Eye of the Storm
Grandma's versatile apron
Robbis Storm

A former Lampasan, Robbis Storm is a world traveler and restaurateur. He can be contacted via e-mail at RStorm453@aol.com.

When you write a column like this, you love to get mail.

Especially when you can use it to write another column. A lot of you send me material, and from time to time some of it finds its way into print. So here's a short piece on Grandma's Apron, sent all the way from Steinbach, Manitoba, by my favorite sister-in-law Elvira Neufeld.

The principal use of Grandma's apron was to protect the dress underneath, but along with that, it served as a potholder for removing hot pans from the oven.

It was wonderful for drying children's tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears. From the chicken coop, the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven.

When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids. And when the weather was cold, Grandma wrapped it around her arms.

Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow, bent over the hot wood stove. Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron.

From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables. After the peas had been shelled, it carried the hulls over to the slop bucket, or to the compost pile. When a Mason lid was on too tight, that piece of cloth made an excellent "grip enhancer" to help Grandma's strong fingers get the jar open.

In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees. When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds.

When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner.

It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that "old-time" apron that served so many purposes.

* * *

Of course, there's also "Grandpa's Apron" -- with your humble correspondent being the grandfather in question.

Why would I wear an apron? Well -- if you drive by my boat house and see a patch of blue cloth flapping in the wind, you can bet I just filleted a couple of striped bass or a mess of crappie, and have washed the fish scales out of my apron, rinsed it in the lake, and hung it out to dry.

On those occasions when I have the opportunity to process venison in the field, that same old blue apron has kept deer hair and blood off my favorite flannel shirt.

And from time to time, we have company over for fried fish, or grilled steak -- both of which are my specialties. When that happens, out comes Ole Blue. (If you want to see something funny, show up at our house when I'm doing the cooking, but my apron is dirty. I'm not proud -- if I can't wear my own, I'll don one of Miriam's aprons, ruffles, bows and all.)

All this reminds me of my own grandmother Upton, born well before the 20th century. I think by the time I came along she no longer cooked on a wood stove, but she certainly used her apron for all the functions mentioned.

And there was another use for aprons. We sometimes attended the small country church where my grandparents were members. Perhaps it was only on those occasions when they had what they called "Dinner on the Grounds," but I remember that a few of the women wore their nicest aprons to church, as part of what was termed their "Sunday, go-to-meeting clothes."

In other words, the apron was no longer a mere working tool, but was a decorative part of their dress.

By the way -- if you had ever attended a "Dinner on the Grounds," you'd know what real country cooking was like. This was back in the '40s before rural electrification. Before there was frozen food. Before TV dinners. Before storebought cake mix. Before anyone had ever heard of instant anything.

The veggies had been picked that morning. The corn pones and light bread were fresh from the oven. The cream had just been separated and the butter just been churned. The fried chicken's main ingredient had only yesterday been running around the barnyard.

This food was authentic. The genuine article. The real deal. So thanks again Elvira. Thanks for the memories of my grandmother and her apron. Thanks for reminding me of the old days. And thanks for the memories of food that made you want seconds. Or thirds.