Potato Soup Day
Current mood: 
nostalgic
Category: Life
My new friend,
Jim Williams, and I have been sharing some of the words and phrases
that each of our families have adopted through the years. Jim
calls it the "family language". In the course of our
discussion, I shared that when someone in my family says
to another, "It's a potato soup day", that
expression is understood by everyone.
Just mentioning "potato
soup" has an interesting effect on me; I can't speak for my
siblings, of course. For me, it invariably conjures up
memories more of the senses, than of the mind. I can almost
literally smell the frying bacon and onions, feel the crisp autumn
air, and see the ribbons of moisture running down the
kitchen window, from the steaming pot.
After we kids were all
in school, our family moved to town and settled down for a
while. Still, Dad's assessment work had to be done, and that
meant going home to Cherry Creek, where my grandparents lived,
and where my father had some small mining claims. It
was just 45 miles away, but it always seemed like a long journey
to me.
Assessment work refers
to the annual improvements that the government requires, to
retain a mining claim. It's similar to a homestead, in a way.
After summer vacations were
over and school started in the Fall, we would often go out
on weekends to take care of the improvements.
Sometimes, my sister and I
would stay with our grandma in the little settlement of Cherry
Creek, and sometimes we would go up on the mountain with Mom and
Dad. Our brother always opted for the mountain
(if there was an option).
They worked so hard to get
the necessary work done; often without the benefit of effective
equipment that might have made their tasks somewhat easier.
I can remember once being
assigned to "listen to the compressor". I was
supposed to just listen to the motor, and when I heard a
change in the cadence, I should run and tell the folks, who
were inside the tunnel. The only problem was, the rhythmic
drone of the machine put me to sleep. When the engine died,
that woke me up! I got "fired".
Assessment work weekends were
long, and at the time, I'm sure I did not appreciate how tired
my parents must have been, by the time we loaded everything up
and headed back to town on Sunday evenings.
I don't think it was a
conscious decision, that potato soup would become a tradition,
forever linked to brisk autumn days, overcast skies, and an
indescribable sense of well-being that comes from being in the
midst of family. It was simply a quick and easy thing to put
together, and it's what we usually had on Sunday nights, after
assessment work.
When I think of potato soup,
I can see my mother efficiently peeling potatoes -- one for each
person, and one for the pot -- cutting them into chunks and tossing
them into the pressure cooker. When they were done -- and
it didn't take long -- in went the bacon, onions, a little
celery, and evaporated milk. In no time at all, dinner was
served (with saltines, and usually some canned fruit for
dessert).
Now, if I say to my sister, "It's
a potato soup day," I am relatively certain that
she knows I am talking about something that defies explanation,
and that has nothing at all to do with "quick and
easy", nor even with bacon and onions, but is all about a
yearning for nourishment of a different sort.
