The Indian in the window

In my grandmother’s home there was a small room we called the ‘kitchen nook,’ and sitting upon the window sill was a wondrous Indian statue. The Indian could not have been much more than 3 or 4 inches tall, but it regularly commanded my childlike attention owing to its unique daily predictions.

You see, this small Indian statue held within its features a weather forecast. The Indian had dark hair parted in the middle, with long braids hanging down each side of its head. He also had a headband with typical wigwam type markings and a single feather standing tall at the back.

His feet were encased in moccasins that resembled some type of animal hide. On his upper arms he had more decorated bands, and there was a medallion on his chest hanging from his neck. The only clothing my Indian wore was a loincloth. It was this singular garment that had the mysterious ability to predict the weather.

The loincloth regularly displayed a definite color change that corresponded to the weather conditions of the day. When the weather was normal and sunny, the loincloth presented a discernible blue. Conversely, when there was rain or other approaching weather storm conditions, it turned to a shade of pink. It had a poem on the apron:

“Apron blue

Sky is too.

Apron pink

Weather stink”

It would be years before I began to understand that within the tiny Indian statue, there must have been some type of barometric device which measured the change in atmospheric pressure. When a low-pressure system was approaching it caused the blue loin cloth to change to pink.

I spent a lot of time at my grandparent’s when I was very young. Unlike today’s world, we hardly had any concept of the word or practice of babysitting. Since my mother was a teacher, my grandparents kept me at their home many days and nights. That house at 628 South Cedar Street in Nevada and its distinctive rooms and attractions, remains imprinted upon my mind still today. Time has faded many of my life’s memories, but some like grandmother’s Indian weatherman are as fresh today as ever.

When I think of that breakfast nook and my Indian, other familiar recollections return to me. Grandmother’s table and chairs in that nook were of a style rarely seen these days. The frames of the table and chairs were a shiny almost stainless steel like metal. The tabletop and the chair seats and backs were a matching green in shade. The tabletop green was designed to resemble some type of granite or marble.

The nook had just enough room for the table and six chairs. Each end of the table had one chair, and one of these rested right under my Indian of the window.

My grandmother was what we called in those days a housewife. She never held a regular job, but that didn’t mean she did not work. At that nook table, my grandfather, myself, and any other family or friends were often daily treated to three full course meals.

Breakfast was never a quick or simple affair. Most mornings grandmother’s nook table would always find a breakfast meat and eggs, but that was only the beginning. Her homemade from scratch biscuits were rich and flaky, and more often than not there was accompanying gravy.

Her table always contained several containers of jams, jellies, syrups, or honey. My grandfather had bee hives. Grandmother had a cut glass dish with a lid and there was always honey and honeycomb in that dish. She kept a glass butter dish with a lid on the table, and it was always soft and easy to spread on a biscuit, slice of toast, or a pancake.

Grandmother was notorious for her ability to cook for a large group. Even if it was just for the three of us, she prepared enough food as if all six chairs were occupied by grown hungry men. Truth be know, even if there had been a full table of guests in the nook, there would have been a lot of leftovers.

Some of those leftovers remained on the nook table at the conclusion of each meal. Grandmother always had a colorful tablecloth which she would spread over the remaining food and table condiments. In today’s world we would all be fearful of food poisoning, but that was just how people lived back then.

My grandfather was the Presiding Judge of Vernon County for eight years during the ‘50s (that office is now referred to as the Presiding Commissioner). He would come to breakfast and lunch at that nook table each weekday wearing a dress shirt and tie. Grandmother had a bib that she would hand to him so he would not get any food or beverages spilled on his good clothes. Since I always wanted to be like him, she let me have my own bib too. Sometimes today I wish I had that old bib, as my aim seems to be less certain as I am aging.

I looked at my Indian several times a day to see if he was changing his color and the weather prediction. My grandfather loved to go fishing and take me along. Of course, we avoided fishing in inclement weather but he also felt that the fishing was best when the barometric pressure was not high. When my Indian’s loincloth was a nice shade of pink, and there was no storm outside, I would remind Grandfather that it was fishing weather.

My grandparents home is still there, but I am uncertain if the nook remains intact. What is gone for sure is my Indian weatherman. He was a daily part of those memorable youthful years that I spent in the care of those Grandparents. Over the past few days we have been experiencing some spring thunderstorms. Oh, how I wish I could spend just one more morning eating breakfast with them and checking my Indian’s loincloth.