Vigo County Historical Society
Historical Treasure Article
Historic Treasure of the Week -
November 24, 2002
By Betty Stroup Wright
Vigo County Historical Society
Thanksgiving table ‘groaned with food,’ when work ended
As the Vigo County Historical Museum was once home to a family with six children, Grandma Rigg’s house was ‘home’ to my large family. Being one of seven children and my mother one of seven children, it was to Grandma’s house we would go for our Thanksgiving holiday.
As the special day approached, all the married children with their offspring would automatically know just what to do at Grandma’s house at the edge of the small hamlet of Bonegap, Ill.
One of the most important parts of the winter kitchen was the large wood-burning range, in which Grandma Rigg would bake fresh bread twice a week. There would be extra bread baked that week in order to help make the dressing with oysters.
On Wednesday, Grandma would bake a large pale-colored pumpkin to make 10 pumpkin pies.
She cut the large pumpkin in half, then turned it upside down to bake in a slow over for about two and a half hours. After scooping out the seeds, she measured out the warm softened pulp for the pie filling.
Canned pumpkin didn’t come about until 1929. Until World War II, people wanted their own home-canned produce, worrying about the safety of tin with lead seams and the sickness it might cause. There were no cans at any dinner I ever went to at Grandma’s.
At first morning’s light, the turkey would be plucked and prepared to go into the oven. In the 1930s, one couldn’t go to a store and buy one ready to fix. Also that morning, one person would be bush grinding the cranberries for a salad. One lady would be washing and then cooking turnips. Oysters for the dressing had to be bought fresh from one restaurant that would occasionally order them for customers in Albion.
One of my mother’s jobs was to make pocketbook rolls by cutting out several pieces of dough and rolling each one out. She would place melted butter on each and them make a crease across each little patty and fold it over to start rising, and would be the last object to be placed in the oven before dinner.
Grandma didn’t have running water in the house or refrigeration, so while visiting I was allowed to walk to the well or cistern and pull on the rope, and haul up the butter. Some foods were allowed to stay cool on the table in the summer kitchen. Any fresh milk, along with fresh eggs, were sold to the neighbors to help supplement a Depression-era income.
By noon the table groaned with food, The magic time had arrive.
The first table seated, always the men and never more than 12 at a time, never 13. After the men finished, the women sat down to eat and talk. I would take a little food, but after having tasted all morning, I was so full, I was miserable. By this time, the men were all outside in the barn lot, setting up for bow and arrow practice and each trying to outscore the other in hitting the bull’s eye. The women were busy making plans for the next holiday. I was getting sleepy, but didn’t want to make a dent in Grandma’s feather bed. She had it so plumped up.
We moved to the large town of Rockford when I was 15 and on our first Thanksgiving there, the folks decided to go to a nice restaurant.
I guess the food was OK, but the shock was great to me. My way of life was changing and I wasn’t ready for it yet. For similar memories, visit the museum.
The Historical Museum of the Wabash Valley, 1411 S. Sixth St., is open from 1 to 4 p.m. Tuesday through Sunday. The Web site: http://web.indstate.edu/community/vchs.