In the late twenties, my family lived a mile from a very small village, Tolstoi (three hitching posts, general store with a post office, a blacksmith's shop, a hall, and a couple of churches). At this time, coal oil (kerosene) was used for lamps, lanterns (a substitute for flashlights), medication for farm animals with insect sting swellings or open cuts, ridding of lice, setting fire to a pile of debris, starting a smudge to suffocate pesky mosquitoes at resting places for cattle at night, destroying wasps' nests, camou- flaging skunk odor, as an antiseptic, and ad infinitum.

One day, Mother sent me to the store to get some coal oil. I brought with me an empty half-gallon can with a pinky-finger size tubular spout. The storekeeper filled and corked it with a gumdrop, the sight of which evoked a gleam in my eyes. Instantly, my mouth watered so profusely that it dribbled down my chin. Candy! Only on special occasions like Easter, Christmas and birthdays, would mother buy five cents' worth or splurge with ten cents' worth of candy.

On my way home, I wrestled with the idea of removing the gumdrop and savouring it. Now, I wouldn't want the coal oil to spill out! Like in the Dirty thirties, it was a struggle for existence, and so every drop of coal oil had to be accounted for. After half a mile of restraint, my resistance completely disintegrated. I decided to remove the gumdrop, and just have a couple of licks of the sugar on it. One relished lick led to another and another, and still another, 'til no sugar remained. Not one grain!

At this point my will power to replace the gumdrop was NIL. I proceeded to take a teeny bite of the candy, and just mull it around in my mouth until it dissolved. No chewing! I wanted the pleasure to last at least half a mile.

By the time I reached home, only the gumdrop core, drenched with coal oil remained. I couldn't bear to part even with that small bit. So, I approached the well, pumped out some water, and washed out the core as best I could.

The Finale! Not entirely what I had anticipated. Then, not quite as smugly as the cat who ate the canary, I took the coil oil to Mother.In the late twenties, my family lived a mile from a very small village, Tolstoi (three hitching posts, general store with a post office, a blacksmith's shop, a hall, and a couple of churches). At this time, coal oil (kerosene) was used for lamps, lanterns (a substitute for flashlights), medication for farm animals with insect sting swellings or open cuts, ridding of lice, setting fire to a pile of debris, starting a smudge to suffocate pesky mosquitoes at resting places for cattle at night, destroying wasps' nests, camou- flaging skunk odor, as an antiseptic, and ad infinitum.

One day, Mother sent me to the store to get some coal oil. I brought with me an empty half-gallon can with a pinky-finger size tubular spout. The storekeeper filled and corked it with a gumdrop, the sight of which evoked a gleam in my eyes. Instantly, my mouth watered so profusely that it dribbled down my chin. Candy! Only on special occasions like Easter, Christmas and birthdays, would mother buy five cents' worth or splurge with ten cents' worth of candy.

On my way home, I wrestled with the idea of removing the gumdrop and savouring it. Now, I wouldn't want the coal oil to spill out! Like in the Dirty thirties, it was a struggle for existence, and so every drop of coal oil had to be accounted for. After half a mile of restraint, my resistance completely disintegrated. I decided to remove the gumdrop, and just have a couple of licks of the sugar on it. One relished lick led to another and another, and still another, 'til no sugar remained. Not one grain!

At this point my will power to replace the gumdrop was NIL. I proceeded to take a teeny bite of the candy, and just mull it around in my mouth until it dissolved. No chewing! I wanted the pleasure to last at least half a mile.

By the time I reached home, only the gumdrop core, drenched with coal oil remained. I couldn't bear to part even with that small bit. So, I approached the well, pumped out some water, and washed out the core as best I could.

The Finale! Not entirely what I had anticipated.

Then, not quite as smugly as the cat who ate the canary, I took the coal oil to Mother.

"Where's the plug?"

"I dunno." Mother looked directly at me and awaited further information. "I guess I must've lost it."

“What was it? An onion?”

“No … er … er … it was a gumdrop.”

With a hovering smile, she commented, “Say no more.” She took the coal oil, turned, and went to fill the lamps.

P.S
In 1997, my nine-year old grandson, David, wallows in chocolate and candy. On Hallowe’en, he collects enough sweets to fill a three-gallon pail … half of which his mom throws out, without his knowing.

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