My Grandmother's Cast Iron

I was discussing with my husband that we need some more cast iron in our kitchen.  We currently have two frying pans, one huge and another a bit less huge. 

This morning Kent was cleaning the storage room and he pulled up some cast iron that was just sitting on the shelf.  One was a smaller frying pan, extremely useful and the other is more like a dutch, but the lid has a handle that mirrors the two quart cooking part.  This unique two piece cast iron brought back a flood of memories because it use to belong to my grandmother. 

I didn't really know my grandmother very well.  She was a quiet woman, plagued with health problems that would eventually take her life.  I only remember meeting her a few times as a child and by the time I moved to Utah, she was bed ridden and conversations were almost non existent, it was incredibly hard for her to speak.

At that time my grandfather was extremely loud, very opinionated and during visits he not only monopolized what was discussed but he was a bit of a bully if you said something he disagreed with.  Over time I was able to develop a relationship with my grandfather and break into the extremely tough outer shell but it wasn't easy.  He could be a complete butt.

I think the moment it clicked for us, was when I finally turned around and told him that I loved him but if he wasn't going to be nice, I was going to leave and I'd come back when he could be nice.

He turned and grinned at me and said it was about time that I stood up for myself.  Now I really didn't appreciate that I had to endure months of verbal abuse before this and I had to physically stop myself from rolling my eyes at him but it did open a door for a relationship.

He wasn't ever as bad after that, although he still relished being a pain in the arse. 

Announcing my engagement, he was thrilled, so pleased with my fiance, thrilled to have a relationship with me and as a result he put more thought into a wedding present then I had ever seen him do for anyone.  My grandmother's silver was in a dilapidated wood box, just falling to pieces.  He found someone to rebuild and refinish that box.

It was beautiful.

It's not a complete set of silver.  There are pieces missing but the thought and effort that he put into this gift meant the world to me.  He also gave me my grandmother's cast iron.  My mom and her sister RoseAnn told me about the memories of their mother cooking with that cast iron.  RoseAnn explained that the reason the lid was cracked was because her mom used it as a frying pan, which of course it wasn't made for.

For almost eighteen years this cast iron has been stashed away.  Every now and then, I would see it, smile and then continue on my way.  Somehow it didn't feel right to use and I wondered if I would ruin the already compromised lid.  It was enough for me to just have it.  A piece of my mother's childhood, a few short years where I fought to build a relationship with a man that I wasn't sure wanted a relationship with me.

As I've spent the day, walking past the dust encrusted cast iron, I've realized that I was mistaken.  So tomorrow, I will scrub it out, lightly season the inside and place it where I can use it, every day.

And then, when I pull it out and cook for my family, I can smile and remember the man that thought of me and proudly called me his granddaughter on my wedding day.  I can remember the look of nostalgia as my aunt described her mother, my grandmother making dinner for their family.

Most important, I will tell my children.  These memories won't mean anything if I don't pass them on.  I can't let the meaning end with me.