Mal and Mae

Clarence Malachi Hutchins was me Grandpaw Hutchins. He was called Mal by me Grandmaw Hutchins, whom he called Mae, her middle name. You need to know that. Don't worry, there won't be a test. You just need to know.

One day as Mom and I were, she asked what we were shopping for. I told her coffee, among a few other things.

She brightened up as she told a story from her childhood. "Oh, Daddy used to give us kids coffee all the time, and it bothered Mom," my mother was explaining. 

She continued, "Mom used to yell, Mal, you can't be givin' them young 'uns coffee!"

"It ain't gonna hurt 'em, Mae, he'd answer quietly every time, a little smile on his face," Mom finished. 

"I still hear her say that. I still see him smiling."

"I think he did it just to tease her, but I think Mom liked it just the same," Mom ended with a wistful grin.

Okay, not much of a story. But it was nice to hear Mom talk about her parents and her childhood.

Grandpaw Hutchins' coffee

Grandpaw Hutchins liked his coffee strong. So strong in fact that he thought instant coffee one of the greatest innovations ever, because he could brew a strong pot of Maxwell House and then add a teaspoon of instant granules to his cup to give it that much more horsepower. He must have drank two, three pots of coffee a day: no lie. He also was a quiet man who rarely if ever raised his voice. He let his actions speak for him. One day coffee, his manner, and Grandmaw Hutchins' will all came together in a profound, sublime way.

It was one of those typically hot, sticky North Carolina summer days which are well known in the south. At the time, though, all they had for cooking was a wood stove. Keeping that stove going on such days made the kitchen, indeed the whole house, tremendously uncomfortable and nearly unbearable. Finally Grandmaw had had enough of it. When breakfast was over, she announced that from that day forward until the weather began to cool, the stove also would be allowed to cool during the day. When the breakfast embers died, the stove would not be fired up again until it was time to make supper.

Grandpaw didn't say a thing. He simply slid back from the table, grabbed his hat, and walked out the front door. About an hour later he returned with an electric hot plate. He had walked the mile to the nearest general store (he didn't drive), bought that hot plate, and came home.

You see, a cool stove meant no hot coffee. He couldn't have that. Yet demanding the stove be kept burning against Grandmaw's orders, well, that wouldn't work either. So he improvised a conclusion which was satisfactory for all.

I think he handled the situation just right. Don't you?

Roastin' Ears

I don't believe that I've spoken much about me Grandmaw Hutchins. Let's rectify that situation, if you don't mind.

She confused my brother Patrick one day without meaning to. She instructed him to go out to the fields with his grandfather, obviously me Grandpaw Hutchins, and pick some roastin' ears for supper. "Roastin' ears?" a confused Patrick asked. "Yes, roastin' ears," she impatiently replied. Then realizing his confusion she added, "Corn."

"Oh yeah, corn," Patrick responded. He went away repeating questioningly under his breath, "Roastin' ears?"

Grandmaw burst out laughing. "He didn't know what roastin' ears was!" she exclaimed delightedly.

I laughed with her, not wanting to admit that a city boy like me didn't know either. But man, that bit of confusion sure tickled Grandmaw.

Cosgriff Coffee

We Cosgriffs, at least us Detroit and Illinois Cosgriffs, loves our coffee. I actually get the urge double, seeing as me Grandpaw Hutchins, me Mom's Dad, loved his coffee too. Anyway, family lore, and by family lore I mean that both me Pops and me Grandpa Joe insist it's true, holds the following tale.

When me Pops was about 5, Joe took him along on a train ride to visit family in Illinois. In Chicago, I believe, they had to switch trains. There was a layover of a couple hours, so Joe takes his eldest into a diner at the station to mark the time and grab a bite.

The waitress approached right after they had sat themselves at a table. Setting down menus, she followed with the typical, "Can I start you boys off with something?"

"Two coffees, one black, one half and half," Joe responds.

As Joe tells it, me very young Pops looks up at him and asks innocently, "Joe, you gonna drink that coffee with cream?"

"Two black coffees," me Grandpa corrected himself to the waitress.

That's knowing how you like your coffee, folks.

 

Grandpaw's Coffee

I hate trigger warnings but, hell, sometimes they add to the joke. And this is only a joke, a family remark which actually offends both major parties when you think about it. There's a shot at a Republican and a Democrat so, you know, it's an equal opportunity put down. 

Okay, part of what brought this to mind is surely the recent rampant inflation, but whatcha gonna do? That is what it is. This is not meant as a shot at any currently active politician. Honest. It's only a family story.

Like quite a few people in my family tree, me Grandpaw Hutchins loved his coffee. Me Mom would often remark with laughter, "Daddy used to always give us coffee, and Mom would complain, Mal (what me Grandmaw Hutchins often called him, short for his name Malachi) you can't give them young 'uns coffee!"

"It ain't gonna hurt them, Mae," he'd softly respond.

Coffee prices jumped huge during the terrible inflation in the late 1970s. Someone asked Grandpaw, "Mal, you gonna have to cut back on yer coffee ain't ya?"

He simply answered in his quiet drawl, "Hoover couldn't make me quit drinking coffee, Carter won't either."

Grandpaw was going to get his jitter juice, and no mere President was about to stop him.

The bee hunt

Me Grandpaw Hutchins was the most mild mannered, easiest going man I have known. Nothing seemed to bother or rankle him. He just moseyed on with his life.

Of course, using the word nothing is rarely accurate. There's always something, the famous 'they' say. And there was something with Grandpaw. If he got strung by a bee, that bee had too die. It. Had. To. Die.

Before even tending his wound, Grandpaw would grab the fly swatter hanging by his back door and he would stalk the culprit. With a stealth generally found only in the most experienced ninjas, he would make his way quietly through his house, keeping a steady eye on the miscreant, waiting for the right opportunity. Eventually the insect would settle somewhere, to be stunned in that instant before death by the hard, fast, and true slam of Grandpaw Hutchin's swatter. Justice had been served, North Carolina style.

Then he would become again mild mannered Grandpaw Hutchins. I loved that man.

Yes, Mae

Grandmaw Hutchins did have an infectious laugh. When she was delighted with something she was delighted with it and expressed that delight freely, even if the joke was on her.

I remember one summer day sitting with her and Grandpaw under the shade tree (y'all remember the shade tree don't ya?) and she was talking at him about all sorts of subjects. Every few minutes she'd pause and glance at her husband, whence he'd smile and say in his quiet, genteel manner, "Yes, Mae."

She'd continue her monologue about fixin' the chicken coop or weeding the garden. Eventually she would again stop to check if he was payin' proper attention. "Yes, Mae," Grandpaw would respond.

Onward and upward for Grandmaw Hutchins. She'd go off on another mini-harangue about what needed doin' or what was coming up and at each break in the action Grandpaw would respond with a grin, "Yes, Mae."

After one more affirmative response she looked at me and proceeded to laugh out loud, in her uninhibited, wonderful cackle, exclaiming, "That old man ain't got his hearing aid on!" She thought it was the funniest thing in the world. She surely knew he'd done it purposefully.

Grandpaw just answered simply, again as if on cue, "Yes, Mae." I think he figured she was onto him by then.

Bee deaths

Me Grandpaw Hutchins was the most mild mannered, easiest going man I have known. Nothing seemed to bother or rankle him. He just moseyed on with his life. Don't get me wrong: he was principled, he believed in right and wrong and that it was imperative that you do right. Yet he was one of those rare individuals who taught by the force of example rather than with a hammer.

Of course, it seems that there's always something which supremely irritates even the most laid back among us. And there was a certain something with Grandpaw. If he got strung by a bee, that bee had too die. It. Had. To. Die.

Before even tending his wound, Grandpaw would grab the fly swatter hanging by his back door and he would stalk the culprit. With a stealth generally found only in the most experienced ninjas, he would make his way through his house, keeping a steady eye on the miscreant, waiting for the right opportunity. Eventually the insect would settle somewhere, to be stunned in that instant before death by the hard, fast, and true slam of Grandpaw Hutchin's swatter. Justice had been served, North Carolina style.

Then he would become again mild mannered Grandpaw Hutchins. I loved that man.

Newark, North Carolina

I spent a few precious hours over three days last week with my son's family in relatively rural Ohio. There is a large cornfield right outside their back door perhaps 15 feet from the porch, just, and I mean only just, past their driveway. Once in particular I stepped outside and looked across the lightly rolling country, over the currently plowed up cornfield, and I smiled reflexively. I was ambushed by an old feeling, one I hadn't felt in years. I felt like I was back in North Carolina in my youth, looking out over the 13 acres of my grandfather's small farm. You could step off his back porch and spy a similar sight.

What goes around, eh? I find that the older I get the more often I am overtaken by old sensations, even those now decades old. This is not a bad thing. I wonder if it's what keeps us sane; there's something good to be said about continuity within cycles, of similarities with differences. We have the seasons, each distinct (in much of the world anyway) yet returning. It allows us change while also grounding us. We need change. But we need constants too.

So I had the opportunity to remember what it was like to be with me old Grandpaw Hutchins, up early and checking out the crops, if only for a relatively fleeting moment. I found in an instant a connection between my oldest son and the great-grandfather he only met once, and that as a six month old infant. We have a picture of them somewhere; I need to find it.

Anyway, what goes around. Life is good.

Grandpaw and any given bee

Me Grandpaw Hutchins was the most mild mannered, easiest going man I have known. Nothing seemed to bother or rankle him. He just moseyed on with his life.

Of course, using the word nothing is rarely accurate. There's always something, the famous 'they' say. And there was something with Grandpaw. If he got strung by a bee, that bee had too die. It. Had. To. Die.

Before even tending his wound, Grandpaw would grab the fly swatter hanging by his back door and he would stalk the culprit. With a stealth generally found only in the most experienced ninjas, he would make his way through his house, keeping a steady eye on the miscreant, waiting for the right opportunity. 

Eventually the insect would settle somewhere, to be stunned in that instant before death by the hard, fast, and true slam of Grandpaw Hutchin's swatter. Justice had been served, North Carolina style.
Then he would become again mild mannered Grandpaw Hutchins. I loved that man.

Watch and Tommy

Me Grandpa Hutchins had a couple of pets over the years which, for whatever reason, stand out in my mind. I guess they simply impressed me somehow.
One he called Watch. Watch was the largest collie I have ever seen. He looked like Lassie on steroids. Lots of steroids. He weighed, the vet told Grandpa, 135 pounds. That's a lot of collie.
Watch was a playful animal though. That's not bad until you take his weight into account. He'd knock you down without any evil intent. He was just being man's best friend.
Grandpa had another little beagle named Tommy. I liked old Tommy; maybe that's why I gravitate towards beagles, so much as I might gravitate towards any dog.
What I remember most about Tommy was that he lost his voice when he was about 14 (84 in people years). He would start to bay as beagles do but only the first 'wrope' would come out. Yet his mouth kept silently opening and closing for several seconds, as though he had to complete the rest of the barking anyway.
Watch and Tommy. Two pretty good old dogs.

Grandpaw liked his coffee

Grandpaw Hutchins liked his coffee strong. So strong in fact that he thought instant coffee one of the greatest innovations ever, because he could brew a strong pot of Maxwell House and then add a teaspoon of instant granules to his cup to give it that much more horsepower. He must have drank two, three pots of coffee a day: no lie. He also was a quiet man who rarely if ever raised his voice. He let his actions speak for him. One day coffee, his manner, and Grandmaw Hutchin's will all came together in a profound, sublime way.

It was one of those typically hot, sticky North Carolina summer days which are well known in the south. At the time, though, all they had for cooking was a wood stove. Keeping that stove going on such days made the kitchen, indeed the whole house, tremendously uncomfortable. Finally Grandma had had enough of it. When breakfast was over, she announced that from that day forward until the weather began to cool, the stove also would be allowed to cool during the day. When the breakfast embers died, the stove would not be fired up again until it was time to make supper.

Grandpaw didn't say a thing. He simply slid back from the table, grabbed his hat, and walked out the front door. About 45 minutes later he returned with an electric hot plate. He had walked the mile to the nearest store (he didn't drive), bought that hot plate, and came home. A cool stove meant no hot coffee. He couldn't have that. Yet demanding the stove be kept burning against Grandmaw's orders, well, he couldn't have that either. So he improvised a conclusion which was satisfactory for all.

I think he handled the situation just right. Don't you?