This Week @ Monday Creek: Emily Ann

 

@ Monday Creek: McKnight Family Farm
www.gmcknight.com

For many years, Whitmore’s Greenhouse stood as a paragon of horticultural splendor in the quaint town of Buchtel. The Whitmore family, arriving as immigrants, wove a rich tapestry of history and creativity, their horticultural prowess renowned throughout southeastern Ohio. Even in the heart of winter, their greenhouses teemed with vibrant life, inspiring the local community with a boundless enthusiasm for gardening and the earth. Now, the greenhouse lies dormant, yearning for rejuvenation, a revival.

Emily Ann Whitmore, a cherished friend of my mom, often served as the impromptu pianist at our church. Her voice resonated with a boldness as if she were performing directly for the Divine. When she played the piano, it wasn’t mere playing; she pounded the keys with such fervor that the notes seemed to penetrate your very soul. Emily frequently ambled the quarter mile to our farmhouse to visit my mom. On one visit, she gifted me a topsy-turvy doll crafted from fabric scraps, complete with an embroidered face and handmade lace—a true homespun treasure. Emily, a vivacious spinster, relished visits with my mom, but most of all, she adored my mom’s pies and cakes.

It was a Saturday near Christmas, the air brisk and festive. My mom had prepared a beef roast for our Sunday dinner. We raised our own Hereford cattle, and my mom was a culinary virtuoso. With the winter chill, she used our back porch as a makeshift freezer, placing the cooled roast in a covered aluminum pan to await reheating.

That evening, our family attended a Christmas party, returning home late. After taking our bathtub turns, we retired for the night. The following morning, my mom went to retrieve the roast from the porch, only to discover it had vanished! The pan and the roast had mysteriously disappeared, thwarting her Sunday dinner plans.

For months, the enigma of the missing roast dominated our conversations. The following March, Emily Ann visited. During their chat, my mom mentioned the perplexing disappearance.

“Oh!” Emily exclaimed, raising her heavy eyebrows in surprise. Her hands, spread to her chest, explained, “I thought you made the roast for me! It was delicious!”

Ever gracious, my mom responded that she was glad Emily had enjoyed the roast.

Mystery solved, the story of the missing roast remains a cherished family story. We were happy that Emily felt comfortable taking our Sunday dinner, and we were thankful to have it to give.