Breaking Bread: Great Homes with Glorious Gardens
It is not the kitchen, it is the person standing next to you, your husband who is chopping the parsley needed, no one does it better. Great meals through the years have blessed me with their savored memories. A great kitchen is what you make of it. Yes, I would love a kitchen island beautifully designed with tall stools for tasters and spectators who then become participants in the meal’s preparations. Sans the stools and island, the tasters and helpers have grown up by my side. As our adult children become great cooks, they too likely dream of that special kitchen tool, table, tableau to tie together the perfect meal. My wish for them, as it has been for me, is it will be their lifelong love standing close, perhaps chopping the parsley.
For over fifty-six years my parents have cooked side by side. I learned from a young age that our home kitchen was a busy, productive, and creative place. Our family meals reflected the generosity and intelligence of my parents. There was always plenty of good food prepared with love and extras for anyone who might join us at the table. Daily meals were special and special meals were spectacular. Birthdays and holidays were outright bonanzas. Traveling for holidays was welcome, but not on Thanksgiving. My parents where the best cooks in the family and our relatives came to us.
I had a farm to table upbringing long before it had an everyday label. In the great gardens of my youth, I learned the magic and science of seeds bursting into glorious herbs, vegetables, and flowers. Our backyard was filled with wonders from acorn squash to zucchini. The kitchen was also a science lab as cucumbers pickled, grapes in cheesecloth dripped juice for jelly, and freshly picked raspberries rose to a rolling boil in the giant jam pot. As a teenager the Strive for Five campaign made me laugh, breakfast alone would get me close to that daily goal. Years later I would perfect the triple berry breakfast smoothie coaxing my own kids into greater fruit consumption. The smoothie remains a family favorite, but if asked our children will most likely say that nothing compares to raspberries grown in Grandma and Pop’s backyard: picked and eaten from hand to mouth.
My parents also taught me a deep respect for the web of life. I knew that every spider could not be Charlotte, but my mother’s gentle reminder made me consider the spider’s role. We composted and recycled as a family long before it was fashionable to do so. I recall shucking corn directly onto the compost pile therefore, no clinging corn silk in the kitchen sink and no unnecessary or extra weight in the trash. Decomposition would bring forth Dad’s rich dirt, black gold, brimming with spiders and other garden friendly insects.
With acceptance and space given to my day, I find that nature fills me with wonder and joy. Today I woke to snow, but spring will not be daunted and continues to unfurl gloriously. The daffodils bounce in the breeze and the magnolias have bloomed magnificently displaying crisp petals layered in pink hues which glow at dusk. I too wish to bounce, glow, and unfurl from this past year. Today is Earth Day and I begin this daily blog honoring family meals and family events with gratitude for lessons both imparted and learned.
