The Minnesota Farm Woman

I found a lovely little English biscuit jar the other day while at a garage sale. The lady selling this treasure was somewhat apologetic when I picked it up, showing me the repairs that had been done to the lid and the two tiny chips around the rim. I think that something that is probably from the early 1900’s is in good shape no matter what condition it is in. In Victorian times and shortly afterward, about the time this biscuit jar was made, things were much more refined than they are now. There was a utensil for nearly everything from fish to grapes and tea was served from a pot made of silver or fine china. Having tea was a time to relax, visit, and have a bite to eat. The English served little sandwiches, fancy cakes, and biscuits with their tea. When we visited England about 15 years ago and went to tea, which is kind of like going to lunch, I learned that a biscuit is another name for a cookie and that a scone is just a fancy biscuit. The dainty little scones were only slightly sweet and served with jam and clotted cream thick enough to spread with a knife. It would have been easy to eat a dozen, but things were not quite as casual as they are on this side of the ocean, where having a cookie usually means passing a bag of Oreos around the table and pouring a glass of milk. The biscuits were served on doilies on top of little plates but not out of biscuit jars. Those were probably already in grandmothers’ houses in china cabinets gathering dust. The one I bought the other day for the bargain price of one dollar has obviously been used but not abused. I gladly paid my dollar and would have probably paid more but decided not to mention it, keeping my mouth shut for once in my life. I almost exploded with the silence of it all. Although we don’t eat a lot of biscuits or cookies around our house, I found another use for this lovely piece from the past: It will be in the bathroom filled with my favorite lavender-scented bath salts. If it gets another chip, it will only add to the history, and perhaps a generation from now, someone else will run their fingers along the rim and wonder how it got there. Old things are meant to be used and enjoyed, otherwise, they are nothing more than dust gatherers in someone’s grandmother’s china cabinet, later to be sold at the estate sale for the same price as a cup of tea.