About the time I had enough brains to do anything, my dear old Grandmother would find something that needed doing, fixing, or making. This was in the early thirties when money was scarce; you made do with whatever you could find to do it with.
Coffee filters? Get serious. Maybe somewhere in the world, but not where we lived; no big deal, we made our own. Grandma had an enameled blue speckled coffee pot, the kind you'll now find only in antique shops; they taper to the top, a fancy hinged lid that swung back; the hinge usually broke before too long.
Freshly ground coffee from the drawer of the coffee mill, dumped into the speckled pot, and then filled with water and left on the stove to come to a boil, voila, you had your coffee, with the grounds included.
Would Grandma go for that? No way. “Jonny, will you please make me a new gismo for my coffee pot; this one is so old and rusty.”
I found a block of wood slightly wider than the top of the coffee pot. A piece of wire about the diameter of coat hanger wire, and about two feet long; one turn around the block and then twist the rest till it made a nice handle, cut to about 3 inches long and round off the ends with a file.
By now Grandma had a cotton bag made from flour sack material. About 4 inches deep to fit into the handle, she'd loop a bit of material over the wire and sew it firmly. Then the last step in this highly scientific effort; boil it in strong coffee to condition the bag, and then rinse it out.
To make the coffee: hang the bag in the coffee pot; put the right amount of freshly ground coffee in, and then pour boiling water over it till the bottom half of the bag was in the water. Let stand a few minutes and you had some super tasting coffee. Sip with hard lump sugar. An Icelandic "Molasopi."
