Minnie Virginia <I>Derflinger</I> Sealock

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Minnie Virginia Derflinger Sealock

Birth
Warren County, Virginia, USA
Death
25 Mar 1998 (aged 95)
Louisa County, Virginia, USA
Burial
Front Royal, Warren County, Virginia, USA
Memorial ID
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Whenever I think of my Grandma, the first picture in my mind is of her in the kitchen of their farmhouse. The kitchen was the largest room in the house and was truly the "living room" of the house. I especially remember the wonderful cooking aromas from the food that she prepared on the wood-burning stove. She was a "real" cook, meaning that she knew how to cook anything without the use of recipes or measuring cups. She baked all of her own breads, cakes and pies. She canned her own fruits and vegetables and she made her own jellies and jams, churned her own butter and raised her own hens for eggs and "chicken every Sunday."

The chairs in front of the kitchen windows were the place to be in the kitchen. Right outside the kitchen windows was the kitchen garden where my Granddad spent long hours during the summer. (I can still picture him there, hoeing and growing the sweetest cantaloupes, the plumpest peas ... they grew all of the food that they consumed.) During the winter, Grandma and Granddaddy were entertained to sit by the kitchen windows and watch the few cars that went up and down the road. They read their books and newspapers there, they entertained any visitors there.

Looking at my Grandma's life makes me appreciate how different my life is. Any heat in the winter was provided by wood that Granddad chopped or by coal that was carried into the house by buckets. (Imagine how chilly the house was when they arose at 4:30AM to start their day.) Any water that came into the house was also carried in by the bucket. (Imagine having to pump and carry your bathwater into the house and heat it on the stove.) They had an outhouse which seemed to be, at least sometimes, a quarter of a mile from the house.

Grandma thought that her wedding ring was too precious to risk damaging so she kept it safely tucked away in her dresser. Her facial skin was lined with rows and rows of wrinkles and I used to think that she looked like an apple doll. Thinking about it now, I doubt that she ever owned a jar of moisturizer and, if some one had given her a jar of moisturizer, I doubt that she would have seen any value in using it.

She was a no-nonsense woman who told you what she expected of you and didn't expect to have to tell you twice.

My sister and I spent summers there on the farm and whimpered about having to leave the city and go to such a backward place where there was nothing fun to do. How I wish now that I could have even one day back there to sit by the kitchen window on Granddad's knee.
Whenever I think of my Grandma, the first picture in my mind is of her in the kitchen of their farmhouse. The kitchen was the largest room in the house and was truly the "living room" of the house. I especially remember the wonderful cooking aromas from the food that she prepared on the wood-burning stove. She was a "real" cook, meaning that she knew how to cook anything without the use of recipes or measuring cups. She baked all of her own breads, cakes and pies. She canned her own fruits and vegetables and she made her own jellies and jams, churned her own butter and raised her own hens for eggs and "chicken every Sunday."

The chairs in front of the kitchen windows were the place to be in the kitchen. Right outside the kitchen windows was the kitchen garden where my Granddad spent long hours during the summer. (I can still picture him there, hoeing and growing the sweetest cantaloupes, the plumpest peas ... they grew all of the food that they consumed.) During the winter, Grandma and Granddaddy were entertained to sit by the kitchen windows and watch the few cars that went up and down the road. They read their books and newspapers there, they entertained any visitors there.

Looking at my Grandma's life makes me appreciate how different my life is. Any heat in the winter was provided by wood that Granddad chopped or by coal that was carried into the house by buckets. (Imagine how chilly the house was when they arose at 4:30AM to start their day.) Any water that came into the house was also carried in by the bucket. (Imagine having to pump and carry your bathwater into the house and heat it on the stove.) They had an outhouse which seemed to be, at least sometimes, a quarter of a mile from the house.

Grandma thought that her wedding ring was too precious to risk damaging so she kept it safely tucked away in her dresser. Her facial skin was lined with rows and rows of wrinkles and I used to think that she looked like an apple doll. Thinking about it now, I doubt that she ever owned a jar of moisturizer and, if some one had given her a jar of moisturizer, I doubt that she would have seen any value in using it.

She was a no-nonsense woman who told you what she expected of you and didn't expect to have to tell you twice.

My sister and I spent summers there on the farm and whimpered about having to leave the city and go to such a backward place where there was nothing fun to do. How I wish now that I could have even one day back there to sit by the kitchen window on Granddad's knee.

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