It happened on a hot summer day when I was 11 years old. Mother was busy canning vegetables from our family farm’s garden on our black cob wood stove. There was plenty of room on the stove to cook a pot of homemade vegetable soup. Cabbage, carrots, onions and potatoes fresh from the garden were delicious in soup, especially after Mother added fresh, sweet cream just before we ate it.
We had vegetable soup only when Father was not there to eat with us. He didn’t care much for vegetables, and vegetable soup was definitely a no-no. It was harvest season and Father and a group of neighbors formed a cooperative threshing crew. Therefore Mother, my younger brother and I could have soup.
This particular day, after the cows were milked, the cream was separated and the eggs were gathered, Mother said, “It’s so hot in the house, let’s eat outdoors.” We had never eaten outdoors. There was no picnic table. Mother brought a chair out for herself, put the soup on a large block, and my brother and I sat on the ground. The soup tasted extra special that day.
After he had finished eating, my brother went off to see how high he could throw clods of dirt. My mother got a brush from the house. She brushed my hair and braided it while we just talked before we washed the dirty dishes.
Money couldn’t buy the enjoyment I felt that evening.
Marion Podany
Petersburg, Nebraska
Back in 1955 a call went out from the editors of the then Capper’s Weekly asking for readers to send in articles on true pioneers. Hundreds of letters came pouring in from early settlers and their children, many now in their 80s and 90s, and from grandchildren of settlers, all with tales to tell. So many articles were received that a decision was made to create a book, and in 1956, the first My Folks title – My Folks Came in a Covered Wagon – hit the shelves. Nine other books have since been published in the My Folks series, all filled to the brim with true tales from Capper’s readers, and we are proud to make those stories available to our growing online community.
