Growing up in Detroit, I hated February! The days are short and cold, and the snow is dirty and slushy.
Snow in December is clean and soft, and it makes the whole world look like a picture postcard, but by February its full of dirt and turning to slush. Sometimes the overnight cold freezes the slush and it is hard to walk on the streets and sidewalks.
Those were my thoughts as I trudged toward home in the dwindling light. The only comforting thoughts were of home, and the warm dinner that awaited me. I could picture it clearly: stopping on the enclosed porch to remove my galoshes and then into mom’s warm, fragrant kitchen.
Mom greeted me when I got home “ Hello dear, how was your day?” and I answered, “Fine, except for the walk and the streetcar . I slipped and nearly fell crossing the street. It’s starting to freeze and making it hard to walk. I hate February!”
“Well, never mind, you’re home now. Wash your hands and set the table.”
I walked past the icebox and stove, all the while inhaling the smells of the food still cooking. I was sure I smelled apple pie, but I didn’t see it anywhere. It was probably in the warming oven.
Dad looked up from his paper and gave me a smile and a nod as I passed his chair on the way to my room to hang up my coat and hat. Mother was very insistent that we hang up our clothes.
My room was off the kitchen, and I had to go between dad’s chair and the stove to get there. The stove was a combination wood burner and gas stove, with a warming oven on top. In the winter, we did most of the cooking on the wood stove for economy as well as heat, but in the summer we used the gas.
Dad liked having one of his two favorite chairs in the kitchen. When he wasn’t reading his paper, he could visit with mother and greet us as we came home.
Going over to the kitchen sink, under which was a washbasin, a dish pan and various cloths and soaps for washing hands and faces a well as dishes. The sink was in a corner, and around two exposed sides was a printed skirt. I washed my hands and set about setting the table. The cupboard took up the whole wall except for the door to the dining room, which we used as a sitting room because we ate in the large kitchen. The cupboard held just about everything used in the kitchen, from the dishes to the breadbox and the flour bin. As I started for the icebox to get the milk and butter, I remembered that in the winter they were kept in the cold box through the window on the porch.
Before I finished setting the table, my brother came home and we were soon enjoying a delicious dinner of roast beef, mashed potatoes, a couple of different vegetables, and my nose was right: apple pie for dessert!
February isn’t so bad in California that I should hate it, but I sometimes miss the family gathered around the table, telling of how their day went and talking about all the things that families do at the dinner table.
