Letters Home: Section1, Letter dated August 3

August 3, 1999
Katrina,



Betsy’s granddaughter found Betsy’s old sourdough bread recipe in an old forgotten box hidden away in the back of a cabinet in the kitchen and decided to try it. Oh, Sister, it was wonderful. The house filled up with that delicious aroma like it did when we were children.



Do you remember the scents drifting from the kitchen when Betsy or Mother would bake? The air would develop the taste of bread or apples with cinnamon or chocolate cake that would seek us out wherever we were. Then, there were the meals that would be prepared, such as ham with an orange glaze when it was time to slaughter the hogs, and fresh vegetables from the house garden. There were soups and stews that would warm the winter with their delicate flavors and luscious turkey on Thanksgiving.



I remember the two of us sneaking around the outside of the house at times to sneak a cookie from the pie safe and eating a spoonful of cake batter, or two or three, when a cake was to be baked. But, then, we would also eat strawberries right off the vine or a peach just picked from the tree.



You and I never shared Mother’s formality of food. Although we would have been satisfied to sit in the kitchen and eat at the prep table, Mother always taught us that we were to dine at the table and have proper table manners and proper table attire and proper behavior at the table. And, we did because she was our Mother, because we knew it was good information to learn and good behaviors to exhibit, and because we thought it was funny to act as though we were dining with the Kings and Queens of Europe. Mother, having been reared in a prosperous family, put more emphasis on appearances than did Father. Although Father, too, expected proper behavior of his girls, he seemed to also be willing to let us run free through the fields, learn of the work that kept this property running, and enjoy the countryside. Perhaps this was because Father’s family was not always as prosperous in early years as in later years.



I sorted through that old box of recipes and, hopefully, additional delights will be tried. My taste buds water at the thought of those aromas drifting through the house again, leading a heart down the hall, down the stairs, and through the corridor until reaching the kitchen.



Forever,
Christina



This work is fictional. Any resemblance to actual situations or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional.