The Peanut Butter Tree

THE PEANUT BUTTER TREE
by
Hazel Williams-Jann

It had been one of those nights when sleep eluded me. I was finished with all my packing, the alarm was set, and I was ready to head out the door as soon as I was dressed, but throughout the night, I kept replaying all of this in my restless mind. Before the alarm sounded, I was already out of bed attending to last minute chores that needed completed. I made sure the windows were closed. I locked the doors, opened the door on the dishwasher, turned the water reservoir to the coffee pot to the off position and finished packing the van. My bags were packed, sitting by the door with my bedroll and other items I would need while on the island. I was about to embark on a memory trip.
The coming trip took me back to the old log cabin where I was born and the taste of peanut butter swiped between two soda crackers. I recall the days when my mother would drive the country roads in our old car selling Watkins and McConnon spices and flavorings to neighboring farm wives. In the late 1930's money was scarce, and there were items needed in our home that could not be grown. Being a farm-to-farm sales person was one way mother could help financially. This was not an easy task with four children in tow. We were not left with a babysitter, we traveled these roads as well.
The afternoon sun beating down on the car created four sweaty, squirming kids. Having anticipated such a problem mother would prepare a snack for us to break the monotony of just sitting in the car waiting for her to finish filling the orders from the farm wives. We all sat in the car while she was in the farm houses. We were enticed to behave ourselves with the promise of a coming treat. Mother always packed something for us to eat while out on the road. At an appropriate time the car was pulled off the gravel road under a nice shade tree. It did not take long for us to tumble out of the back seat of the old car and sit at the trunk of a tree under shady branches where we could enjoy a cooling breeze while we ate our peanut butter crackers washing them down with orange Kool-aid.
As the years passed we remained in the country on a farm. In the mid 1940's as tenant farmers we were dependent on a bountiful garden to supply our winter food. After the garden was plowed, along with my two brothers and one sister, I helped plant the seeds. When the vegetables started to grow it was our chore to keep the weeds from smothering the plants. Once school was out it seemed many of my days were spent with a hoe cutting down thistles, dandelions and other invasive, unwanted weeds. Work-day on the farm was long. Mother and dad were up by daybreak, and the day did not end until dark. With all the work to be done breakfast was very early. Dinner was always on time as dad was there to listen to the news while we ate. On occasion we kids would fill our plates and sit outside on the ground in the shade of the house to eat so as not to interfere with the news. I recall on occasion having to leave the table as I could no longer stifle my giggling. I wonder why it is that when it is necessary for a child to be quiet everything just seems to become more funny? The harder we tried to be quiet, the more we wanted to laugh. Usually that was just when something important was being repeated on the radio news. Supper time was at six or after, depending on the amount of work to be done, so an afternoon snack was still necessary.
On the back side of the acre of garden and a little to the right, a tree had been left to grow. Not too many vegetables could be planted near it but it did provide the perfect place to sit while cutting the dust from my throat with orange Kool- aid. Again the taste of peanut butter on crackers was welcomed, and this treat gave each of us energy to hoe more weeds before supper time. As a mother, I too prepared peanut butter and crackers with Kool-aid for my children for an afternoon snack.
When my children were old enough to go to summer camp I found a way to go with them on occasion. One summer, while living in Oklahoma I spent the entire summer in camp. I took the job of cook, and two of my girls were in camp all summer.
Falls Creek is a huge camp near Davis, Oklahoma where my local church had their own cabin. I was blessed to attend camp with the teens to help with cooking and counseling. In the same location, higher up the mountain is another camp for girls no yet in their teens and in third through sixth grade in school. This camp is called Camp Nunny-Cha-Ha, which is an Indian name meaning High Hills. It was as one of the cooks for this camp one summer that peanut butter became a big part of daily life.
There were three of us in the kitchen to prepare meals for the up to 250 young girls that came each week. We each had our own cooking station. Mine was salads and desserts. One of my chores was to see that all the tables in the dining hall had an ample jar of peanut butter on it during each meal. It had been noted that if a child will eat nothing else, peanut butter would sustain them. During this summer I was taught new and sundry ways to introduce different foods to unwilling girls. One camp counselor had a distaste for peas. She added peanut butter to her peas in order to show she could eat what was placed before her no matter if she liked it or not. Many of our snacks involved peanut butter. We sliced trays of apples and put peanut butter between them. We had peanut butter crispy squares. We had peanut butter cookies.
My day as a camp cook was busy. Between meals it was our custom to just put our feet up relax. I was not used to being on my feet. For the first few days I found myself craving the time for putting my feet up. After a couple weeks I was able to do more than hobble to the dinning hall and actually was pain free. We were isolated on the mountain. The big event of the week for these young girls was waiting for the garbage truck to come to haul away the refuse. You see, we had no radio, no telephone, no television and the worse possible for this age, no boys! I have to smile when I think how it seemed the building should have tilted as the girls all ran to one end to get a glimpse of the cute young man working during the summer as a garbage man. I am sure he was flattered by all this attention, but he was on a mission. His stay was limited.
A few weeks into the summer routine we decided to take a break from the isolation of Nunny-Cha-Ha to go down the mountain to Falls Creek Camp for a change of scenery and a cool treat while on our afternoon break. The teen camp had snack stations where the young people could choose their own snacks at their own expense. We cooks put a few coins in our pocket before driving down the mountain, because we were planning to purchase an ice cream cone while on the lower mountain. Any flavor would do, it would be different. What a laugh we had when we came upon the ice cream vendor. Of all the days for us to choose our descent we picked the day when the ‘flavor of the day’ was, you guessed it - peanut butter!!! I still chuckle when I think of the irony of that.
Many years have passed since I spent the summer up to my elbows in peanut butter. All of my children are grown, and I now have grandchildren old enough for summer camp. I have moved back East close to my roots, but I continued to have a longing for the days of summer camp. This year, I was able to relive a bit of that time as several of us spent the Memorial Day weekend at a summer camp.
New Life Island is a Christian camp located in the Delaware River near Frenchtown, New Jersey. It is said this island has only flooded once every fifty years, that is, until this past rainy season. It was flooded twice this year. With the summer camping season quickly approaching help was needed to get repairs completed. The Youth Pastor where I attend church spent time as a counselor on this island as a college student. When he heard help was needed he asked if anyone would be interested in helping. I was so thankful they needed a cook for this weekend trip. I was finally going to relive a happy time.
After an eleven hour road trip, we arrived at the camp. The first thing on my mind was the dinning hall. When I walked in I felt right at home. There was the mammoth cook stove, the walk in cooler, the preparation tables, the dishwasher that made the mountains of dishes easier to clean and on the shelf in the pantry I saw a jar of peanut butter. I smiled as I thought of the peanut butter crispy treats that would be enjoyed by this work crew.
There were no finicky eaters this time, only hard-working willing adults who consumed whatever was put in front of them when the dinner bell rung. The work was hard. The cabins all needed repairs. New drywall was applied, primer and then paint covered this. New trim was nailed where needed. The cabins were emptied of debris. The grounds had to be mowed, flowers were planted by the mother of the camp director. Everyone had a job to do, even the teens that lived on the island with their parents worked along side. My job again was being the camp cook.
Having spent many of my high school days working in one or another of my parents’ restaurants, I had acquired the ability to prepare meals and have everything hot as well as on time. I was in my element in that massive kitchen. I begged the regular cook to take a break so I could relive my dreams. She agreed and for two days I cooked. Of course I had to make the peanut butter crispy treats, and I left the recipe which I had gotten at Camp Nunny-Cha-Ha, for the campers that will be on the island this summer. The adult workers were more than pleased to have this protein treat as their afternoon snack, and not one morsel was left the following day.
It was a good time. Our rooms overlooked the Delaware River. In the evening we were treated to the site of a mother duck taking her nine babies on a swim. In the morning hours I saw two geese swimming together out into the river. It was such a peaceful time filled with many good memories. On the last evening there was a gentle falling rain. Before the evening meal was done we all sat on the front porch of the dinning hall talking. After supper was over, the kitchen cleaned and everyone taking time to relax before packing up for our trip home, we went into town for an ice cream treat. Yes, you guessed it. I had peanut butter ice cream.
Returning to my familiar bed, I had no trouble sleeping. The work trip is over, but I have stored wonderful memories which will linger yet for years. God was good to have given us memory to help relive the good times of life. Every time I see peanut butter I will think of extraordinary summer memories of my life