Thursday Brew with Gwen: Fire. Fire

 

FIRE. FIRE.

“A good cook should be able to use whatever ingredients are to hand and make a feast fit for a king.” That was my sister Doris's motto, acquired by her stint as a Defence Force Cook. Doris had undertaken to teach me how to cook.  Teaching me to cook left her frustrated and me feeling like an Emu trying to be a swan.

My sister's motto for a good cook I took and applied to making a shanty or shed into a liveable house and then a home. One of those times was when, with my husband Bruce, and two children, all that was available was the fruit pickers quarters. Three small rooms ran the length of the shed, a lounge and bathroom. Tiny primitive additives called bathroom and lounge were separate from the main structure. It took all my powers of ingenuity to take what I had and make these rooms into a home.

The owner of this complex was affectionately known as Old Sid. A man of small stature but big hearted and generous with a broad and colourful vocabulary. The shed our rooms were attached to was on the fruit block owned by ‘Ole Syd’. He was having a hard time drying his grapes because of wet weather so he installed a dehydrator in his shed to assist in the process of drying his grapes. This roaring monster lived on the other side of a flimsy petition separating our rooms from the shed.

The drumming of the fans was a constant companion. We adapted remarkably well to such an intrusion into our quietness. One night we arrived home very late after being out to a meeting. The weather threatened thunderstorms. The humidity was high. After settling the children in bed, my husband and I sat over a quiet cuppa. The storm raged outside with increasing ferocity, cutting the power and silencing the dehydrator.

 Sometime later the lights came on when the power was restored.  Bruce lifted his head and remarked, “Does that dehydrator sound different to you?”

“Umm, it'll pick up in a minute.”  My eyes were adjusting from candle power to electricity power. After a while, Bruce suggested we go to bed, adding, “I wonder if I should check out the dehydrator next door."

 Entering the shed, Bruce was greeted with greedy yellow flames licking up the oil that had spilled across the floor towards our quarters. With the speed of lightning, Bruce put out the flames and closed the dehydrator and alerted ‘Ole Syd’. He was so upset at what might have happened that he modified the dehydrator so that such a thing could not happen again. Eventually, the dehydrator was started again.

We were rather shaken as the realization dawned on us of how close we came to being burned alive while asleep. That night nearly saw us exchanging the pickers quarters for one of the mansions Jesus has gone to prepare for us. The only reason we are still here is perhaps our home in heaven is not ready yet or maybe there is still the need to learn further lessons here on earth.

I was eventually rewarded, when we were able to move into a nice house. Three bedrooms and a bathroom.  There was hot water on tap. All the rooms were under one roof. I was able to make this dwelling into a home. I was happy.  

My sister had taught me well, maybe not as a cook but she had taught me to use what I was given to the best of my ability.