My
grandparents and parents lived through the depression. There are many
stories and weekends together where I remember folks gathering for a meal. Mom often asked me if I knew why so many friends use to
drop by in those early years. She explained that they all knew they
would be fed. The same was true early on at my grandparents farm.
Back then, a good meal was traded for a few hours' labor on the farm.
Grandma fed an army of friends during hard times and good times. She
was truly a gem.
The
depression taught the older generations how precious any object or
commodity was. They learned what their time and skills could be
traded for, Grandma's cooking. Vagabonds were not the norm, but
rather a close small town family of young and old grew together in
times of need. No one threw anything away.
Grandparent's
barn was full of anything you could imagine that could be used for
repairs, from shoes to farm equipment. Tools to garden with were always washed, dried and oiled before they were put away. God
forbid anyone use a shovel or hoe and leave it outside, used and
dirty. Working tools meant successful survival and made any job a little
easier.
Both
my parents were “hoarders” to some degree. Dad saved anything
that was mechanical. Mom would freeze half a leftover hamburger
sandwich. During my younger years, I would often clean out my mom's
fridge and freezer. The things I would find with complete freezer
burn and rendered unusable were still not thrown away. I would
always ask her why and politely insist that keeping these small half
eaten items wrapped in tin foil was not necessary. She never wavered
nor quit that behavior. The lessons of living in a country during a
depression ran deep.
And
if it were not for the world seemingly falling apart at the seams,
these stories of days growing up would be no more than family
history - I find that I have become them.
Trying
to explain or teach any of this to the young today is probably wasted
on deaf ears. They were born into having abundance on a whim, wound
into their DNA. Much of this seems to have become a human right. I
believe this runs as deep within new generations as self sufficiency
ran in our elders.
Living
the New England brings with it the opportunity for us to go to our
transfer station for recycling and trash drop off. In fact, many
transfer stations become friendly gatherings on the weekends.
Drop off your glass and cans and strike up a friendly conversation
with others. Becomes “world headquarters” at times.
With
this comes the opportunity for shopping. I know that many folks will go “EWW” at picking up anything at the dump and bringing it
home. But shopping at the dump becomes an art form and one soon
realizes it is true that one man's trash is another man's treasure.
Really no difference from shopping at flea markets or weekend garage
sales.
Old
bed parts, wooden furniture, chairs and the such greet us upon
entering. We found a 30-year old cedar lined hope chest just sitting
out in the open one day. Upon inspection, I found it was in top shape
with a locking lid. A little wear and life marks on the outside but
the potential to clean and bring back to every day use was obvious.
We scooped it up. Eventually, we gifted it to the young daughter of a
friend. That hope chest got a second family and life for many years
to come and the price was right.
Like
my father, mechanical things draw me closer. A Coleman cooking stove
and lantern thrown away. All they needed was a little TLC and
a drop of oil on the plunger to bring back full operation.
Hard
work and elbow grease has been a way of living for me. I never have
given this a second thought. Grandparents, parents and, to a smaller
degree, myself, never had much expendable income to use on purchasing
new items or expensive foods for meal making. We learned and were
most happy at making a lot out of a little. And really, it was all in
the willingness to get a little dirty and learning ways of
refreshing older things that were already proven. Behind a little
rust, dirt and time, lay a new tool for our use. An inexpensive cut
of meat, a little knowledge and a meal for a king. I have learned to
see what can become of anything “not so perfect or second cut.” I
can feed a family of four for a week of dinners with one chicken.
