STORIES BY FAMILY MEMBERS
Rachel Jane Wright was born on her grandfather Glynn Perry’s birthday, April 5th. Her mother is Janice K. Perry Wright, the youngest daughter of Glynn and Georgia.
They eat That for Breakfast in Tennessee?
Allow me to paint a picture for you. Let the flat expanses of the Midwest fade away into rolling green hills. Let the chatter of the cities disappear behind you and stretch into long southern drawls. Every year that I can remember I experienced this change of setting to visit my relatives on my mother’s side of the family. It was always a welcome change, since Tennessee finds warmth when Illinois is, as I’ll call it, seasonally deficient, and Maw-Maw would be cooking for us.
Maw-Maw, as we lovingly call our grandmother, was the best cook any of us could dare to imagine. She would cook for anyone and everyone, and it was not uncommon for dozens of people to stream in and out of the small, stuffy house in Lawrenceburg on Saturday mornings when we gathered for reunions.
Above me was always a parade of faces, although at my height there seemed to be only legs and torsos. Some relatives were familiar, others I had never seen before, although they always seemed to recognize me. Cousins, aunts, uncles, then second cousins and third all filed through, pecking Maw-Maw on the cheek as they passed. While they waited for the commencement of breakfast, the adults laughed amongst themselves, doted on the youngsters, and exchanged the common formalities usually associated with family gatherings. Whoever they were, they had all come for one thing.
Every southern woman has her staple food, be it peach cobbler, fried okra, maybe even grits. Maw-Maw’s was much different. I sat at the table with family, others spreading throughout the house in search of more space to accommodate the seventeen grandchildren and our parents. I was the youngest and, since I was always eager for attention as many children are, probably making a remark or silly observation to provoke laughter. Then the food came: fried potatoes peeled at five that morning, eggs, blackened sausage, and homemade biscuits. Then the gravy arrived as accompaniment to the larger portions of the menu, although it always held its own. There were always two kinds, one which appealed much more to my developing taste buds.
Brown and thick, it was poured over my open biscuit, still steaming on the plate. Like most children eager to eat, there was no delay, except my initial reaction of suspicion as to what this could actually be. It was sweet, and somehow similar to the pudding my sister and I shared on summer nights back home. Was it what I thought it was? It was …chocolate. For breakfast! It was too good to be true. Needless to say, there were never leftovers, and lunch was seldom necessary.
In later years, my mother and my older sister each tried to duplicate the somewhat complicated recipe, which was never written down but recorded only in my grandmother’s head. As it turns out, she has never measured her ingredients – only taste. There is something to be learned of cooking from women who have been married since they were fifteen years old.
We always came back reluctantly to the infinity of desolate fields stretching east and west, often black from the cold bite of winter, and adjusted to the cool talk of the bustling south suburbs. Days later we still carried the voices of the south in our throats and the tastes of chocolate gravy, fried okra, and hominy on our tongues. In my mind, as it was in every one else’s, I impatiently anticipated the next time I would be led back, and have the joy of breakfast at Maw-Maw’s.
- Rachel Jane Wright (2009)-
Maw-Maw, as we lovingly call our grandmother, was the best cook any of us could dare to imagine. She would cook for anyone and everyone, and it was not uncommon for dozens of people to stream in and out of the small, stuffy house in Lawrenceburg on Saturday mornings when we gathered for reunions.
Above me was always a parade of faces, although at my height there seemed to be only legs and torsos. Some relatives were familiar, others I had never seen before, although they always seemed to recognize me. Cousins, aunts, uncles, then second cousins and third all filed through, pecking Maw-Maw on the cheek as they passed. While they waited for the commencement of breakfast, the adults laughed amongst themselves, doted on the youngsters, and exchanged the common formalities usually associated with family gatherings. Whoever they were, they had all come for one thing.
Every southern woman has her staple food, be it peach cobbler, fried okra, maybe even grits. Maw-Maw’s was much different. I sat at the table with family, others spreading throughout the house in search of more space to accommodate the seventeen grandchildren and our parents. I was the youngest and, since I was always eager for attention as many children are, probably making a remark or silly observation to provoke laughter. Then the food came: fried potatoes peeled at five that morning, eggs, blackened sausage, and homemade biscuits. Then the gravy arrived as accompaniment to the larger portions of the menu, although it always held its own. There were always two kinds, one which appealed much more to my developing taste buds.
Brown and thick, it was poured over my open biscuit, still steaming on the plate. Like most children eager to eat, there was no delay, except my initial reaction of suspicion as to what this could actually be. It was sweet, and somehow similar to the pudding my sister and I shared on summer nights back home. Was it what I thought it was? It was …chocolate. For breakfast! It was too good to be true. Needless to say, there were never leftovers, and lunch was seldom necessary.
In later years, my mother and my older sister each tried to duplicate the somewhat complicated recipe, which was never written down but recorded only in my grandmother’s head. As it turns out, she has never measured her ingredients – only taste. There is something to be learned of cooking from women who have been married since they were fifteen years old.
We always came back reluctantly to the infinity of desolate fields stretching east and west, often black from the cold bite of winter, and adjusted to the cool talk of the bustling south suburbs. Days later we still carried the voices of the south in our throats and the tastes of chocolate gravy, fried okra, and hominy on our tongues. In my mind, as it was in every one else’s, I impatiently anticipated the next time I would be led back, and have the joy of breakfast at Maw-Maw’s.
- Rachel Jane Wright (2009)-
Margie Marie McClaren Beckman
March 16, 1916 - September 19, 2008
Margie had a close relationship with her cousins Maggie (Perry Clayton) Heuer and Mary (Perry) Coats all their lives. They grew up together and spent much time together. Margie’s mother; Nora Matthews McClaren, was an older sister to Virgie Matthews Perry, mother of Maggie and Mary.
By the 1980s and 90s, Mary, Maggie, their husbands and brother, Glynn Perry and his wife Georgie had all moved back to Lawrenceburg TN from Kankakee IL.. Most of the men enjoyed playing cards, fishing, and gardening. The women were excellent quilters, but I think what they enjoyed most (besides kids & grand kids) were their occasional girls-day-out trips to the malls in Columbia TN or Florence AL – without their husbands.
“The M&Ms”
Mary, Maggie, Margie and Mother would head out early in the day and not return until late afternoon so of course they ‘had’ to eat out – which I thought was the main purpose for the trips anyway. I was fortunate enough to have made one of those trips with them.
These ladies would have such a hilarious time, laughing and cutting up and of course would always come back with a funny (sometimes humiliating) story about one of them; so it’s very doubtful that they did much shopping. I did notice that there always seemed to be a purchase that just didn’t fit right or the color was all wrong, or something, so naturally that required another (alas!) trip to return the item. Imagine that!
Melbourne Florida
Mary told the story of an earlier trip that she and Margie made to visit Maggie where she lived in Melbourne Florida. On one of their outings; Mary parked in the car in front of a store and waited for Margie to go in to pick up an item. In the mean time, a man pulled in next to Mary’s car – in a vehicle of the same color. When Margie returned she went directly to the man’s car and opened the door to get in. The gentleman told her he thought she had the wrong car. Mary was laughing so hard, she couldn’t even blow the horn to alert Margie. After getting over the initial embarrassment and annoyance; Margie did eventually laugh about this incident; but didn’t find it as funny as Mary.
March 16, 1916 - September 19, 2008
Margie had a close relationship with her cousins Maggie (Perry Clayton) Heuer and Mary (Perry) Coats all their lives. They grew up together and spent much time together. Margie’s mother; Nora Matthews McClaren, was an older sister to Virgie Matthews Perry, mother of Maggie and Mary.
By the 1980s and 90s, Mary, Maggie, their husbands and brother, Glynn Perry and his wife Georgie had all moved back to Lawrenceburg TN from Kankakee IL.. Most of the men enjoyed playing cards, fishing, and gardening. The women were excellent quilters, but I think what they enjoyed most (besides kids & grand kids) were their occasional girls-day-out trips to the malls in Columbia TN or Florence AL – without their husbands.
“The M&Ms”
Mary, Maggie, Margie and Mother would head out early in the day and not return until late afternoon so of course they ‘had’ to eat out – which I thought was the main purpose for the trips anyway. I was fortunate enough to have made one of those trips with them.
These ladies would have such a hilarious time, laughing and cutting up and of course would always come back with a funny (sometimes humiliating) story about one of them; so it’s very doubtful that they did much shopping. I did notice that there always seemed to be a purchase that just didn’t fit right or the color was all wrong, or something, so naturally that required another (alas!) trip to return the item. Imagine that!
Melbourne Florida
Mary told the story of an earlier trip that she and Margie made to visit Maggie where she lived in Melbourne Florida. On one of their outings; Mary parked in the car in front of a store and waited for Margie to go in to pick up an item. In the mean time, a man pulled in next to Mary’s car – in a vehicle of the same color. When Margie returned she went directly to the man’s car and opened the door to get in. The gentleman told her he thought she had the wrong car. Mary was laughing so hard, she couldn’t even blow the horn to alert Margie. After getting over the initial embarrassment and annoyance; Margie did eventually laugh about this incident; but didn’t find it as funny as Mary.
