The Flavors of a Country Childhood by Rhonda Frankhouser

Smells and flavors bring back as many memories as old pictures....or music.

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When I pondered what home really means to me, I immediately thought of food. I was raised on a farm by good southern folks who wielded the mystical powers of the cast iron skillet and bacon grease. Between their masterful culinary skills and fresh garden bounty, we never went without a delicious meal.

I can recall the fine stitching of my grandmother's apron and still taste the Juicy Fruit gum she shared as we cooked together. I remember how everyone gathered in the kitchen, laughing over steaming pots of heaven boiling on the stove; mason jars of sweet tea in every hand. Fresh cut okra, squash and onions frying together in a hot-buttered skillet. Home made ice cream being cranked by hand on the back porch. And let's not forget the perfectly browned biscuits and corn bread sitting on the counter with grandma's cheese cloth rags over the top to keep off the flies. Oh God, I miss it! And I miss all those beautiful human beings who raised me in that kitchen.

Thankfully, I did learn how to cook those savory specialties, keeping some of our family traditions alive. Chicken 'n dumplings, chicken fried steak, fried chicken and mashed potatoes, to name a few. Who knew soaking fresh snapped green beans in broth before cooking was the secret to winning over the next generation of vegetable haters. Half 'n half in the banana pudding, instead of milk, naughty, yes, but yum. A dollop of mayonnaise is the miracle in my mashed potatoes, but don't tell my kids. Meat loaf to die for and my grandmother's delicious crispy cornbread and special recipe lemon vanilla home made ice cream, makes my mouth water just thinking about it. 

I'm proud to be the matriarch of the family now, not because I make the rules or offer some godfather like counsel, but because I can still roll a mean biscuit and make lump free sausage gravy. I consider it a true blessing that I was raised before technology took over the world. Before microwave ovens zapped the life out of food and cell phones numbed the minds of the future. I'm glad I lived in a time before families forgot how to look one another in the eye and truly communicate.

What foods do you remember from your childhood? Special traditions? If not food, what? Our family played guitars and dominoes. Let's reminiscence together? We need to remember the simpler things. And we need to pass those precious traditions on to the next generation before they are lost forever!!!

Thanks for listening, Rhonda

Rhonda's award-winning Ruby's Ranch Series, earned a finalist honor in the Uncaged Book Review Raven Awards, a 2nd Runner Up in the prestigious InD'Tale Magazine RONE awards and a Books and Benches, Reviewers Top Pic ~ Books of Distinction award.  Her follow up Shadowing Souls Series and Let Yourself Believe Series, have captured the attention of both romance and mainstream readers alike. Though originally a California girl, Rhonda now writes full time from her lovely Atlanta Georgia home.

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Cricket Raised Me by Rhonda Frankhouser

Photo credit to owner

Okay, I admit it - I'm a junkie. Country everything is my drug. Music, clothes, food, animals, gardening. The whole farm lifestyle was cool to me even before Chip and Joanna Gaines made it cool for everyone else. I love it all but there was one special thing about being raised in the country that I'll never forget. Travel with me through a cherished memory.

As the youngest in my family, I spent many years as the only child on our little farm in central California. I had faithful dogs and prolific rabbits, temperamental chickens and a few stray cats to keep the mice from coming in the house, but my savior was a beautiful, steady-riding Appaloosa mare named Cricket.

I'm just gonna say it, Cricket raised me. Sounds odd, but she showed more patience with me than any human in my life. She taught me perseverance and respect. How to take care of others and how to communicate without using words. She taught me what a true friendship should be; honoring and loving unconditionally.

Picture a scrawny, towheaded kid following a twelve hundred pound horse around a fruit tree pasture, talking away like the mare would actually respond. She'd perk her soft, fuzzy ears at the right times and nibble at my face and hair to cheer me up. She was the absolute best listener a little, chatty girl could have. We were inseparable, Cricket and I, and every day she was the first 'person' I wanted to see when I woke up.

My biggest obstacle at three foot nothing and sixty pounds was trying to figure out how I was ever going to get on her back without help. But Cricket knew the answer. When it was time to ride, she'd dip her head into the rope halter, then saunter under a low lying branch and nicker. I finally figured out what she was trying to get me to do. I'd climb the tree and edge my way along the branch until I could safely climb aboard. She was a genius, right?

Cricket glided beneath me when we rode, careful not to knock me off. She'd look both ways before crossing a street and never move a muscle until she felt my small hand grasp a handful of mane to hang on. She was my security blanket. Her unique, calming scent cured many ails throughout those tumultuous teens. I'd stain her shining coat with huge monster tears while she held me in the curve of her neck. Consoling. Patient. Quiet and kind.

I owe my writing career to my sweet Cricket as she endured hours and hours of my amateur storytelling. She'd nicker and bob her head, encouraging me to continue. Looking back I'm sure it was just one kind, intuitive animal bonding with another, but I'll always be thankful for that special horse and the unconditional love and friendship she gave to me.

Did you have a horse growing up? A special friend? Maybe a dog or cat that understood you better than any other being on Earth? Tell me your story.

Thanks for listening. Rhonda

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