Sheep camps were lonely places usually only one man, one or more dogs, and one or two horses. The “camp” best described as a covered wagon or simply canvas stretched over a frame and set on wheels. Sheep camps had to be moved periodically, after the herder found new pastures for the sheep to graze. A sheepherder could go for months without seeing another person and often ate the same diet day after day.
I imagine only the basics were included in Daddy’s camp. Most important was the rifle that stood near the doorway, then food; including flour, sugar, dry beans, bacon and canned foods. Packed away in a duffel bag was a change of clothing and a warm coat. In the summer he slept outside, under the stars, and in winter, a bunk with warm bedding was built into the sheep camp.
Daddy was lucky this first time out, his father returned to relieve him after a week. I imagine the week he was alone. On the first night, he had fresh lamb chops, potatoes, and biscuits that his mother slipped into his saddlebags before he left the house. Daddy not only learned how to care for animals and brave the world alone, he also learned the basics of cooking. Through trial and error he taught himself how to make a pot of bacon and beans or lamb stew and sourdough biscuits. Mistakes had to be eaten or fed to the dogs, as food couldn’t be wasted.
I’ll never forget when Daddy taught me to fry lamb chops and make gravy. When I was twelve Mom spent a week in Utah with my older sister, helping her after the birth of a new baby. Daddy and I “batched it”. Both Mom and I helped Daddy outside, doing chores, milking cows, feeding chickens and gathering the eggs. Mom would leave us, to finish up, while she started supper. So on our first night of “ batching it” Daddy sent me to the house early with instructions to fix supper. Lamb meat being a staple of our diet we planned to eat lamb chops for dinner. I quickly washed up, set the table, peeled potatoes, got frying pans out of the cupboard and had the chops ready to fry when Daddy got to the house. I remember our conversation going something like this.
“Sister, I don’t smell anything cooking, what have you been doing?”
“I have everything ready to cook, but Daddy, I’ve never fried lamb chops or potatoes or made gravy.”
“Well little girl, it’s about time you learned.” Daddy washed up and joined me in the kitchen.
“Stand by the stove, next to me, so you can watch what I’m doing.” I loved standing close to Daddy, his familiar smell of cigarettes and farm animals, not offensive to me, but comforting, as I felt safe near him. He was gentle and kind and wasn’t afraid to show affection. He loved all of us girls unconditionally and taught each of us, how to ride a horse, milk a cow, and drive a tractor. Always with a soft voice never yelling at us, he explained, then let us try our hand, then explained again, until he was satisfied that we had learned the lesson.
He put bacon drippings in the fry pans and turned up the heat. He sliced potatoes, with lightning speed, his hand gripping the knife. The potatoes sliced and the grease sizzling, he handed me the bowl of potatoes and said, “ Now very carefully, so you don’t burn yourself, slide the potatoes into the hot grease.” I did as I was told, then watched the potatoes cook, while Daddy floured the chops and placed them one by one into the hot grease in the other frying pan. They browned quickly, on one side, and Daddy picked up the fork to turn them.
“Wait,” I said, “Let me turn them, I need the practice.” Handing me the fork, he watched as I turned the chops.
“That’s my girl, perfect.” He said. “Now turn the heat to low and cover the chops and let them cook.” Then with his calloused hand on mine holding the spatula, together we turned the crispy brown potatoes to the other side. Fragrant smells filled the kitchen; I couldn’t believe that I was really learning to cook. But with his help I learned quickly and was sure I could do it myself the next time. “Della, put the chops on a platter and into the warming oven and I will show you how to make gravy.” He poured out some of the grease, scraped the browned bits off the bottom and edges of the fry pan. “Okay, sprinkle flour into the grease with one hand while stirring with the other. When the flour and grease start to thicken, add milk and keep stirring, adding more milk until you have gravy.” I did as told and soon we had a frying pan full of delicious milk gravy to cover biscuits, warming in the oven. As we dished up our plates and started to the table to eat, Daddy’s blue eyes twinkled as he said, “Tomorrow night I expect lamb chops cooking when I come in from the barn.” “I’ll bet I can do that,” I said, and he hugged me tightly. To be continued...Hugs to All...OWAV:)
Fabulous
ReplyDelete