Mom and I ate lunch at The Machine Shed on Tuesday. She loves to go to the all-things-farming restaurant for two reasons. First, the wall and ceiling decor consists of small farm machinery, farm advertising, and farm kitchen utensils in common use when she grew up in the 1930s and 40s. Second, the menu includes her two favorite sandwiches: patty melt and rueben.
This week, she ordered the patty melt. Medium rare. While we waited for our food to arrive, she surveyed the room. A smile played at the corner of her lips. She pointed to a white metal sign with red letters on the wall near our booth. “Ivar owned an Allis-Chalmers implement dealership for a while.”
Then her gaze settled on a lard bucket sitting on a high ledge. “Ma used to pack our lunches in lard buckets.” She started to giggle. “One time, a boy from school had a dead civit cat and started teasing my sister Ruth on the way home.”
“What’s a civit cat?” I asked.
“A kind of skunk,” she explained. “Ruth got so mad she whacked him on the head with her lard bucket. Hard enough that the kid passed out for a few minutes.”
I smiled “I’ll bet he never bothered her again.”
“No,” Mom agreed, then shook her head. “But ruined the lard bucket.”
She looked around some more and pointed at what looked to me like a giant wooden fork with curving tines. “We had one of those,” she said. “But I can’t remember what it’s called.”
“A hay rake,” I suggested.
“No.” She shook her head. “A scythe maybe?”
“Or a swather?” I tried again.
“I’m not sure.” She frowned. “I used to know all that stuff.”
My heart sank. What could I say to a woman who read Gone With the Wind in one long sitting during high school, who aced every test in high school and college, who earned her Masters Degree while teaching full time wile caring for an ailing husband and raising three young kids?
Then her smile returned and she looked my way. “Say,” she said, her eyes twinkling, and her face feigning confusion, “do I know you? What’s your name?”
We laughed together, and now, I can hardly wait to make her smile when we eat dinner with her on Easter. Because she was right about the name of the giant wooden fork with curving tines.
It’s called a hay scythe.
photo source
When I was a kid I remember many trips to The Machine Shed. The Reuben was my favorite! Now that we deal with celiac, I guess I’d have to order a bread less one or find a new favorite. 🙂 I have to take my son to a few medical facilities in Chicago next week. I do believe I will make a stop at exit three hundred something and reminisce. Thanks for reminding me of that institution!
You are most welcome, Rachel. They have a pretty big menu, so maybe you can find something to eat!
Jolene