A New Look at Grocery Stores: Old and Newer

A New Look at Grocery Stores           

I know, a weird subject maybe, but since I’m in my 70’s and experienced a year living in Eastern Kentucky, a photo caught my eye recently.

I was just 18 when I went to live in Kentucky. I am now a little amazed that my parents were enthused and excited for me to take a year of voluntary service through our Mennonite churches program which sent young people like myself to areas in need of volunteers. In fact, I remember Daddy often saying he hoped one of us kids would do voluntary service, similar to what he did during WW2.

This morning, a photo online showing an example of grocery stores in the years after WW1 and 2, suddenly sent my memory to the store in the community where I served. It looked much like this (I don’t remember seeing a row of brooms like this) but the owner or a helper stood in back of a long counter and fetched items on shelves that you wanted. This was 1969. There was an old fashioned cash register at the time if people had the cash, or if not, their purchases or total were written down in a book which allowed “credit” of sorts, until the person got their next paycheck or whatever. Not too different to today’s actual credit cards, of course, when you think about it.

I wrote a book (my first one!) about my experiences that year. Rachel’s store, as it was known, was the place “for everyone to stop at least once a day. Men stopped on their way to work at the strip mines, buy a pack of crackers and Vienna sausages for lunch, children dropped by after school for bubble gum, candy bars, potato chips, and ‘soda water’” as they called it. Women came for a gallon of milk or eggs during the day. On Saturdays, whole families would clamber on to the back of a pick up and go to the store to lay in supplies for a week or maybe more. Rachel’s son, Bert, a bachelor, tended the store and you could buy almost anything from a dusty can of deodorant to good mellow hoop cheese. My husband, today, loves buying cheese like that.

We are fortunate these days to live about two miles from a similar store, called Grandles, named for the owner, (now deceased) and now that I’m remembering things, it is quite a bit like the store we went to in Kentucky. The owner usually stands behind a counter and makes you sandwiches if you want to eat them there with friends, or sends home well-wrapped meats and cheeses.  If I need something for a recipe, I can scoot down there and pick it up—a bit pricier, just like in Kentucky, but saved time and gas from running to our nearest town, about 8 miles away.

So yes, I’m old enough to live to remember these things and am so grateful for all that I learned in the hills of Kentucky but also from my own father-in-law here in Virginia and my own Dad. I learned how Stuart’s family butchered hogs and laid away the cracklings and “ponhoss” to fry, in addition to packaging pork chops and later, bacon and “country ham.”

But today I’ve very glad to just push my cart (or a bag) through the neat and clean aisles at our local Food Lion store (which originated over in Europe, I understand). In Brussels, Belgium, where our oldest daughter studied for a semester, we saw a “Food Lion” store, where three brothers started a store in the 1860’s and chose a lion as a symbol of strength. (While our Food Lion stores in Harrisonburg are not perfect, I think most of the clerks and managers at the store I go to would “know” me recognize me as a frequent customer. For what it’s worth!)

Mostly, I’m grateful for the foods that are so easy to buy, use, and enjoy—knowing that my credit card will take care of the money—at least once a month.

Yes, I’m getting old. And loving the gift of food that our God saw fit (read Genesis) for fruits, vegetables, meat (and eventually, bread and butter!) and cookies and cakes and casseroles and oh my!

This third day of 2026, I appreciate these wonderful blessings. Amen.

On Troublesome Creek: A True Story About… book by Melodie M. Davis (Still available (at times), on Thriftbooks.)

Did you ever spend a year or more in voluntary service–somewhere?

Local or in another state or country? While not for everyone, the experience can change persons for a lifetime. Right? And experiences are not all good. Just some personal thoughts here.

(Also, if you’re a little surprised at the shortness of my dress here, remember, I was 18-19 in 1969-70. Wearing warm tights.)