Memories; The Road Behind and the Road Ahead

It’s been a rough week. My dance card was full and I wish I could get a slow dance more often. Tuesday I ate lunch with a friend at a nearby restaurant to discuss a wedding, not ours, but her grandson’s. She wants me to be her chauffeur again. Wednesday I had plans to go to the historical society, but I needed work done for my basement sump pump system. That was the only time they had available. I also had a workman over to repoint my chimney. The mortar chinking had deteriorated and needed replaced. He was the husband of a nurse I used to work with. (Hello Lynnie)

The entire week, my evenings were blessed with sermons by evangelist Jeremiah Clark’s revival services. I had a great time attending every night. Friday and Saturday I was in Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania frying sausage for their volunteer fire department. It’s an annual and I’ve worked there for nearly 50 years helping these men and women of the community. How can a person write about so many memories? But knowing me, I’ll try.

One memory that sticks out vividly happened many years ago. We used to rinse the greasy electric roasters when they were returned empty of the sausage patties. Once fried, we stack patties in roasters to keep warm until served. About mid-afternoon, a park ranger stopped by to ask that we quit rinsing the roasters, because there was a grease slick floating down the Youghiogheny River. Unknowingly we were polluting the stream, probably causing the river rafters to slide through their trip too quickly.

When I first started volunteering at the annual Sausage and Buckwheat Festival, three women were frying sausage. Each woman fried four sausages in two cast iron skillets over gas burners. The raw whole hog pork sausage was pressed by hand before they were placed into the skillets and fried. It was a tedious process. Now the sausages are already pre-pressed. We still fry them on griddles over gas flames, but the griddles hold up to 40 patties at one time. Leaning over those hot griddles is rough on my back, but frying the pancake and buckwheat cakes is an even more demanding job. The smoke and heat from their griddles fill a small room. It’s necessary for limited ventilation, because the griddles must be kept at a certain temperature to “bake” the cakes properly.

The flavor of the buckwheat cakes was great this year; slightly sour, but they were fried nicely brown and airy. The buckwheat batter is started the week before the festival to allow the batter to ferment just like our forefathers did in past generations.