August 2019: Yup, just coffee.
By Guy Trammell Jr.
My father always told me as I was growing up that “coffee will make you black.” Well, oops. . . too late!
I was never much of a coffee person. My parents mainly served coffee to guests. Our hot beverage of choice was tea. From Indonesia we brought back tea sets that had lids or covers for each tea cup. I loved using the lids, along with a practice I had learned there, substituting milk for lemon with my tea.
When I was in grade school my great uncle, Robert L. Waggener, began living with us. By then in his late 90s, he had been a machinist, the precursor to modern engineers. He had worked for Booker T. Washington, setting the White Hall Dormitory clock each year. The chimes were heard throughout Tuskegee Institute’s Greenwood community.
When my uncle began living with us, I first experienced the smell of coffee, brewed each morning for his breakfast. Senility had set in, and I marveled as he sprinkled sugar on his eggs, salt in his coffee, and enjoyed the meal.
At the Millennium, I was blessed with a trip to Seattle, a noted coffee city. However, I will always regret that when my cousin asked if I drank coffee, I said, “not really.” I later learned she had planned a coffee tour of Seattle, which I would have thoroughly enjoyed, with my two sugars and a little cream.
Two of my favorite ways to enjoy the coffee bean is in mocha ice cream and in Mexican cuisine.
Ethiopia is said to be the original source of coffee. Ethiopian faculty and staff from Tuskegee University’s College of Veterinary Medicine conducted a “Coffee Ceremony” in the early 2000s and involved children from the community. Participants wore traditional Ethiopian clothing, actually roasted the beans, then brewed the coffee. Popcorn was served, followed by a traditional Ethiopian meal. The children never forgot the experience.
George Washington Carver created coffee from peanuts, which was used by the U.S. government during the World War 2 supply shortages. Carver enjoyed a cup of coffee and conversation each week in front of Vaughn’s Feed and Seed on Lee Street with the white owner. Many of Tuskegee’s white citizens didn’t appreciate seeing the two of them sitting and chatting, but that didn’t bother Carver, and Vaughn knew they still had to patronize his store for their farm supplies, so they just enjoyed the afternoon together.
Enjoy another fresh cup, and please pass me the sugar and cream!
By Amy Miller
I married a man who doesn’t drink coffee. That’s a big deal considering what a cup of coffee represents.
Once, when I was a 24-year-old reporter and having a bad day, a reporter from another newspaper invited me over for coffee.
“Come after deadline, I’ll make us a pot of coffee and we can talk,” Shawne offered. Later she laughed at how adult that sounded, maybe like two suburban housewives, which we were not and never would become. It struck us as funny she should use this grownup invitation to offer me a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. But we already understood that the pot of coffee was a prop, the backdrop for friendship while she tried to take care of me.
This notion is so global that when I googled “cuppa .. Australia” I got, “New Aussie slang … usually tea or coffee. Example: Why don’t you come on over and we’ll talk about it over a cuppa?”
Years later, while managing a night in a tent with my son, a new friend with more extensive camping arrangements handed me a cup of coffee when I wandered over to say good morning. Art knew I didn’t have a coffeemaker in my barebones set-up across the pine needles. Helping me start the day off right with a fresh cup was a warm step in a growing friendship.
Sometimes my sister and I talk about our blessings on this planet. We are, of course, grateful for our health, our children’s health, material comforts, a loving family and each other. But some days, it is purely the ability to make a cup of coffee, pour in fresh cream and drink it at our kitchen windows, in our cars or at our desks that makes life feel worth living. Sometimes, it’s just having a neighbor invite me over for coffee, for the thousandth time, that makes me feel like the luckiest person alive.
In 2001, when I opened a coffee shop and used bookstore on South Berwick’s Main Street, I envisioned a community living room where we could share our woes, celebrate our victories and slow down while sipping a beverage and bantering about books. Even my husband loved to be there during the five years we had this money-losing enterprise.
I can actually live without my daily cup of coffee. Sometimes I even forget to have it. But my non-imbibing husband understands coffee is my comfort. He will stop at any cafe, even drive out of the way, so I can put my feet on the dash and enjoy an ice coffee while on this road trip.
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Guy and Amy can be reached at colorusconnected@gmail.com
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