I simply love being in the kitchen; this is where the magic happens. I love cooking, baking, canning, preserving, you name it. I love reading cookbooks, recipes online, watching the food network. I even love going to the grocery store, the farmers market, or unique one off shops to find new ingredients. It isn't necessarily about the end result; although often that is a tasty consequence. For me it's about chasing a feeling, a memory.
My mom was a stay at home mom for her first 3 children and for the first 5 years of my life. She may very well have been the busiest mom ever. There were shelves in the garage filled with jars upon jars of vegetables, fruits, sauces, soups and jams. There was a chest freezer filled with corn, meat, berries, and more. We sat around the table every afternoon and had supper as a family before dad took off for his job where he worked swing shift. She made her own cereal, yogurt, popsicles, ice cream. We would go to Nancy's Creamery and buy fresh peanut butter and honey. She took such great care of her family. And then there was the bread. We always had fresh bread, loaves, dinner rolls, buns, cinnamon rolls, sticky buns... There is nothing more life affirming then the smell of bread coming out of the oven, the taste of that first slice, still steaming with melting butter.
Life changed when I hit preschool. Around 5 or 6 my mom left home and joined the ranks of working women in the 70's. I don't fault her for it as she did it for a new beginning, but I did, without a doubt totally miss out on what could have been.
However, she was still the quintessential mom. She always took care to ensure that everyone was feed and cared for. I always knew that my mom loved me, cared for my wellbeing like only a mom can do. She made memories for me effortlessly, treasured moments that I don't even think she conscientiously knew she was doing.
Years after my parents divorced, I was the last kid left at home. Just the two of us. However despite the obviously small nature of our home there was always bread. Not just a loaf, nothing simple, but counters filled with every kind imaginable. I don't know what she even did with it all, because two people can only eat so much bread in a week. But waking first thing in the morning to that smell,.. There are no other words to explain it other than Pure Love.
Have you ever made bread? It is not terribly difficult. However it takes time, lots of time and patience. My mom didn't do these things for special occasions, she didn't do them every once in awhile. She did these things every week. Everything was fresh, everything was homemade, everything was whole grain, and we never went without. This is not to say that there were not fancy gadgets, clothes, vacations that we didn't want. But we had the essentials and we had the love of a great woman. This in retrospect was all that mattered.
So I don't cook and bake and study cooking and put up preserves for my family. I LOVE them. I take the time to do these things for them because everyone deserves to feel the same love that I did. Because I want to be remembered as a woman who gave everything for her family. Because I want to be loved as much as I loved my mother.
❤
ReplyDeleteBeautiful.