On the eighth day before Christmas.......
.........Buttermilk biscuits were made for supper using my grandmother's red, wooden handled pastry cutter.
If this little gadget could talk it would tell of all the many batches of biscuits it has helped "cut" through the years. My grandmother made biscuits in the morning and once again in the evening without fail. She had a little pantry off her kitchen with a window that overlooked a handmade bird feeder. The shelf was low since my grandmother was a little woman with a stature of only five feet. On it rested a wooden board, a wooden rolling pin, the wooden handled pastry cutter and the biscuit cutter. Every morning she put together the ingredients for her biscuits, tossed a dusting of flour over the wooden surface and began the timeless movements of creating.....a humble batch of biscuits.
When my brothers, sister and I barreled into her house later on during the day, we could always anticipate finding cold biscuits setting on a plate on the kitchen counter. To us no other snack would be as special. It was only later, as a grown-up woman, that I realized she had a way of making the simple things seem divine even in a treat of leftover biscuits.
I love the heritage of carrying on the task of biscuit making. I by no means make them every day, but I can not think of any better way to say love than in a batch of biscuits!
