Strawberries, Sugar, and Cream

Curly-locks! Curly-locks! Wilt thou be mine? 
Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine; 
But sit on a cushion, and sew a fine seam, 
and feed upon strawberries, sugar and cream!

This nursery rhyme is from long ago, maybe in the days of King Charles and written as a satire, but notice the last line. “Feed upon strawberries, sugar and cream.” Well, yea! I can handle that. 

Does anybody remember the good old days when we pretty much ate what we wanted to eat, didn’t worry about how many calories we consumed or whether the flour was gluten-free? Or am I the only one old enough to recall when food was food, and we were thankful to have it?

I grew up on a farm. Cows grazed on plentiful pastures, chickens clucked, cackled, and laid eggs in the chicken yard, vegetables grew in the garden and from these things came most of our food.

Our cows were Jerseys and Guernseys. When I pass dairies, I don’t see those pretty yellow and brown cows. I see black and white Holstein cows which are excellent milk producers but not so hot in the cream department. The milk of Jerseys and Guernseys, however, is rich. When we poured their milk into gallon glass jars, it was fully one/third thick, rich, yellow cream.

We ate cream on cereal, blackberry cobblers, cold bread pudding. We churned part of that cream into butter and there’s nothing like a homemade biscuit or a slab of cornbread, fresh from the oven with butter melting into them.

We didn’t know about cholesterol, so we often had eggs for breakfast. Our chickens were pretty much free-ranging. They weren’t kept away from the sunshine in cages all day. They ate bugs and worms and the chicken feed we bought at the feed store. We baked pies and cakes with those eggs–yolks, whites, and all and enjoyed the whole thing.

Boy! That was good food! And here’s the funny thing–nobody was overweight. Maybe it’s because we worked hard. At least, my parents worked hard. But there was a long driveway to walk from school bus to house, water to pump, a garden to weed, wood to bring in and a black horse named Chappo to ride. I have reached the conclusion that it’s worry that puts on the weight. Worry, guilt–every time we eat good, honest food that hasn’t been tinkered with and manufactured in some way, we worry about the calories. Worry isn’t good–wholesome food is!

Manos Mysteries