The Table

Nothing is new

The boy had leave to run across the fields at noon-time and take his dinner with the old woman who lived in the old house at the edge of the property. The old barn and the old shed were long since gone, their place swallowed up by the growing fields that surrounded the little bit of lawn and little bit of garden that she was left with. The boy ran through the sunlit rows of green corn in the summer’s heat, wondering how he might get the old woman to speak the mystery she had uttered many times of late.

The old woman stood at her gas stove as the boy ran toward her home. She emptied a jar of last year’s venison into the cast iron pan that had been a wedding present for her husband’s grandmother. She bent down to peer at the blue flames, turning them down to a low heat to warm the brown gravy, the tender meat, the potatoes and carrots and onions pulled from her garden in the chill of late fall.

The boy burst through the corn and across her lawn. He trotted up steps of white pine worn to smooth hollows where many feet had passed. He paused on the little porch to knock politely at the screen door that shuddered beneath his fist.

The old woman smiled at the sudden clatter of the boy’s steps behind her and turned to gesture him indoors. They worked together in silence to lay the table with bowls and spoons, slice the bread, and fill glasses with milk. The old woman filled her own bowl only halfway, but the boy was growing at the speed of new corn and would empty his bowl twice.

The boy spread a thick layer of butter onto soft white bread. He glanced at the stained cotton table covering and decided how he would elicit the mystery today. He spoke with studied nonchalance. “This old tablecloth’s lookin’ pretty wore out. Prob’ly oughta get a new one.” He bit into his bread and stared at her as he chewed.

The old woman smiled, knowing the game. She paid extra attention to the spooning up of her stew as she spoke the words that the boy was waiting for. “Nothing is new.” She looked into his eyes as she chewed.

The boy grinned in response, but his brow furrowed in concentration as he dug into his own bowl of venison. His mother had said old people didn’t like to spend money on new things. His father had said that old people were set in their ways and didn’t like change. Neither of those explanations seemed right.

Once the last of the gravy was cleaned from their bowls with bits of bread, the old woman stood and cleared the table. The boy ran a pan of scraps out to the henhouse, wrinkling his nose at the heap of manure ageing in preparation for being spread on the garden in fall. He stopped at the rain barrel on his way back into the house to dip out a bucket of water for the washing up. Water was hard when pulled up from the ground, but soft when it came down from the sky.

The old woman thanked the boy for his help and stepped out on the porch to see him off. She framed his smooth face with hands from which all softness had fled. She looked down and saw the light of his grandfather’s eyes. The boy looked up and for an instant saw the clarity of younger days shining through the old woman’s clouded gaze, but a clarity where the world was a familiar and well-loved place, and one’s path was known.

The boy blinked and breathed out, “Nothing is new!” The old woman smiled and bent her head to touch his. “Everything is new!” she whispered.

The boy leapt off her porch with a shout and disappeared into rows of green corn that stirred once at his passing and were still.

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Homemade White Bread

Mix together in a large bowl and set aside for 15-20 minutes:

2 tablespoons of yeast

½ cup warm water 1 tablespoon sugar

Meanwhile, gently warm on low heat until the butter is melted:

2 cups milk 4 tablespoons butter ½ cup honey 1 tablespoon salt

Cool to lukewarm and stir it into the yeast, then stir in:

6-7 cups of flour

Knead. Set in a large greased bowl and cover until doubled. Punch down and divide in two. Form into loaves and set in greased loaf pans. Set aside to double. Bake at 375° for 30-35 minutes.

Sally Rasmussen lives in rural Taylor County with her husband, Tom.