B (16:36)
Episode was just starting. First the audience clapped and there was cheerful music. Then the soundtrack became more dramatic, fading into the beginning of the dialogue between two women. In this episode, it seemed that Harriet and another lady had run into each other in a department store. Davy thought. This seemed like it was a world away from Grandma Hattie's sunny kitchen out on the farm. In this show, David, it became apparent that the other lady's husband was a farmer. Harriet said her kids had never been to a real farm. Davy looked out the kitchen door that led to the side yard. He scanned the vast expanse of blue sky, Grandma's vegetable garden, and beyond, the sea of corn. What a notion, he thought. How can someone have never seen a farm? Grandma told Davy he had done a fine job of whisking the flour mixture and instructed him to bring her the butter and the bowl of eggs from where they'd been waiting on the other side of the kitchen table. As she measured sparkly white flour out of a nearby canister, she reminded Davy that it was important to use room temperature eggs and butter in a pound cake. It's the best way to get your butter to whip up nice and creamy, she explained with a twinkle in her eye. For a brief moment, Grandma's hand mixer drowned out the people talking on the Ozzie and Harriet episode. The laugh track continued to rise over the whir of the appliance, but Davy was only dimly aware of what was going on in the story anyway. Grandma had a special step stool that could also be used as a chair. It was a shiny mint green color. Climbing up onto it, he squeezed his hands between his knees as he watched his grandmother transform the butter and sugar into a fluffy mountain. Then, one by one, she expertly cracked the eggs with one hand, dropping them into the mix. A few more ingredients, then the flour, bit by bit and the batter was ready to go into the pans. Davy leaned on the oilcloth covered table while Grandma Hattie poured the batter evenly into two identical loaf pans. Her expert eye knew just how to divide it evenly. Somehow they came out except exactly the same. Looking up at Davy with the smile, she winked at him. Perfect, Grandma, he said with admiration. He stood back as she pulled out the door to the big wide stove and deposited the loaf pans inside. Then she set the metal kitchen timer for an hour and gently closed the oven again. She would check on the pound cakes after 60 minutes to see if they were done. Turning around, she noticed there was a new arrival in the kitchen. Strolling in the open kitchen door was Grandma's orange cat, Buster. He was an enormous and goofy sort of fella who always accepted a few pets from any kind of visitor. Davy eagerly slid off the chair by the oven and sat down in the warm sunshine on the linoleum to stroke his head. Buster had obviously been entertaining himself outside. He had a few sticky burrs and twigs nestled in his fur. Davy gently worked them free and tossed them out the door beyond the steps. Buster licked Davy's hand in return, running his pink sandpaper tongue over his thumb. But even Davy's attentions couldn't distract Buster from what Grandma was doing. She had pulled a saucer from the open shelving on the wall and was filling it with creamy milk from the refrigerator. Buster eagerly began lapping it up as soon as she placed it in the corner away from the stove. Davy knew that was because Grandma couldn't tolerate cats being underfoot. While she was working in the kitchen, Davy stayed in his spot on the floor, running his hand over the smoothness. The summer sunshine was so warm and it made him feel just a little bit drowsy. He closed his eyes, pausing in the moment. A toasty dry breeze drifted through the door, bringing with it the smile smells of things that were green. It was the time of the summer when the whole world was busy living. The trees were in full leaf, the grass was high. The bees were humming in the garden. It all filled Davey with an overwhelming sense of well being and Calm. It was as if anything was possible at that moment. While Davy basked in the sunlight, Grandma quietly returned to her work. With his eyes closed, he detected some clinky noises. She was retrieving a bowl of some type. He guessed she was putting something in the bowl. Meanwhile, he was dimly aware of the heavenly scent of cake and sugar as the oven worked its magic on the contents of the two loaf pans. When he opened his eyes again, everything in the room seemed briefly washed out by brightness. But as his sight adjusted, he saw that there were once again two bowls on the kitchen table, and he knew they were there for him. Grandma walked over to the radio and adjusted the dial. A familiar trumpeting music began, followed by the familiar cry of hi O. Silver with delight. He instantly, instantly knew that Grandma Hattie was going to let him listen to his favorite show. As the theme song galloped along, he happily returned to Kneeling on his wooden chair at the table, the announcer urged Davy to return with him to those thrilling days of yesteryear. The Lone Ranger, champion of justice, would ride again. Grandma had filled one of the bowls on the table with a huge pile of fresh green beans. He knew that his job was would be to snap off their ends, discarding any that were unusable. Grandma always said that this was the perfect job for little hands. She would be canning as many of these beans as possible while the gardens were bursting with them. Later in the winter, he'd be seeing these same veggies on his dinner plate along with his meatloaf. Davy was barely aware of his work as he listened intently to the radio show. He knew that this wasn't Grandma's favorite, but she didn't mind Davy listening to it, since the Lone Ranger never seemed to engage in any real vices. He smiled to himself as the story of adventure took shape. Meanwhile, his hands were busy. Pick up a bean. Neatly detach the ends. Drop it in the left hand bowl. Repeat. In this way, he slowly made his way through the entire pile. It was satisfying after all, he thought vaguely. He liked using his thumbnail to snap into the end of the bean, neatly severing the inedible stems. Seeing all of the bright green little tubes pile up in the other bowl made him feel a sense of wholesome accomplishment. He was helping. Davy's mind wandered as he reached the end of his task. He heard Silver's clopping hooves and imagined that he might have a strong white horse someday. Grandma and Grandpa had a horse, but it was just an older brown mare. Her name was Winnie and she was so gentle. He liked to sneak her an apple now and then when he found one that had fallen off one of the trees in the yard, but he couldn't imagine the Lone Ranger riding Winnie. He laughed quietly to himself at the thought of it. He looked up and noticed that, as usual, Grandma had not squandered a moment while she was waiting for the cake to be finished. She had stepped out into the yard and through the window he could see her taking the white sheets off the clothesline. They were dry now and billowing gently in the lazy summer wind. He had a momentary impulse to run outside and wrap himself in the hanging sheets, letting their fresh silkiness surround him, hide him from the world, create a little cocoon for him in the ocean of space that was surrounding the farmland. That was something he always liked about being at his grandparents house. One felt so big and yet so small at the same time. But of course Grandma would never approve of him getting his little hands all over her bright white sheets. She efficiently folded them into impossibly flat squares, holding the wooden pins briefly in her teeth as she did so. Within moments the clotheslines were empty and the Midwestern sunshine and wind was ready to come inside in the form of Grandma's clean bedding. Nobody's sheets smelled as good as Grandma Hattie's, that was for sure. Buster had disappeared after his snack, but he strolled confidently back into the kitchen now looking for all the world like he owned the place. He turned three times and settled himself in the sunbeam by the door and promptly appeared to go to sleep. Grandma pushed through the doorway holding her basket and stepped over him. She clucked her tongue as if she were vexed with Buster, but Davy knew she spoiled him and didn't mind him enjoying the weather. She bustled out of the room briefly and returned empty handed just in time for the kitchen timer to go off. It emitted its perky little chime, indicating that precisely an hour had passed. Grandma put on a padded mitt and and opened the oven door. A mouthwatering scent of vanilla and cake flooded the kitchen, and Davey reflected briefly that it did actually smell even better than the outdoor breezes that had filled the room before. Grandma carefully pulled one of the loaf pans atop the range and patted it experimentally with her hand. She was like a baking clairvoyant, channeling the soul of the pound cake. She evaluated briefly and then nodded without an ounce of doubt, these cakes were ready. She removed the second pan, shut the door, and turned off the oven. Davy knew what to do next. He ran to a long cupboard nearby and pulled out Grandma's cooling rack. Placing it on the table, he stood aside. Grandma wordlessly transferred the loaf pans to the cooling rack where they would rest for a few minutes before the cakes were turned out of them. Hanging her oven mitt back on the hook, Grandma surveyed the kitchen with satisfaction. The Lone Ranger had ended and now the radio was playing big band music, which was Grandma's usual preference. He watched with his chin in his hands as she hummed along, all the while fetching a cutting board and a pile of carrots. Pulling a vegetable peeler out of the drawer in her small kitchen work table, she held it out to him with a smile. Davy, she said, my neighbor is under the weather. Even in the summer, there's nothing better than a chicken soup to put a person right. He nodded in agreement. Grandma's soup was the best in the whole world. He loved eating it in any season. Davy wasn't allowed to use knives in the kitchen yet, but this was a task he could do. He came around to Grandma's side of the table and climbed up on the chair in front of her. Then he took the peeler from her hand and picked up a carrot. With an expression of the utmost concentration, he shaved a long ribbon of skin off it, watching the thin strip fall to the cutting board. Then he created an identical strip right next to the first, revealing clean, dried orange carrots underneath. Davy enjoyed this task. He liked how you could start with a dusty, misshapen vegetable and end up with a fresh, appealing new version popping with vivid color. He also liked watching the pile of dainty carrot ribbons grow as he worked. Grandma always said that if you're bothering to do something, you should do it well. Davy was determined to peel her carrots perfectly. As the mountain of pristine carrots slowly grew, Grandma Hattie was expertly dicing an onion on the other side of the kitchen. She sniffed a little, joking with Davy that she'd be crying into her onions any minute if she didn't finish this task quickly. Then, lickety split, she put down the knife, lifted her wooden cutting board, and scraped the onions into a nearby pot of homemade broth that she had gotten simmering on the stove. With the eye watering onions safely in the pot, Grandma moved her cutting board to the place of across from Davy at the table. As he completed his own vegetable peeling, she took a freshly washed stack of celery ribs and laid them out neatly. Trimming the leaves and ends off, she laid them in a short stack. Then, with careful strokes, she thinly sliced them into identical green crescents. Davy watched from behind his pile of finished carrots, almost dazed as the cheerful celery pieces cascaded to the side like dominoes. They made such a fresh little noise when Grandma sliced them. He loved hearing it over and over in perfect rhythm. All too soon the celery was gone too. It joined the onion and broth in the pot. Lastly, Grandma Hattie got to slicing Davy's carrots. She made them into fat discs, which was just how she and Davy liked them. He closed his eyes and pictured the chicken noodle soup. When it was finished, it would be heaping with fresh bright vegetables and fat noodles. Delicious. Once the carrots were in the pot, it was time to turn out the pound cakes. Grandma washed her hands at the sink and dried them on a kitchen towel. Then she walked over to the cooling rack and put her hand on the side of one of the loaf pans. Clearly happy with the level of coolness. She proceeded to expertly flip the loaves, depositing two golden pound cakes onto the rack. This was the part that always made Davy feel like his grandma was doing a high wire act at the circus. The breathless moment when the cakes were unmolded always turned out perfectly. Not a crack. Grandma Hattie was truly a magician. Now, Davy, she said once again peering over her glasses at him, one of these loaves is going to my neighbor along with the soup, but the other one is for us. Davy clasped his hands together with glee. But before he could speak, she held up a commanding finger. Don't let this ruin your dinner, she said with a conspiratorial look. Davy nodded vigorously. He wanted to keep being able to eat cake when he was at Grandma's house. He'd make sure to clean his plate at dinner for his mother that evening. A few minutes later, Grandma carefully cut a piece thick slice off the loaf and slid it across the table to Davy on a plate. He went to the cutlery drawer and got himself a fork. Then he settled himself into a chair and prepared to enjoy his heavenly treat. As he savored the vanilla and the sugar, he looked over his shoulder toward the open door again. The sun was much lower in the sky now. The whole world around Grandma's farmhouse had taken on a happy golden glow that made the late afternoon breezes seem warmer than they actually were. Outside, Davy could see Buster. He was walking across the yard as if he had someplace to go. And then he vanished into the miniature jungle of the vegetable garden. Davy giggled quietly to himself. Bad Buster. He always had important cat business to attend to. Davy's slice of cake was gone before he knew it. Grandma turned from where she was standing, gently stirring the soup at the stove, and smiled indulgently at him. Don't worry, she said warmly. I'll send some more pound cake home with you. This made him very happy. Perhaps Ma would let him have another slice after dinner later. That's what Grandma would probably call a boondoggle. He took his plate to the sink and stood on the stool where he carefully washed it. Then he reached up high and managed to get it into the plate rack where it stood drying with the others. Having conscientiously cleared his place, he walked over to the irresistible sunbeam that still lit the doorway from the west, and he laid himself down in it with his elbows, propping him up near the threshold to the yard. Lying like this, just inside the kitchen, warmed by the summer sun, he surveyed Grandma Hattie's kingdom. A bird swooshed by, alighting on the nearby poles that held the clothesline. He turned his head to watch it, and the bird appeared to imitate him, and then in a flash it was gone. He smiled to himself and laid his head down on his folded hands. He could feel the heat from the floor beneath his cheeks, it was so soothing, and he was rather tired. A soft breeze drifted across his closed eyes, carrying with it the hint of dandelions, freshly cut grass, and str. Davy was dimly aware that he probably shouldn't be lying on Grandma's kitchen floor, but she wasn't making him get up, and he enjoyed this feeling that he was like a catch. He was like Buster, all orange and glowing with summer sun and free to wander the farmland at will. In a little while his mother would come to pick him up. Grandma Hattie would enfold him in a comforting hug, and he'd smell the lemon and the soap and the sugar and the vanilla on her apron, and then she'd give him a kiss on the top of his head and tell him he'd been a good helper and that she would see him again soon. But right now he was outside side of time, suspended in this gorgeous moment with the humming sounds of the honeybees faintly audible outside and inside the kitchen, Grandma's music played on the crackly radio, and just like that he dripped it off into a sweet summer dream.
