My Grandma's Stove, Heart of the Home

In my grandmother's kitchen
sits an antique cast iron stove.
A workhorse that fed generations,
recipes cooked with love to fill bellies,
generous portions met taste bud expectations.

The stories that stove could tell
would surprise and delight.
Faces become cherry red or ghostly white.
It was a heavenly storybook to be read,
delectable recipes created in grandma's head.

When she was a bride, the stove was new.
Grandpa said her eyes twinkled at first view.
The first recipe was a cobbler.
Michigan apples, sugar, cinnamon and dough
all baked to perfection for this man she loved so.

Over the years, children played close by.
Grandma perfumed their love nest,
surprising her husband with homemade dreams.
When children were tucked in for a nights rest.
They sat counting pennies, with coffee and cream.

Their children had children adding to the circle.
So, in this special place where love lives,
she gently rubbed his knuckles worn raw.
When it came, no more pain, his time was done.
Her loving face, the last treasure he saw.

Grandma lives with us now.
There is a vine covered cottage behind us.
A peach bedroom, a lovely private alcove.
She goes there at times to be alone,
to visit warm memories and a retired stove.



By Kathie Stehr

Dedicated to both of my Grandmothers who were wonderful cooks and loving women