Some time after Grandma died, I was visiting the farm. I was cooking and rummaged around in the utensil drawer for a wooden spoon to stir something with. I grew up using wooden spoons and have owned many over the course of my life. I love them. I love the feel of the wood in my hand. I love the way they gently rub the bottom of the pan as you stir. I’ve learned how to gauge the proper thickness of a sauce or gravy by how the liquid coats the spoon. Placed across the top of a pan, a wooden spoon will keep pasta or potatoes from boiling over. Drape a wet dishcloth over the end and you can scrub the inside of a jar or bottle. They’re very handy.

When I looked in the drawer in Grandma’s kitchen, there was a packet in the back wrapped in a flour sack dishcloth. Curious, I opened it up to find treasures. Grandma’s paring knife, potato peeler, and favorite wooden spoon had been wrapped and carefully put away. The paring knife was so thin and the blade was curved in an unnatural shape from the many times it had been run over a whetstone. The potato peeler showed wear from years and years of use. Potatoes were a staple in that house for at least two meals a day. But, it was the wooden spoon that got me. Stained red from a lifetime of making blackcap jelly, I held it in my hands as if it were fragile crystal. The end is worn flat from all the years of stirring back and forth, back and forth…making sure the sugar and pectin dissolved and the mixture didn’t scorch on the bottom of the pan. I could still see my grandma’s arthritic finger run over the jelly coating on the back of her wooden spoon. She pushed it along to see if it had reached the jell stage. Then she popped her finger in her mouth, licked it clean, and gave me a wink as she wiped her hand on her ever present calico apron over her ever present belted house dress with the hankie in the pocket. I never, ever saw her wear pants. Always a dress, with stockings, and sturdy black lace-up shoes with a sensible heel. My breath caught with the memory. I missed her so. I miss her still.

My aunt noticed my reverie and asked if I’d like to keep the spoon. I was so touched…and thrilled. It occupied a place of honor for several years on the windowsill of my Colorado kitchen. It got tucked away when I downsized and sold my house. It made its way back to that same farmhouse kitchen in West Virginia when I finally settled back here. I remember unpacking that box of special kitchen items, taking extra care that the spoon didn’t get thrown away with the packing materials.

The spoon now hangs on a pegboard over the kitchen sink. I see it every time I wash dishes and I think of my grandma and how hard she worked standing in that very spot. It’s like that wink comes all the way from heaven and I know she smiles that I am here. ❤️

“She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar. She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family and portions for her female servants.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭31:14-15‬ ‭NIV‬‬