We had a heavy snow storm this last end of December 2020. The power would go out for a few seconds, then suddenly return with a “Bang!” I feared for our TV's and computer, but they survived the ordeal. Our electric coffee pot? Not so much. That was the end of Mr. Coffee.

Anne remembered that there were two old-timey percolator coffee-makers downstairs. She brought them up. One was the old red one we brought to Tennessee. It didn't have its coffee holder. The other one did, but it was terribly dirty. She cleaned up the dirty one. Now what? Anne had never used a percolator before. How much water did it need? How much coffee grounds? How hot was the burner to be? Medium? Low?

She followed my directions and put it over to heat. The water boiled up, but it never percolated up through its little glass knob set in the middle of the lid. What could be wrong? I asked to see it. Looking up through the center tube, it was obviously plugged. No perking like that!. She cleaned it out and started with some fresh water. I sat by the stove to keep an eye on it. It perked nicely. The water, bubbling up In the glass top, turned the right shade of brown. I tasted it, pronouncing it “Done!”

I pointed out the reason the red percolator didn't have any guts was because when we first moved to Tennessee we couldn't afford propane gas. My stove from Michigan had been on natural gas. The first couple of years I placed a piece of plywood over the burners and used it as a tabletop. My cooking was done in the red coffee pot and an electric skillet. I boiled potatoes, eggs, whatever, in that little red coffee pot. Its innards were long gone.

The electric skillet was used for frying. Oh, yes, we did have a microwave oven. I became very inventive in adapting recipes for it. What memories Anne brought back, standing there holding that old red percolator. Our priorities in the early days were in restoring the houses on this property, not in my cooking needs. We only had my husband's Social Security check to work with.

We tried to raise a garden on the down side of our upper driveway. What a disaster! There was very little top soil. Finally, I laid up a cement block and rock faced wall to hold the garden. A couple loads of fill dirt and one of top soil finally made a garden. Only one thing was lacking. Water.

We had some of the driest years, those first ones in Tennessee. Our water was from the spring back up on the ridge behind us, It was piped into the basement of the middle house, ran through a pressure tank and out to all three houses. Sometimes there was barely enough water to flush the toilet, say nothing of watering a garden. Those first years, I would have been further ahead by buying fresh produce rather than spending the money for seeds and plants.

We never gave up. I planted a garden for several years. Even set out some blueberry bushes mulched with old hay. They didn't survive. Finally, we smoothed out the soil and planted grass seed. There is a fire pit surrounded with stones at the east end. After a wind shear toppled seven oak trees behind our cabins, Steve Coward cut them up and we stacked the resulting firewood on the garden area for several years. I later set out a table and umbrella with chairs, trying to make a picnic area. That didn't work, so it was back to just grass.

Yes, that old red percolator brought back memories. I don't take anything for granted. After all, I survived the Great Depression.