Miss Lucy was the matriarch of the Lussenden family. She had lived in Montana all her life and had been the wife of Malcolm for some forty years. Together they had settled in the north west part of the state and owned some of the most beautiful ranch land in Montana. The ranch was called the “A Lazy 6”. She’d done it all... Birthed lambs, calves, fought off grizzlies, shot rattlesnakes, helped Malcom work the herd of their prized black angus cattle from the saddle of her Tobiano Paint mare. She was a real Montana Annie Oakley.
She wasn’t a style icon, but definitely had a style. She was always (I cant stress always enough) in pants (rayon - easy care polyester) and usually in green or light brown (you’ll understand in a minute). Her tops were (again, very easy care) patterned (colorful and bold) and short sleeved. Her outfits were always set off by her hair. It had always been, and would always be, a fiery orangie-red color that mysteriously escaped any grey. Mabel, one of the beauticians in the little town of Choteau that did Luciles hair, must have been sworn to secrecy about the color that she used to keep her hair that distinctive and never changing color.
The Lussenden ranch was adjacent to the bit of land my grand dad first bought in 1973. As Malcolm and Lucile had been ranching for almost all their lives and were ready to retire and in 1974 my grand dad bought the A Lazy 6. The ranch was about a 45 minute drive to town. All but the first 4 or 5 miles was a dirt road. In the winter storms that would snow them in for weeks at a time. The spring kept them busy with fixing fences to miles of jack-leg and pole barbed-wire fences. In the summer they would be busy with haying while the calves were born in the fall. No matter the reason or season, she had food in a pantry that would have lasted for months.... Months. Not just a cupboard with 3 shelves - but a room full of shelves filled with provisions that would “last for a good long while.”
From the turn off from the main road, the house was at the end of a 6 mile track and about halfway of that was visible from her kitchen window that looked east. She could see you coming. At first you could see just the dust and then the color and shape of what was coming up the drive. By the time you got to the house, she had a fresh pot of coffee and hot, out of the oven, sugar cookies waiting - every time. And this is how she did it.
(My dear grand mother being from the south always brought with her, her most impeccable manners. We had to use “Miss” in front of a woman's given name and “mister” before a man’s name. So she was always was - and still is to this day, Miss Lucy.)
Miss Lucy bought orange juice in frozen concentrate that came in the cardboard cans with metal lids. After she made orange juice, she would save the cans (and the lids). She would fill the cans with sugar cookie dough and loosely put the top lid back on and would keep these ever-ready cans of cookie dough in the refrigerator. When she saw someone coming up the road to the house, she would take the can, remove the top lid, use a can opener on the bottom lid and start pushing the dough thru the can, slicing a circle of dough off every 1/4 inch thick and laying these circles onto her baking tray. Into a hot oven where 6 or 7 minutes later were the most delicate, delicious treats. If you didn't already admire her for all she could do outside the house, this remarkable woman could not just cook, but she could bake.
No matter what impression I may have given you from the above paragraphs, I will always hold her in the highest regard. She not only shared many of her recipes with me and taught me about the mechanics of cooking and baking, but she also taught me one of my greatest life lessons.
A couple years later I had come to visit her at the home she and Malcolm bought after they moved away from the A Lazy 6. They lived right in town now, and because she didn't have the 10 minutes to prepare coffee and cookies after seeing someone coming up the drive, I stood in the kitchen chatting with her while she baked cookies for me. All those times before the cookies were ready before we walked into her kitchen. Now, I was seeing it happen from fridge, to oven, to plate. I knew she never used a kitchen timer and now the cookies had been in the oven for a few minutes and I innocently asked her “how do you know when they're done?” She went to the oven and opened the door and listened. She said to me, “you listen, it will always tell you when its ready.”
At the time, I really didn't pay too much attention. I thought it was a strange thing to say from a little bit of an odd woman in polyester with red hair. I don't know how many years later when I thought about what she said and how it stopped me in my tracks to contemplate this great truth she had laid before me.... Because its not just about listening into an oven filled with cookies. It is being with my daughter Haley, teaching her to drive a standard transmission truck and she asks, “how do you know when to shift?” - well you listen to the engine don’t you? It is about listening for the silence when someone is talking, letting them finish before you start talking. It is about being silently reminded to stop and listen to the quiet things in our very busy lives.
So here it is, Miss Lucy’s, Sugar Cookie recipe that she would make up in advance, as part of her store house of readiness and would always have on hand in orange juice cans, ready to bake at a moments notice.
Miss Lucy’s Sugar Cookies
1 c. butter
1 1/2 c. powdered sugar
1 c. white sugar
1 c. oil
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
4 c. flour
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cream of tartar
1 tsp. baking soda
Cream butter, powdered sugar, white sugar, oil, eggs, and vanilla. Mix in flour, salt, cream of tartar, and baking soda. Place dough on plastic wrap and mold into long sausage shaped rolls. Refrigerate overnight. Cut into circles 1/4’ thick. Leave a little room for spreading. Bake at 350 degrees for 8 minutes minutes. (Bake just until the edges start to turn golden. Don’t over bake.) Makes 75 cookies.
Posts
