The Fridge

Published in Artifacts – Hogsback Heritage Project, Boulder Heritage Foundation, 2011

The frost crawls across the windows as the bright December sun peeks over the Henry Mountains. Warm rays hit my face as I forget my dreams and awake to a new one- Boulder, Utah. As I roll out of bed, my frozen toes hit the cream pie colored carpet. The scent of grandma’s biscuits and gravy dance through my nostrils and I follow the scent to the kitchen. There she stands, Grandma Elaine in her stylish teal, silk muumuu and gray crew socks, her shining, silvery hair in red, yellow, and blue rollers. A wooden spoon stirs the pot of gravy, carefully guided by Grandma’s worn and wrinkled hand. She tells me to go get some strawberries from the old fridge that sits quietly in the corner of the kitchen.

That ancient fridge has watched this family grow up. It laughed with the family at countless reunions when the uncles and aunts would tell each other’s stories from childhood. The fridge saw babies born and held homemade apple sauce for toddlers to eat. It held meat from countless hunting trophies and smelled them sizzling over the stove. That old fridge knew each child’s name that came into the kitchen and what they were hungry for. It was the only family member who heard Wesley ask for someone to, “Please pass the potatoes” the first eighteen times before he had to yell it at the top of his lungs during family dinner. It watched a family thrive and laugh together, but it also witnessed the tears that fell the day Grandpa died. It was grateful that it was but a fridge and never had to go through losing someone.

The fridge stood in awe as the woman I call Grandma finished raising seven kids without a husband. The fridge stayed up late with her as she sewed beautiful dresses for her daughters’ prom. It listened closely as she told her kids the stories of her ancestors while she was doing genealogy. The fridge heard everything, but it never revealed any secrets. Years passed and the fridge got older. New grandbabies sprang forth and that old fridge was joined by a state of the art Maytag with a shiny white finish, but Grandma just couldn’t toss it out. Now, pushed to the corner, that old fridge still chugs along, but it holds so much more than just fruit and vegetables- it holds a history. It knows our family and our friends. It shares our memories and though it’s meant to keep things cold, in our hearts, it still makes us warm.