Moments ago, I posted a rich testament to apples, but it was published in 1884 by a British man, Richard Folkard.

Apple – Fruit and Dew of Heaven – Gift from the Eternal Hills

Richard Folkard has provided us with an almost perfect history of the Apple and the Mythology associated with that plant. He drew upon stories from the ancient Brittons, the ancient Greeks, Italy, and several other places in Europe, but probably because the computer had not been invente yet, his research did not reach across the pond, in the direction of the USA.

I was born in the rural American South in 1950. I often say that I grew up in a cotton patch–I could see cotton fields in two directions from my childhood home, and when I was a child, I picked cotton this time of year–during the fall. My parents were products of the Great Depression, and in turn, my own childhood was marked by the veil of that dark period in American History,

My mother was nearly orphaned by the time she was 9, but her mother had been out of the home, fighting tuberculosis, long before that. My mother died few months ago. She was nearly 100, and fortunately, I was able to interview her and set to writing the stories of her childhood–which break my heart.

What My Mom Said about the Only Christmas She Got a Doll

From the Memoir of Laura Mae Dunscombe Baker, Born December 6, 1926
Recorded by Jacki Kellum

by Laura Baker:

“For most of the Christmases that I remember, we spent at Grandma Dunscombe’s—that is, we three kids did.  So Christmas meant pleasurable times for us.  Grandma always had a big house and all of the grandkids would be there at some time during the holidays.  Us, we stayed for days, if not for weeks….

“Some of our city cousins would come from St. Louis and Illinois but they rarely stayed but a couple of days…[One of my St. Louis uncles] Usually made fair money and always gave me a quarter for Christmas…[His wife] gave me a diary EVERY year.  I wrote in the thing religiously for a month and that was usually the end of that.  They had 2 boys but we were never around them enough to learn to love them….

“…there were lots of grandkids there, so there were stockings everywhere to be filled before THE morning.  Looking back, I’m sure my aunt did most of this.  We were never disappointed.  Each stocking would be filled: 1 orange, 1 apple, nuts and candy.  I’d say 2 handfuls of candy, max. Of course, my cousin was the only one who ever got big toys.  It was his home, and his was the only working mother in the family [she was a single parent.  I always think that Moms spend more on such frivolity.  But I can’t ever remember being envious.  Isn’t that amazing?  It is even to me.  I was as thrilled in what he got, I think as he was.  He was a pretty unusual fellow though.  Never selfish with his things.

“I remember when he got his first bike and I think it must have been the same year my mother died because I was there most of the time.  Mother had come home from the sanatorium to die and was, as you mentioned, bedded down there at Grandma’s. …

“But somewhere during this time, my cousin taught me to ride that bike.  I nearly tore down all the fences holding on as I tumbled down.  I was not known for athletic ability, not then nor now.  I thought learning to ride a bike was the hardest thing I ever did.  Consequently, I never learned to be a good bike rider.

“On the other hand, your Dad was a master at it.  He always lived in town with sidewalks and lots of freedom.  So when he got a bike, it became his world.  He and a boy from his neighborhood…spent hours on end at the school riding.  Hank could do all the tricks you’ve seen on bikes: dipping way to one side and righting—doing a partial stand up on the thing and just lots of smooth riding things. …

“But he was a curiosity in the ways of the world at that time.  Lots of hours with no supervision.  He would take his fishing pole and go to the ditch for the day.  Maybe take a sandwich.  And this was when he was very young.  No one worried that he would get in trouble and he didn’t.  No one worried that he would fall lin the ditch and drown.  They had complete confidence in his ability.  That is where I and most mothers have failed your generation.  We wanted to apply close supervision on everything you did to be sure you did it to our specifications.  I can see that now, 100 years after the fact.

“There is only one other thing I want to add about Christmas.  One time, probably the last Christmas mother was living, she (Santa Claus) gave my sister and me a stunning doll—really beautiful rubber doll.  That’s the only time I ever recall that we ever got much of anything from them but there again that may be the fault of my memory rather than their neglect.  I played my doll to death because I was younger than my sister, but she had hers until her daughter came along.  And that was a long time.  The whole doll was rubber except it had a hard head with ingrown hair.  I can see it now.”

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This story is always precious to me, but I am posting it today for a couple of reasons.

First, I want to repeat one of my mother’s thoughts:

‘Each stocking would be filled: 1 orange, 1 apple, nuts and candy.  I’d say 2 handfuls of candy, max.”

Although the Great Depression had ended for most people by the time I was born, Santa [my mom] never failed to place in a long woolen stocking  an apples, an orange, a few nuts, and nasty hard candy–every Christmas, Of course, we always got more than that, but I say this to illustrate the fact that we are very much the products of what has happened before us. We are influenced not only by our own stories but also by those of our parents,

The second reason I am posting this story is to encourage every adult to interview their living parents–and to record their stories.

Co-Author with Your Elderly Parent: Do Yourself A Favor

I have several stories from both my parents, and I am trying to decide the best way to get those precious words before more readers. My mother’s stories make me cry, and my dad’s stories make me laugh. He was my Wizard of Oz: