America Stokes

America holding our son Charlie.

America Stokes was a large, round woman, cream colored, her hair always in a bun.  She had lovely skin; she must have been pretty when she was young.  She wore moccasins; her hose were rolled down around her ankles.  Perhaps they could not have been stretched over her large calves.

America worked for my grandparents, who died within a few months of each other. She went to work for my parents who were just 23 years old. America greeted me when I first made my appearance and was always there--caring, not just for me, but for us.

She was one of the finest cooks who ever lived. I think her secret ingredient was cigarette ash (Lucky Strike). I never saw one fall into what she was cooking but the ashes were so very long and they had to go someplace.

I still dream of America’s biscuits, her cherry pie with interlaced strips across the top, her fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, venison, cabrito, frijole beans.

We went to the ranch in the summers. America brought three grandchildren, We had such good times together.

By the time I went to college, America was an old woman. Despite not getting around well, when I returned, she would come to my parent’s home to make me biscuits, or to meet my wife or greet our son.

Lasting gifts I received from America are kindness, stability, loving friendships continuing over 70 years with her children and grandchildren and a deep set of priceless memories.