As we pushed the door open and the old cowbell rung loudly, we would see her first. She used to sit on a stool beside the counter, chain smoking cigarettes, and stubbing them into a glass ashtray, her flowered caftan flowing down to the floor over her rounded figure, her upper lip hair left natural, and her beehive hairdo so impressive it almost defied nature. If I close my eyes, I can hear her raspy voice saying “what do you kids need today ?”
As I fry these “Grovenstines” sausages this morning, gifted to me by my good friend and butcher Trevor Perry (I have a brother Trevor and a husband Trevor and a Butcher Trevor-important to make distinctions), I remember vividly the figurehead and matriarch named Mary Lou Grovenstine.
My best friend Rachel and I would get off the bus to go to her grandmother’s and on our way, we would stop at the library for books then make a beeline for penny candy at Grovenstine’s Store.
They sold dry goods, did fishing boat orders, and were the last of the great store-front butcher shops. There was nothing Floyd, Walter and Roger couldn’t find, cut and wrap in brown butcher paper tied with white string for you. And in wonderful fermenting big wooden barrels too: sauerkraut, and corned beef.
I wish I could ask them questions now. And Cheri, was always there too. She’s known half the town since they were old enough to look over the counter.
My husband remembers going to see a pretty blond girl working there who was visiting her grandmother. He would go buy the sleeves of Hostess potato chips in a paper bag as an excuse to talk to her.
Towns change and some voids never get replaced. Every time I drive through Main Street Shelburne, I look for the familiar gold writing on the window of the brick two story corner store feeling a little shocked it’s no longer there.
There’s no longer Mama Lou, Floyd, Walter, or Roger but these Grovenstine recipes Cheri is so generous to share make sure they live on.
Now I just have to get Butcher Trevor to work on his Liverloaf.
Love Jenn xx
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