I wonder how many gallons of homemade yogurt I made as you were growing up. Once I made that first batch, there was no turning back! Your dad said, “I will never be able to eat store-bought yogurt again.” And as far as I know, he hasn’t! For a slightly sweet yogurt, include less than one-third cup of sugar, but if you like it unsweet, don’t add the sugar. Either way it is delicious and, like you always said, “Filled with strength and nutrients!” We’d dollop this on waffles and always ate in on the side with pancakes or oatmeal casserole, and we made countless yogurt parfaits! Again, I only used milk from Bud’s farm, but if you move away, I hope you can find fresh milk at a local farm near you. Remember, don’t let the milk get over 200°F while it is on the stove, and when it cools, don’t let it go below 100°F.
Lauren flips the card over and reads the directions: Pour one gallon of milk into a pot and heat it to 180°F to 200°F. Scrape off the skin from the top and let it cool to between 100°F and 110°F. Add one cup of whole yogurt as a starter, one to two tablespoons of vanilla, and not quite one-third cup of sugar (or no sugar at all). Stir it all together, put a lid on it, and place it inside the oven with the oven light on. If your oven has two oven lights, it will get too warm. If you do have two lights, just let the oven heat up for an hour or so and then turn the oven lights off. If you only have one oven light, you can keep it on for the next eight to twelve hours. (Some people put the pot on a heating pad to keep warm, but I think the oven works better. To each his own.) Take the pot out of the oven and line a large colander with food-grade cheesecloth. Put the colander inside a large bowl and pour the yogurt into it. Set it inside the fridge to let it drain to the consistency you love! I have forgotten to put the colander inside a bowl and trust me, you end up with a mess! Give it a stir and put it into a container. Will keep for up to two weeks and boy, oh boy, is it ever yummy! Don’t let the idea of homemade yogurt scare you. You watched me make it countless times. Now try it yourself. She included four happy faces that each had hair of different lengths and some faces wore glasses. Lauren looks at each face, wondering if they represent individual family members.
Lauren lets the milk cool to 110°F as she gets ready for Glory’s Place and then adds the cup of yogurt, tablespoon of vanilla, and about a quarter cup of sugar. She covers it with a lid and places it inside the oven and turns the oven light on. “Hmm,” she says. “I can’t imagine this is going to work.”
When she arrives at Glory’s Place, she sticks her head inside Gloria’s office. “Hi, Gloria! Any more goodies today?”
Gloria shakes her head. “I wish. How are you feeling, babe?”
“Pretty good! It feels like my baby bump is getting bigger.”
Gloria stands up from her desk to take a better look. “I don’t see a bump. If you want to see a bump, take a look at Miriam’s.”
“I heard that, Gloria!” Miriam says from the entryway.
Lauren turns as if headed to the big room, but stops, looking back at Gloria. “Hey, Gloria! Have you ever heard of a farmer named Bud in this area?”
Gloria’s mouth turns down as she thinks. “That name doesn’t ring a bell. What kind of farmer?”
“I think a dairy farmer.”
“Dairy farmer. No, I don’t know of one, but I haven’t been here as long as others. Check with Dalton or Heddy. Why are you trying to find him?”
Lauren shrugs. “I just heard that he had a dairy farm. Was wondering about buying some fresh milk.”
“Ah, looking into healthier foods for you and the baby! I know that Neil Wassman sells milk out on Portland Road, if that helps.”
“Thanks, Gloria!” Lauren makes her way to the lockers and wonders if Neil Wassman knows of Bud, or if Bud is even from Grandon or the area. If she could track down Bud, maybe she could track down the owner of the recipe cards and give them back to her. She knows it’s a long shot, but if they were her cards, filled with so many family memories, she would want them back. The least she can do is try to find him.
FOURTEEN
September 1972
John puts money into the vending machine and watches as a paper cup drops into place. He pushes the button for coffee, and a line of black liquid fills the cup. He lifts the plastic window, retrieves the coffee, and turns to find a table, spotting a man sitting alone, reading a book about woodcraft. “I actually have that book in my workshop right now,” John says, approaching the man.
The man, around John’s age, looks up. “No kidding! I’ve made a few things, but I’m basically a beginner.”
“Me, too,” John says.
The man points to the bench across from him. “You’re welcome to join me.” John sits and the man extends his hand. “I’m Larry.”
John shakes his hand. “John. So, what all have you made? Do you have your own shop?”
Larry laughs. “Well, I call it my shop. My wife calls it the garage. Someday, I hope to live in a place that will allow me to have a shop out back. I’ve made a couple of end tables that would never win any prizes, but they’re functional. I’m reading about how to make a kitchen table. How about you?”
John scratches his head. “Um, I seemed to bypass starting off by making end tables and went directly from making picture frames to making a kitchen table.” Larry smiles, listening. “I had hoped to have it done by October and then I moved it to Thanksgiving, but now, I don’t know.”
Larry notices as John’s face darkens and says, “So, what are you here for? Are things okay?”
John looks at the table and clears his throat. “My wife had part of a lung removed three days ago. Cancer.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Have the doctors told you anything?”
“They don’t seem to have much good to say right now. It started out as breast cancer a couple of months ago and it spread.”
Quiet engulfs the table, and for a moment John wishes he hadn’t sat down. “Doctors don’t always get it right,” Larry says. “Forty years ago, they gave my mother two months to live. She just celebrated her seventy-second birthday.”
John looks up at him. “What happened?”
Larry shakes his head, trying to put it into words. “I’m not a minister or a pastor or a chaplain. I’m just a man that looks at a piece of wood and knows it comes from a tree and realizes that we haven’t been able to create a seed, let alone a tree. From that tree we’re able to make homes, furniture, wagons, boats, and whatever else. I know that when I blink that man can’t create anything to match that.” He folds his hands on the table and looks down at them. “So, my mother got sick and we prayed to God, who said He created the trees. Our church prayed. Family from all over prayed. And we left the prayers with God.” John listens to him with interest. “But we had also prayed for my grandfather, who died at sixty just a year earlier.” John’s face clouds over. “All I know is God is big enough and powerful enough to create a tree and a seed and big enough to restructure a damaged heart and get rid of cancer cells. I believe that, John. I really do. I don’t know why that happens for some people and not others. I don’t know why my grandpa died and my mother lived. But when people are sick, I pray for them because that’s what I can do. I leave the rest to God and however He sees fit to heal … or not heal here on earth.”