Over the past two days, I have had the priveledge of baking several recipes that were passed down from several generations back. As I stand in my kitchen, I remember baking these recipes with my mom, brother and sister. I remember the amazing aromas, the gentle music playing, the clinking of dishes, the conversations and laughter. And then, I imagine both of my grandmothers in their kitchens making these same exact recipes. That my grandmothers looked at these very ingredients, rolled out the same dough, sliced the same apples, and probably had gentle music playing and laughter with their families, too.
I really miss them.
I admit that I shed some tears this morning while baking these dishes as I thought about Gran and Grandma Tuttle baking these recipes. But they weren't sad, smarting tears- they were more like chicken soup tears. Rich and salty, remembering robust and meaningful lives that emulate this rich feast we enjoy every Thanksgiving. It's the bountiful memories, love, and joy that surrounded the people of my life that make Thanksgiving what it is. It makes the meal special, and every tradition that surrounds it carries a sentimental value that reminds me of the richness of my life, and all that I have to be thankful for. I am thankful that my children will grow up with these same recipes- and the joy that I know it would bring me, my mom, my grandmothers and their mothers, to know that our lives carry on. So simply, but so profoundly from one generation to the next. Through something as simple as rolls, pie, or a caserole dish; we're a part of a legacy.
To you and yours, a most thankful holiday!!!