as well as survive. The motto "reduce, reuse, recycle" may have even seemed a bit fancy to her, as "make do or do without" was the unconscious practice of many in her time and location. A widow with a large family, she managed to keep the kids and keep the farm in what is considered by experts as "marginal farm country"--the beautiful ridges and valleys of southwest Wisconsin that I am so proud to have called home for 30+ years.
The following recipe is probably a pretty good representation of her approach to using all that the good land produced to provide flavorful condiments to the home-grown fare place with loving hands on the large farm table. There are always greent tomatos plentiful on the vine at the end of the growing season, catching them before the first frost. Why not capitalize on that green bounty, too?
Food on the farm might be simple, but it didn't have to be without flavor! All of my maternal relatives are excellant cooks, bakers and candy-makers, starting from "scratch". In fact, I believe that cooking from "scratch" and using freshly picked produced and homegrown meats are the secrets to their locally reknown culinary reputations.
My Grandma Mildred Wastlick dictated this recipe to me about 10 years ago. I reproduced it below just as she described the recipe. And, I have made a couple of batches, adding even more sugar than the 3 cups my grandma first suggested was probably about right. She said Grandma Moore liked her chow chow sweet, so I don't think adding 2 cups more would offend her :-). I use 5 cups of sugar myself. So far, I enjoyed the chow chow on roasted turkey, pork dishes, sandwiches and on fried potatos. No kidding--replace that red tomato catsup with green tomato chow chow.
Ella's Green Tomato Chow Chow
1 peck of green tomatow (4 qts or 15#)
6 large onions
4 green peppers
Grind these together and drain off green juice goodl
Use about 1 quart of vinegar, put tomato mixture in it. Let it boil until it changes color then drain again.
Take 1 quart vinegar, 1 tablespoon ground mustard, 1 tablespoon celery seed, and sugar to suit taste, maybe 3 cups? Add 1 tablesppon salt--you can tell that by taste, too.
Put the strained tomatos in large pot and let come to boil, place in jars, it keeps without sealing, but I'd heat and seal if I was keeping it long. You can make it sweeter or less according to your taste. Grandma Moore liked her's sweet. (Sue's note: see above comments!!).
The following recipe is probably a pretty good representation of her approach to using all that the good land produced to provide flavorful condiments to the home-grown fare place with loving hands on the large farm table. There are always greent tomatos plentiful on the vine at the end of the growing season, catching them before the first frost. Why not capitalize on that green bounty, too?
Food on the farm might be simple, but it didn't have to be without flavor! All of my maternal relatives are excellant cooks, bakers and candy-makers, starting from "scratch". In fact, I believe that cooking from "scratch" and using freshly picked produced and homegrown meats are the secrets to their locally reknown culinary reputations.
My Grandma Mildred Wastlick dictated this recipe to me about 10 years ago. I reproduced it below just as she described the recipe. And, I have made a couple of batches, adding even more sugar than the 3 cups my grandma first suggested was probably about right. She said Grandma Moore liked her chow chow sweet, so I don't think adding 2 cups more would offend her :-). I use 5 cups of sugar myself. So far, I enjoyed the chow chow on roasted turkey, pork dishes, sandwiches and on fried potatos. No kidding--replace that red tomato catsup with green tomato chow chow.
Ella's Green Tomato Chow Chow
1 peck of green tomatow (4 qts or 15#)
6 large onions
4 green peppers
Grind these together and drain off green juice goodl
Use about 1 quart of vinegar, put tomato mixture in it. Let it boil until it changes color then drain again.
Take 1 quart vinegar, 1 tablespoon ground mustard, 1 tablespoon celery seed, and sugar to suit taste, maybe 3 cups? Add 1 tablesppon salt--you can tell that by taste, too.
Put the strained tomatos in large pot and let come to boil, place in jars, it keeps without sealing, but I'd heat and seal if I was keeping it long. You can make it sweeter or less according to your taste. Grandma Moore liked her's sweet. (Sue's note: see above comments!!).
Thursday, November 4, 2010
It's time to 'fess up!
Yes, I'll admit to romanticizing the past....I aspire to be a modern day homesteader.
It was inevitable. My girl cousins and I grew up reading the Little House books (pre-Michael Landon versions, thank you very much!) over and over just as my children have read Harry Potter series until they can quote Hermione, Harry and Snape verbatim. We begged our mothers to help us make calico dresses and sunbonnets, arguing about who would be Mary and Laura Ingalls--or assigned the role of Nellie Olsen! Then, we loaded up the baby dolls and snacks into the red Radio Flyer "covered wagon" and headed down to the creek on the farm.
No doubt popular children's literature has shaped generations of bibliophiles like me since the mid-nineteenth century when the genre first took hold with the works of Louisa May Alcott and other early writers of children's literature. I know my mom talks of reading the Bobbsey Twins and The Five Little Peppers sitting with her feet warmed by the wood-burning parlor stove. Books continue to shape the way I see and learn about the world, more than television. I still reread the Little House books each decade. I even named my daughter Laura.
However, my world view was also shaped by my heritage and my environment. Growing up in rural Wisconsin in the 70's, I experienced a lifestyle of parents, grandparents that hadn't really changed from the rural agrarian habits and society from earlier decades of the century. My sister, Jann, who was born only nine years later, had an entirely different childhood than I did because of the rapid shifts in technology and cultural expectations around habits of affluence.
Both sets of grand parents lived their lives and raised their family on farms in the river bottoms along the Pine River just north of it's confluence with the Wisconsin River. My maternal grandparents, the Wastlicks, worked most of their adult lives to acquire and pay off the mortgage on an 80-acre diversified family farm near Twin Bluffs. When I stayed overnight, I helped them pour the cream-rich milk of the Gersey and Jersey cows through the strainers perched atop the milk cans. Yes, they are the same milk cans that are still seen in some antique and collectibles shops in the Midwest. My Grandpa Wastlick would then let me ride alongside the stainless steel milk cans on the two-wheeled cart he used to pull from the barn to the milk house. I bumped along with the milk cans over the driveway where the ox eye daisies were always trying to grow through the gravel and dust. The smell of a crushed daisy takes me back to that memory yet today. Once at the milk house, the milk cans would be lowered into a cement tank of earth-cold well water on the floor of the milk house. There they would cool, waiting for the milk truck to pick them up and transport them to the nearest cheese factory to be made into Cheddar or Swiss cheese.
Although milking the cows provided the main "cash crop", they raised chickens for butchering and eggs, hogs, and raised vegetables and myriads of fruit to fill the freezer and root cellar shelves. Grandpa loved to walk up through the pastures and woods harvesting wild ginseng, wild grapes, hickory nuts, black walnuts in the fall and morel mushrooms around each Mother's Day. The woodlot provided the fuel to keep the farmhouse toasty upstairs and down. Each fall, the meat provided by domesticated stock was supplemented by venison, pheasant, duck, squirrel, rabbit and even the wild turkey as they grew in numbers during the late 70's. I have wondered since if we had Rachel Carson's efforts through the book "Silent Spring" to thank for the return of the wild turkey as well as other predator species like the eagle.
I'm not sure I want to be a homesteader in the way that my ancestresses were 100-150 years ago. The disregard for native people's rights and sovereignty is the dark side of the romanticized pioneer mythology. Accustomed to modern woman's lifestyle, I certainly would have a hard time facing the prejudices, limited human rights and educational expectations for women back in the day. We HAVE come a long way!
But, if I might be humored...I would like to be a bit more self-sufficient in providing my daily bread from the land and abundance that surrounds me. Like a homestead woman, I want to provide for my families food, clothing, and shelter in a manner that honors "traditional knowledge and home craft" and connects with the animals and the people of the landscape. Like Thoreau, I would like "to live deliberately", not taking all this for granted.
So here's what's happening on my urban Montana homestead...one city lot in Great Falls, MT.
It was inevitable. My girl cousins and I grew up reading the Little House books (pre-Michael Landon versions, thank you very much!) over and over just as my children have read Harry Potter series until they can quote Hermione, Harry and Snape verbatim. We begged our mothers to help us make calico dresses and sunbonnets, arguing about who would be Mary and Laura Ingalls--or assigned the role of Nellie Olsen! Then, we loaded up the baby dolls and snacks into the red Radio Flyer "covered wagon" and headed down to the creek on the farm.
No doubt popular children's literature has shaped generations of bibliophiles like me since the mid-nineteenth century when the genre first took hold with the works of Louisa May Alcott and other early writers of children's literature. I know my mom talks of reading the Bobbsey Twins and The Five Little Peppers sitting with her feet warmed by the wood-burning parlor stove. Books continue to shape the way I see and learn about the world, more than television. I still reread the Little House books each decade. I even named my daughter Laura.
However, my world view was also shaped by my heritage and my environment. Growing up in rural Wisconsin in the 70's, I experienced a lifestyle of parents, grandparents that hadn't really changed from the rural agrarian habits and society from earlier decades of the century. My sister, Jann, who was born only nine years later, had an entirely different childhood than I did because of the rapid shifts in technology and cultural expectations around habits of affluence.
Both sets of grand parents lived their lives and raised their family on farms in the river bottoms along the Pine River just north of it's confluence with the Wisconsin River. My maternal grandparents, the Wastlicks, worked most of their adult lives to acquire and pay off the mortgage on an 80-acre diversified family farm near Twin Bluffs. When I stayed overnight, I helped them pour the cream-rich milk of the Gersey and Jersey cows through the strainers perched atop the milk cans. Yes, they are the same milk cans that are still seen in some antique and collectibles shops in the Midwest. My Grandpa Wastlick would then let me ride alongside the stainless steel milk cans on the two-wheeled cart he used to pull from the barn to the milk house. I bumped along with the milk cans over the driveway where the ox eye daisies were always trying to grow through the gravel and dust. The smell of a crushed daisy takes me back to that memory yet today. Once at the milk house, the milk cans would be lowered into a cement tank of earth-cold well water on the floor of the milk house. There they would cool, waiting for the milk truck to pick them up and transport them to the nearest cheese factory to be made into Cheddar or Swiss cheese.
Although milking the cows provided the main "cash crop", they raised chickens for butchering and eggs, hogs, and raised vegetables and myriads of fruit to fill the freezer and root cellar shelves. Grandpa loved to walk up through the pastures and woods harvesting wild ginseng, wild grapes, hickory nuts, black walnuts in the fall and morel mushrooms around each Mother's Day. The woodlot provided the fuel to keep the farmhouse toasty upstairs and down. Each fall, the meat provided by domesticated stock was supplemented by venison, pheasant, duck, squirrel, rabbit and even the wild turkey as they grew in numbers during the late 70's. I have wondered since if we had Rachel Carson's efforts through the book "Silent Spring" to thank for the return of the wild turkey as well as other predator species like the eagle.
I'm not sure I want to be a homesteader in the way that my ancestresses were 100-150 years ago. The disregard for native people's rights and sovereignty is the dark side of the romanticized pioneer mythology. Accustomed to modern woman's lifestyle, I certainly would have a hard time facing the prejudices, limited human rights and educational expectations for women back in the day. We HAVE come a long way!
But, if I might be humored...I would like to be a bit more self-sufficient in providing my daily bread from the land and abundance that surrounds me. Like a homestead woman, I want to provide for my families food, clothing, and shelter in a manner that honors "traditional knowledge and home craft" and connects with the animals and the people of the landscape. Like Thoreau, I would like "to live deliberately", not taking all this for granted.
So here's what's happening on my urban Montana homestead...one city lot in Great Falls, MT.
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