* * *
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By the time I arrived in Toledo, Mama, Papa, and Big Ma were already there and the house was filled with the aromas of Christmas. Dee, of course, had all the cooking under control and I continued to be amazed by how she managed to get everything done. Once the girls were in high school Dee had gone to nursing school and was now working full-time as a licensed practical nurse, an LPN, at a Toledo hospital, yet she kept the house operating smoothly and, as expected, was totally organized concerning all the Christmas cooking. Rie and ’lois were preparing the food along with Dee. Teenagers now, both girls looked like Stacey. They had his skin coloring and his features, and Dee wryly said, “Robert couldn’t deny those girls if he wanted to, they’re so much like him.”
Throughout the week Dee and the girls had cooked coconut pies and apple and sweet potato pies, two of each. Dee had made two of her special raisin-nut pecan pies as well, but was holding back until Christmas Day to top them off with whipped cream. The same was true of the icebox lemon pies still to be made and topped with meringue. ’lois would make them and some scrumptious homemade rolls, while Rie was preparing German chocolate cake, which had become her specialty. Dee still planned on making an old-fashioned pound cake topped with a lemon glaze. She would also be making a coconut cake. She didn’t even think about making a red velvet cake, knowing that Rachel would be bringing one and no one could top Rachel’s red velvet cake. Becka would be bringing one of her specialty cakes, moist and soaked in rum. No one could bake cakes better than the two sisters. Their mother had taught them well. Dee still planned to make a chocolate cake, though. There would be many of us for Christmas dinner and she intended to have plenty of food on hand.
Stacey, as he always did, kept popping in and out of the kitchen, worrying if there would be enough food. He always wanted to have plenty, and Dee, as she always did, assured him there would be more than plenty. “Believe me, Robert, there will be enough,” she said with the patience she showed every Thanksgiving and Christmas, when Stacey started worrying about something he knew little about. Christmas dinner was Dee’s department and she firmly, though sweetly, let Stacey know that. “You ever known me not to have more than enough food on the table? Like I’ve always said, a little of this and a little of that and everyone will have more than enough for seconds and thirds and leftovers for tomorrow and days after that.”
There seemed very little for me to do except take orders and accept all the menial cooking assignments such as chopping celery, onions, and green peppers to simmer along with the turkey while it cooked, and chopping the same for the potato salad, as well as peeling and dicing the potatoes. The ham was already cooked; so was the cornbread for the dressing. Still to be cooked were dishes of macaroni and cheese, a broccoli-cheese-rice casserole, and all the vegetables, baby English peas and a pot of string beans laden with bits of ham and bacon and onions, as well as a fruit salad mix of canned fruit, sour cream, and marshmallows. I figured maybe I could handle some of that. Rie would stir up a combination of collard greens, cabbages, and onions too. Dee had everything in order as to what would be prepared before Christmas and what would be prepared Christmas morning before the Christmas feast.
One thing that was not on Dee’s list of fabulous foods for the Christmas dinner was hog-head souse. That was Stacey’s specialty. He prepared it not for Christmas Day but for New Year’s Day. Since the hog-head souse had to set a few days for the flavor to seep in, Stacey always prepared it at the same time as all the Christmas cooking was going on. He cooked it every year.
But not in Dee’s kitchen.
Being a southern woman, Dee cooked chit’lings, calves’ brains, neck bones, tripe, and the like, but she could not abide the thought of a hog head, coon, or pig’s feet simmering on her beautiful new stove in her newly remodeled, modernized, immaculate kitchen, so she relegated Stacey to the basement washroom to cook his hog head and all the other southern delicacies, such as coon, which he annually brought back from his hunting trips to the woods of Upper Michigan. There was no coon baking during the days before Christmas, but there was coon meat in Stacey’s basement freezer that was on the menu for New Year’s Day. I don’t think Dee could have stood for both the coon and the hog head being cooked at once. The hog head was bad enough. When first put on to simmer, it had a distracting smell, so Dee closed doors, both to the kitchen and to the living room, to ward off the odor rising from the basement cooking, and she insisted that Stacey keep the washroom door closed as well so that the smell would not waft so strongly up the stairway and mix with the more traditional aromas of her kitchen.
Stacey had set up his own cooking station in the basement washroom. It worked out well for them both. The washroom was quite spacious, with a washer and dryer, huge double laundry sinks, and an old-fashioned ringer-washer Dee still used for large items such as rugs and quilts. Stacey’s kitchen was set up in a corner of the room and had a full-size refrigerator, a small stove, and a chopping table. During the holidays the washroom was as active and as full of people as the kitchen. Christopher-John and Man always were there, and the Davis boys dropped by, as well as some of Stacey’s friends, all hailing from the South. They all enjoyed hog-head souse.
Hog-head souse. It was one of those delicacies born in slavery. Like so many foods now rooted in our culture—meats like chit’lings and tripe, neck bones and pig’s feet, calves’ brains and hog head—they were the leavings of the slaughter. While the white folks got the choice cuts, steaks and roasts, ham and bacon, ribs, pork chops, and such, colored folks took the leavings, every bit of what the white folks didn’t want, and made a feast of them. Not allowed guns, colored folks also trapped whatever they could to add meat to their meals, and that included raccoon. Now all these foods had become tradition. They were part of our heritage.
All the men contributed to the preparation of the souse in chopping the vegetables and checking on the hog head before pulling the tender, succulent meat from the bone. They all shared in the laughter and the storytelling too. With Papa here, the cooking of the souse became even more festive, for Papa also made souse. Although the room was always filled with men of the family, the women were certainly welcome. Dee didn’t set foot down there while the cooking was going on and neither did Rie, but I enjoyed being down with the men, and so did ’lois, who loved their stories. This year, Big Ma joined them too.
“I wanna know what’s goin’ on down there!” Big Ma announced before she was even down the stairs. Stacey and I both stepped from the washroom and there was Big Ma, standing on the landing by the side door, cane in one hand, her other hand on her hip.
“Big Ma!” Stacey exclaimed with a grin. “Come on down!”
He hurried up the steps to help her. “Get out of my way, boy!” she ordered, holding up her cane slightly to shoo him back. “I can make it!” But when Stacey remained standing on the step below her, his hand extended, she changed her mind. “Well, all right then. Come on then, give me a hand, you figure you jus’ gotta.” As Stacey led her down the stairs, Big Ma was beaming. She was so proud of Stacey, of his being the first to come to Toledo, of all he had achieved here, and especially of his beautiful house. Mama and Papa, who had been to the house before, had told her all about it; still, Big Ma was awed at the wonder of the house and kept repeating, “Lord, sho am proud. My Paul-Edward, wish he could’ve done seen this. He was always a man workin’ to have somethin’. Now his grandson got a house like this! He sho ’nough would be proud!”
By the time Big Ma got down the stairs to the landing, both Christopher-John and Man had come from the washroom. “We’ve been waiting on you, Big Ma,” said Clayton.
“Then why ain’t ya come up to get me?” fussed Big Ma. “Been smelling somethin’ cookin’ down here for the longest time!”
“Cooking souse,” announced Christopher-John.
“Could use your help,” said Stacey.
“Well, le
t me see it,” demanded Big Ma as she pushed past all of us into the washroom. A chair was quickly brought for her, but Big Ma ignored it as she went over to the stove, picked up a dishcloth, and lifted the top from the giant pot. She then picked up the cooking fork next to the pot and poked at the head. She grunted.
“What do you think, Mama?” asked Papa. “I can make souse, but not like you.”
“Still got some cookin’ to do,” she surmised. “See y’all got your onions and such in there. Got your salt in the pot, your pepper, your vinegar? Got your sausages, your sage, your red pepper ready?”
“Yes, ma’am, all there,” said Stacey. Big Ma nodded with approval. She put the fork down and re-covered the pot. “But like for you to help me with the souse, Big Ma. Get it seasoned right.”
“Ain’t you been doin’ this every year without me?”
“Had to, you weren’t here.”
“S’pose you right about that, boy. But you been doin’ fine enough without me. What you need me for now?”
“Always need you, Big Ma, and tell you the truth, I might make some good souse, but somehow it’s never been good as yours.”
Big Ma cocked her head at the flattery and looked up at Stacey. “I done taught you how to make it, oughta be good as mine!”
“Well, it’s not!” Stacey declared.
“I know what you doin’! You just tryin’ to get me to do your work for ya!” she teased, then laughed, and everybody else did too. Big Ma sat down. “All right then, meat get tender and y’all get it off them bones, I sit right here and season it for ya.”
“Ah, man!” Christopher-John exclaimed. “This here’s going to be some kind of good souse this year!” We all watched Big Ma as we gathered round, and she grinned with pleasure at all the praise.
* * *
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On Christmas Day, it was like being down home again. We woke to Christmas prayers, the singing of hymns, and calls from Christopher-John and Man wishing us all a merry Christmas. Then we gathered around the Christmas tree set in front of the sun parlor windows, its lights burning bright, and began opening our presents. It was a joyful time filled with much surprise and happiness at the gifts given and received. But the greatest gift of all was having Mama, Papa, and Big Ma with us. Later, when all the family gathered with the arrival of Christopher-John and Clayton Chester with their families, we all felt truly blessed.
In addition to Rie and ’lois, there were now ten more children in the Logan family. As soon as the children entered the house they saw the towering Christmas tree and the many presents still unopened. Their eyes grew big. Rie and ’lois, wearing Santa Claus caps and sitting on the floor in front of the tree, gave the children their presents. All the adults gathered around and watched the children’s glee as they unceremoniously ripped away wrapping of red and green and gold paper, of Santa Claus and angels, to reveal bright shiny toys, trucks and trains, dolls and games. The children’s laughter and their joy touched us all. I pictured my child with all the others. It did not sadden me. I was touched by their joy as much as everyone else. We thought the day couldn’t get any better.
We were wrong.
Just as Dee was beginning to set food on the table, the doorbell rang. Stacey answered it. Those of us in the living and dining rooms heard an elated shout from Stacey and a familiar voice responding. Papa, Christopher-John, Clayton, and I all hurried to the sun parlor. Standing at the front door was Uncle Hammer. Aunt Loretta was with him.
“Man, what you doing here?” cried Papa as they stepped inside.
“Heard you was going to be here, brother. You expect me not to come?”
Papa laughed and wrapped Uncle Hammer in a big bear hug before turning to Aunt Loretta and hugging her too. “This sure is a surprise!”
“Surprise to me too,” said Aunt Loretta. “But this brother of yours, you know how he is. When he found out all y’all was going to be here, he said to me, ‘Loretta, I’m going to Toledo for Christmas,’ and I said to him, ‘Not without me you ain’t!’” She laughed her raucous laugh. “So we jumped on a train and come on.”
“Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?” questioned Stacey. “We could have picked you up at the station.”
“Didn’t come here all the way on the train, just far as Chicago,” said Uncle Hammer, taking off his coat. “Got a car from one of Loretta’s boys in Chicago and drove over. It’s sitting out front there. Where’s Mama?”
Papa smiled. “She’s in the kitchen, where else?”
Aunt Loretta took the time to hug each of us, but not Uncle Hammer. We would have to get our hugs later. Right now, he wanted to see Big Ma. Stacey led the way through the living room and dining room to the kitchen. The rest of us followed. We all wanted to see Big Ma’s face when she saw Uncle Hammer. Stacey stopped at the kitchen door. Big Ma and Mama with Dee, Rachel, and Becka were at the counters, transferring food from cooking dishes to dishes to be set on the table. Their backs were to us.
“Mama,” said Papa, “look who’s here.”
Mama turned first. “Oh, dear Lord, I don’t believe it!”
“Better believe it, sister,” said Uncle Hammer. “I’m standing right here.”
At that, Big Ma turned, a ladling spoon in her hand. She just stood there for a moment looking stunned before she said, “Hammer, that you? What you doing here?”
“Come to see about you, Mama. Aren’t you glad to see me?” Uncle Hammer then went to Big Ma as tears streamed down her face, slipped his arms around her, and held her close. All Big Ma could do was cry.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
For us, there had never been a Christmas like it. It was the first time all the family was together in Toledo. There were too many of us to sit at the dining room table, which had been expanded to accommodate twelve, so some sat at the table in the breakfast nook and others ate from trays in the living room or just from plates set on laps. It didn’t matter where we ate. The food was just as good. We feasted and laughed and talked and enjoyed the celebration of the day and of our family. After we all had seconds and thirds, we were so full we finally had to turn away from the platters of food to give our bodies a rest until later in the day, when we would all be back to get another taste of this or that.
When all the eating was done, the children hurried down to the rec room with their new toys, and Rie and ’lois went with them to watch over their play. The men folded up the trays and put them away while the women cleared the food from the dining room and breakfast nook tables and stacked the dishes, which would all be washed by hand. One thing Dee did not have in her splendid new kitchen was a dishwasher. She refused to get one. She figured she could do the dishes better herself. I helped with all the clearing, then joined Mama, Papa, Big Ma, Uncle Hammer, and my brothers in the living room. I figured there were enough women taking care of things in the kitchen. I would do my part later, in the next round of dishwashing.
Throughout dinner Mama, Papa, and Big Ma had filled in Uncle Hammer about all the people down home. Now, as we sat with the gas fire burning through artificial logs, Uncle Hammer wanted to know about what else was going on. Papa told him, and he was blunt about it. “Things as bad as they always been.”
“Or worse,” interjected Mama.
“Can’t get no worse,” said Uncle Hammer with a glance her way. He turned his attention back to Papa. “What’s going on down there?”
“You hear ’bout that Clemens boy got killed few weeks back, lived far side of the Rosa Lee?”
“Lemoine Clemens’s boy?” questioned Uncle Hammer. “You know we don’t get that kind of news unless it comes direct from somebody down home.”
“Well, we certainly can’t write you about it,” Mama said.
“Wouldn’t expect you to, sister.”
“No telling who reads that mail,” said Big Ma. “Course now, son, you come
home more often, you’d be knowin’ what’s goin’ on.”
Uncle Hammer released a slow smile. “Now, that ain’t much of a reason to go back down there, Mama, to hear news about another lynching. Only reason I even set foot in that state is to come see about you, Mary, and David.”
“Boy wasn’t lynched,” corrected Big Ma. “He was shot in the head. Well, anyways, I sho hope you plannin’ to come back down home when it’s time to put me in the ground—”
“Ah, Mama, now—”
“Time ain’t that far away. You gonna come, ain’t you?”
“Now, Mama, how’d we get on that?” chided Papa. “We were talking about that Clemens boy.”
“Got on it ’cause I wanna know! I want both my boys there when I go meet my Maker!”
Papa started to speak again, but Uncle Hammer waved his hand, stopping him, and said, “I’m still in this life myself, Mama, I promise you I’ll be there.”
“All right then.” Big Ma now sounded satisfied and settled back in her chair. “Go on ’bout that boy.”
Uncle Hammer turned back to Papa. “What happened?”
“Boy come back from Germany, still in uniform. Was walking down the street in Strawberry and maybe he thought he was still in Germany, but he refused to move over on the sidewalk to let a white man pass. Bunch of men followed him out of town, shot him, then dumped him in the Rosa Lee. Like I said, things as bad as they always been. We might be a week from the year nineteen sixty, but things ain’t changed.”
All the Days Past, All the Days to Come Page 29
