Last night, a friend asked me “Did your mom put baking soda in her peanut brittle as she was stirring it”? My answer was “No, Birdie made our peanut brittle”. It will be 66 years ago tomorrow—December 22nd, that Birdie came into our familie’s life. It was a Monday morning and my dad had written on the kitchen chalk board “Congratulations—You have a brand new baby brother—Donald Paul Pumphrey”. I was met in the kitchen by a woman I had been introduced to a couple of weeks before. Her name was Georgianna Bird, she went by Birdie. She became our part time professional grand mother. Truth be told, after the birth of my brother Charlie, my mom went into a horrific postpartum psychosis in 1953. Birdie came to provide support to my awesome mom.
Looking back, I think Birdie was one of the best investments my parents ever made. Today Birdie would be called a nanny but in 1958 she was my mom’s support system. Birdie was born on a ranch near Westcliffe. Colorado. She was the essence of frontier grit. She had five grown children of her own and went to work for three families doing light housework, cooking and caring for kids. Birdie was a most beautiful soul and knew just how to talk with kids and how to engage us in daily life.
Every Friday she came and helped out. She would do ironing, light housework, and truly be a companion for my mom. Each Friday my mom would go to town and have her “hair fixed”, and nearly every Friday evening my parents would go out on a date with friends. It was great because we had Birdie.
Now to the peanut brittle. Every December from then on, we would dedicate that evening to baking and candy making. It was better than science class experiments. I remember her making the sugar based candy part in a big kettle, then adding raw peanuts. When the thermometer hit the exact spot she would put in the baking soda and magic would happen. The kettle would foam and the stirring frenzy begin. Soon it was time to scoop it out and spread it on cookie sheets. Then the hard part…waiting for it to cool.
We would then break the solid sheets into pieces all the while eating our way through it. I do know that my dad was a peanut brittle expert and ours always met his standards.
Birdie became part of our family. Long after we needed a baby sitter, she came just to be with us. When Don was killed at age 20, she was one of the first people there. She was a rock. I remember holding her as she cried and said, “He was one of my own”.
Birdie and her husband George moved to Arizona and took up golf. She played well into her late 80’s. She was a treasure of warmth and wisdom. This dive into my memory was brought about by the simple question about how peanut brittle was made in my house.
I just went to Amazon and ordered some “Grandma’s Old Fashioned Peanut Brittle”. It is supposed to be here tomorrow. I will celebrate Don’s 66th birthday and Birdie, as Mary Kay and I try not to break our teeth.
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 