My granmother lived with us and raised me during the many times in my childhood when Mother was "gone". Although she was my maternal grandmother, she'd stay with Dad and us kids at the farm while Mother was off on whatever adventure she was pursuing at that moment. She cooked like so many other mothers and grandmothers, she never measured anything, it was all by the way it looked or felt. She taught me to bake bread when I was 7, saying that I couldn't hurt it, the more I handled it the better it would be. I still bake bread by feel and smile at what she would have thought of all the "weighing to the exact ounce" recipes. She always baked the family's bread and I remember going to school with peanut butter and homemade jam on homemade bread and thinking the other kids were lucky to have that squishy white Wonder bread. Now I don't know what the heck I was thinking. The peanut butter came out of a metal pail, it was Shedd's. My earliest memory, though, is of standing on a chair at the kitchen sink, peeling tomatoes for canning. I was about 4, maybe younger. That's funny about the snacks, Boo, Grandma used to tell us the same thing. I still like sweet corn raw, right off the stalk! Annie

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