When the Appalachian mountains traded their fall-colored scarves for caps of frost,
Granny fetched the big yellow bowl she kept in the highest kitchen cabinet. With a dash
of this and a pinch of that, she made her famous gingerbread.
“Watch and learn, children,” she said.
Granny and her four granddaughters lived in a clapboard house overlooking the river.
Iris Jean, 10-years-old and quick as a cat, watched Granny make the gingerbread. Fast
as their best mouser, Iris Jean made the second batch. Her gingerbread was done in a jiffy;
but the middle was doughy, the edges black as coal. Rennie Faye, only six, helped her wash
the yellow bowl.
Next day, nine-year-old JoAnn whispered, “I’ll show Iris Jean.”
JoAnn was mean as a snake. She kept her sharp tongue between her teeth and mixed and measured; but JoAnn’s gingerbread was dry as sawdust. Iris Jean fell over laughing.
“It’s not half bad crumbled in buttermilk,” Rennie Faye said.
Reva Carol, seven, had a bad cold; but she doggedly followed Granny around the kitchen.
When it was her turn, she sneezed in the batter and had to toss it in the garbage can.
Rennie Faye loaned Reva Carol her cotton handkerchief.
On Christmas Eve, little Rennie Faye humbly donned Granny’s flowered and floured apron
and climbed on the wooden step stool. With a dollop of this, a scant cup of that, and a heart
full of kindness, Rennie Faye made a batch of gingerbread almost as good
as Granny’s.
Granny fetched the big yellow bowl she kept in the highest kitchen cabinet. With a dash
of this and a pinch of that, she made her famous gingerbread.
“Watch and learn, children,” she said.
Granny and her four granddaughters lived in a clapboard house overlooking the river.
Iris Jean, 10-years-old and quick as a cat, watched Granny make the gingerbread. Fast
as their best mouser, Iris Jean made the second batch. Her gingerbread was done in a jiffy;
but the middle was doughy, the edges black as coal. Rennie Faye, only six, helped her wash
the yellow bowl.
Next day, nine-year-old JoAnn whispered, “I’ll show Iris Jean.”
JoAnn was mean as a snake. She kept her sharp tongue between her teeth and mixed and measured; but JoAnn’s gingerbread was dry as sawdust. Iris Jean fell over laughing.
“It’s not half bad crumbled in buttermilk,” Rennie Faye said.
Reva Carol, seven, had a bad cold; but she doggedly followed Granny around the kitchen.
When it was her turn, she sneezed in the batter and had to toss it in the garbage can.
Rennie Faye loaned Reva Carol her cotton handkerchief.
On Christmas Eve, little Rennie Faye humbly donned Granny’s flowered and floured apron
and climbed on the wooden step stool. With a dollop of this, a scant cup of that, and a heart
full of kindness, Rennie Faye made a batch of gingerbread almost as good
as Granny’s.
Love this story. Good luck in the competition.
ReplyDeleteI like how the personalities reflected in the cookies they made. Anything made with love is amazing. Good Luck.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful beginning to this story. Your language in the introduction clearly painted a picture for me. You did a nice job depicting the different personalities of the granddaughters too.
ReplyDelete