mule

When mother baked bread (we never had store-brought bread) she always made 8 loaves at a time (once a week). It was always tasted so good right out of the oven with home churned butter and jelly from the cellar. Our cellar was under the smokehouse. It had shelves for canned goods and a bin for the potatoes. Mother had us carry the jars of canned food down to the cellar when it was preserved. We had to really be careful not to drop a jar because it would break and would be a mess to clean up with glass and all. There was a certain way you could carry 4 or 5 at a time if you were able. Sometimes we carried them in a dishpan. At suppertime, we had to go down into the cellar to get vegetables, fruits, and meat to prepare.

When I was very small, I remember the family making molasses. We had a mule then. Her name was Old Bert. She was hitched to a pole and this pole turned the wheel that squeezed the juice from the cane. The mule went round and round. The juice spilled into a large vat that sat on a frame. Under the frame a good, hot fire was built that cooked the juice into molasses. It was cozy at night watching the making of molasses around the big fire. But I never could like molasses, although I did try.