There has always been an intimate connection for me to food. I loved the smell of the broken earth at planting time, to run my toes through it coolness. And then the smell, same but new, after harvest when my father would plow under the dying plants to nurture the soil for next year's planting. These were long, long seemingly joyless summers toiling in the heat, but looking back, it was nothing but happiness. Tomatoes have never tasted any better, cucumbers were never so crunchy and the pantry was just so pretty.
Every harvest season, my mom would bring out the cornucopia and put it on the buffet. We added jar after jar to the buffet. A jar of pristine snapped green beans, beautiful cut corn, plump lima beans, creamy butter beans, savory snapped country peas, plump tomatoes, bright green pods of okra, homemade vegetable soup mix, ruby red plum jelly, sparkeling strawberry jam and tart grape jelly. And the list goes on. By Thanksgiving the buffet held a lovely offering, a physical thanksgiving of what our little farm had blessed us with in the past season. It was a promise of a warm and full winter. It was beautiful.
This childhood instilled in me a passion for good food that has followed me from humble Britton's Neck, SC to Charleston, SC to Rochester, NY and now to Seattle, WA. I love to share this experience of cooking with anyone who is willing to learn with me.
This particular photo was added at the behest of my husband. It's his favorite. Silly boy.
