One Special Perk of Home Cooked Meals

I think I may have written an almost identical post to this one sometime last year. I can't remember. Sorry to re-reminisce but it's on my mind today.

My grandparents built their dream home on thirty two acres of property in Indiana. My brothers and I spent a few weeks during the summers of our childhood with my grandparents at that wonderful house. When I think of that place I can only remember joy, joy and fireflies, fishing, swinging into the clay bottomed small pond from a rope that hung from a tree on the edge. We went fishing in the larger pond (I only ever remember actually "catching" a very large tree trunk that left the three of us immobilize for the longest time because we didn't know how to get the small boat back to shore while attached to a tree trunk.) My grandpa caught fish though. He also had a wood shop towards the back of their property beside my grandmother's enormous veggie garden where he crafted things. That's where he kept little mac. I think the small vehicle he drove around the property was called little mac. Taking a ride in that adorable yet mighty little thing was better than visiting an amusement park for us kids.

We were wild and free in Indiana, always told to remove our hats at the dinner table, say please and thank-you and practice all the other proper manners but out of doors we were completely left to our own devices (it was like that at home too actually, probably a significant reason why I LOVE being outside).

When my parents divorced my mom looked for a new home for us, she wanted a home with property far away from the home she shared with my dad. Once she found the place where she wanted to start our lives over my grandparents sold their incredible home and property in Indiana to move up here and be with her, and us. My grandpa passed away during the move. It was tragic, blood clots in his legs, so in a way my mom and my Grandmother both began new lives together.

I have relics, sadly none of my Grandmother's beautiful English tea cups, but I have the artwork made from painted pieces of metal in the shape of ships that hung above their stairway in Indiana. I have their wonderful honey jar that seemed to always sit on the middle of the kitchen table. I have the solid brass (I think) boot that left a scar on my forehead when I was very young. And I have one large plate from their dishes that I remember using for family dinners at their home. My brothers and I usually ate meals with my grandparents in their sunroom that looked out onto the larger pond.

Tonight I made a pot of soup, just some chicken broth, onions, garlic, carrots, celery, a potato, peas, carrots, and a rue. But one of the things I treasure most from my grandparents, something I can't possess and yet it's something I'm able to recreate, is the smell of the boiled root vegetables that instantly transports me back to their kitchen in Indiana. I don't know why this particular smell brings me back there but lifting the lid off the pot sends an aroma wafting up that is exactly how I remember their home. There's something about an aroma memory that, at least for me, transports me through space and time so that in a moment, however brief, it's as if I'm there in that place, the memory comes alive and I don't just remember it, I am able to experience it.

I can't ever go back to their home. The people living there now have remodeled it so it's hardly even the same house anymore, not to mention it's 6 hours away and... well, I can't ever go back. But I can boil root vegetables and every single time I do I'm there for a moment, back in the Indiana kitchen with my grandmother. THAT is one special perk of home cooked meals.

Average daily spending for 2016: $21.35