Mammy's Christmas Dinner

It's been said that the physical sense most associated with the memory part of our brain is the sense of smell. I believe it to be true... it is a gift from our creator.

Nestled in the Appalachian hills of eastern Kentucky, hidden in a holler off a single lane gravel road, sits the small house where my Dad and his 11 brothers and sisters were raised and it is there that one of my fondest memories of a Christmas long ago took place.

Coal Branch road follows the curves and steep edges of the hills and back roads of a much forgotten part of the country. Living “in the holler” wasn’t easy back in the day (it still isn’t) and required resourcefulness and the help of good neighbors to survive. The task becomes even more difficult if you’re a senior citizen- let alone a female senior like grandma. Then as now, those of us in the family had one name for her: "Mammy".

Mammy was my Dad’s mother and she lived alone after Grandpa passed and the last child, as the youngest daughter had moved out when I was very young. Typical of houses built during hard times on meager budgets, there were no hallways to consume space or precious heat. You simply walked through one room to get to another. Spending time there as a child, I hadn’t given it any thought: it was Mammy’s home, safe and warm, alive with conversation when we visited.

The kitchen could be found by walking through the doorway standing in the first bedroom looking in. Or, if you were family or well acquainted guests, you might enter through the small wooden door at the rear of the kitchen next to the wood burning cook stove (seen to the right behind Mammy in the picture). The small kitchen hutch with the flour sifter, which had generated thousands of homemade biscuits through the years, sat between the wood stove and the small kitchen table, of which only the two front chairs were usually used. guests often stood in the doorway between the kitchen and bedroom, using the door jamb as a rest.

Looking back, it’s difficult to imagine feeding a small army of children from these humble furnishings. But Mammy was not only good at it, at times she seemed to thrive in it. Perhaps it was a result of living through the depression with little to no extras and lots of mouths to feed, but she had learned the lesson well, making treasures out of the most basic of ingredients. Such was the time in my early twenties when Dad, my sister Janet, my wife Julie, my daughters Brandy and Amy and I made an unanticipated visit to Mammy’s on Christmas Eve.

We were fortunate enough to have family from both my parent's sides living within 10 minutes of each other which helped us divide time when we came south from Ohio to visit. Mom would stay with her mother and Dad would drive up to the holler to visit Mammy. Even as an adult, I was bound by love and tradition to split my time as well. Dad always called Mammy first (on the party line, if he could get someone else off long enough to let him call).

He always wanted her to know we were coming, especially if it was approaching dark. Mammy owned a shotgun and was not afraid to use it. (One of the secrets to surviving alone in the backwoods, I guess!) Calling ahead was always a wise move. On this occasion, Mammy was very surprised to hear we were coming.

My Dad often worked 7 days a week at the paper mill and if he took off work (which was a rare occasion) it would not be for long. But this Christmas, Dad had taken off enough time to make the visit home and now we were headed to Mammy’s to complete the tour. Mammy told Dad on the phone that she “ ..would try to get something pulled together for us to eat.” She added that she "..hadn’t been able to get out much, since she can't drive." Dad hung up the phone and told us that there may not be much to eat when we got there. But we all said that was fine, we just wanted to see how she was doing during Christmas time.

After the 20 minute gravel-road drive to Mammy’s, we arrived at the rear door to the kitchen where Mammy gave each of us a fragile hug as we entered. And then we saw it…

Sitting at the far end of the kitchen, the 60s- era table with Formica top and brushed aluminum side trim, was doing all it could to contain the bounty of food that had been spread before us. No magazine celebrity chef could have imagined such a wide variety of specialties, and all of it made lovingly by the hands of my grandmother and a host of eastern Kentucky neighbors. Nothing in today's organic cookbooks could match it for quality or simplicity.This arrangement of food had come straight from the earth and was as beautiful as any dinner offering I had never seen, nor will ever see again.

There are times in your life when God allows you to come out of yourself for just a moment to realize that what you're experiencing is a once in a lifetime event: this was one of those moments and we all seemed to realize it together. Even Dad, raised on Mammy’s cooking, was overwhelmed! As we gathered around that tiny little table staring with our mouths agape, Mammy continued bringing bowls and cookie sheets out of the fridge! When there was no way another item could be placed on the table without pushing another item off, she would sit it on the counter, all the while apologizing for not having more to offer.

There it was in all its glory: A large country ham just butchered last week by the neighbor up the road, fried dried apples from the lady at church who had a small orchard in her yard, strawberry jams bright red in the mason jars, blackberry jelly made from berry bushes growing wild along the roadside (picked carefully while watching out for copperheads), fresh green beans with small red potatoes from someone in town “who thought she might like them”, boiled custard made with fresh eggs and real milk, chicken casserole made by hand with a chicken just taken from a yard pen, ..the quality and variety of food was mind boggling. The bright colors and smells were beyond description. All fresh, all made by hand, all given and shared in love by neighbors. Mammy had traded some of her home made goods with others who she felt was less fortunate than her. And there… in a simple dish with a dish towel thrown overtop, was one of my all time favorite foods: Mammy’s homemade biscuits and fresh butter! I had died and went to Heaven! NOTHING could compare to Mammy’s strawberry preserves, spread over her butter topped biscuits: Manna from heaven!

After the initial shock wore off and we began eating, with smiles and laughter in full swing, we asked Mammy about each dish and listened closely to the stories: neighbors, friends, church members, family, all contributing to the bounty set before us. I remember thinking how wonderful it was that people would be willing to share the fruits of their labor with one another and how beautiful a banquet it was when they did. Mammy was well taken care of this Christmas and I realized even in my young adult life, that Christmas is made magical when we unselfishly share our best with others.

We left that evening knowing that we had been blessed beyond measure to have been there and discussed how sad it was for everyone else that they had not. No camera captured the moment, and rightfully so. There’s no way it could do the moment justice.

To this day, I still feel the deep, simple joy of visiting a loved one and the pleasure and humility that comes from allowing yourself to be awed by the simple things God brings our way. If we will just take the time to slow down and recognize that these special moments will never come our way again, they can take their rightful place in our hearts where they will live forever.

And this magical Christmas dinner brought together by humble hands and hearts … sure lives in mine. May you and your family experience a simple, heartfelt Merry Christmas!

Note: God has a great sense of timing and humor! As soon as I finished writing this story, I was drawn into our kitchen by the smell of something very familiar… Julie was making homemade biscuits using Mammy’s recipe! I’m NOT kidding! Apparently, the memory of that magical Christmas lives on in her heart as well.

Thank you Lord for family and friends and for the opportunity to make our own memories…