It must have been an exciting day when Grandpa finished building their root cellar. It must have been somewhere around 1920.
When Grandma decided that we needed some potatoes or a jar of applesauce for supper in the middle of the winter we would put our coats on and trek hand in hand down the path Grandpa had already swept for us. Grandma would open the slanted door and we would go down 5 or 6 steps. She would then pull the keys out of her coat pocket and unlock the wooden door at the bottom of the stairs. As the door creaked open the smell of earth and root vegetables would fill your nostrils.... the smell of the root cellar. To think of that wonderful rooty, earthy smell brings it all back.
As my eyes adjusted to the gloom of the one light bulb, crocks of sand with carrots, wooden boxes of potatoes, shelves of canned goods as well as tins of store bought bargains. Anything that she could stash away for the winter was on the shelves or in boxes underneath.
This was her special place and it was to be treated with respect. I'm sure she must have felt so good to know she was providing for her family every time she unlocked that door and saw the work of her hands waiting to feed us. Diane