Autumn and the smell of Catholic Noodles
Memory and smell often work in tandem, whereas when a particular scent crosses your path, a memory returns. For me, when I think of Linton during the fall season, I think of Catholic noodles or vice versa.
This relationship was instilled in me from a young age, and it begins in my grandmother's kitchen.
My grandmother, Ernie Ferry, lives along the last leg of the parade route in Linton, the home I have spent many a Christmas, and Fourth of July. When I was younger, my sister and I would often stop by her house to visit my grandfather and grandmother, probably after my mother and father needed a break.
During the fall, we would walk in through the back door, and inside, my grandmother would be standing up rolling egg noodles on the counter.
The smell of fresh flour would meet us at the door, which would remind us of the Saint Ann's Altar Society dinner ahead. With a smile, my grandmother would motion over to the candy jar, pointing with her hands covered in dough, and my sister and I would sit and watch her work.
One mannerism which stuck me was the seamless way she and her craft were connected. Essentially they were one, because it was so instinctual. My grandmother would often ask us questions about our day or what was going on in our lives, while she continued to roll the noodles, while others dried in formation along the counter.
Afterwards, my sister and I would count down the days until the noodle dinner. There are two things the Saint Ann's Altar Society dinner gave me an appreciation for: carbohydrates and coffee. For those who don't know me, my relationship with coffee borders on codependency. I often joke I need to add some more blood in my coffee stream. But this love began at the noodle dinner, because, besides the array of noodles and blackberry cobbler, a pot of black coffee would often sit steaming on the warming pad near the desserts. In my young mind, the act of drinking coffee was a rite of passage which only adults partook.
During the noodle dinner, my grandmother would always have a full cup of coffee by her side. Wanting to emulate her and to enter into the realm of adulthood, I had my first cup of coffee at the age of 10 at the noodle dinner, much to my parent's displeasure.
"It will stunt your growth," my mother would often yell at me after my third cup, despite the fact I am now over six feet tall. I guess the scientific evidence on that claim is inconclusive.
The difference though between my grandmother and I, is she is more much temperate with her coffee habits than I, considering I consume roughly 40 ounces of coffee a day.
This year the St. Ann's Altar Society will be hosting their noodle dinner on Friday, November 6, from 11 a.m. until 7 p.m. at St. Peter's Catholic Church hall, and already I have begun fasting.
For me, the noodle dinner represents much more than the food or the season. It takes me back to when I was a child, sitting in my grandmother's kitchen, watching her roll egg noodles, with a perpetual smile on her face.
Grant is a staff writer for the Greene County Daily World. He can be reached by telephone at (812) 847-4487, ext. 19. He can also be reached via email at gkarazsia@gmail.com.
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