In the kitchen are more hidden gems: an old and well loved
cast iron skillet; colorful Pyrex casserole bowls from the 40’s; and a drawer
full of cookbooks, most of them hand bound, self published fund raiser recipe
collections from local churches and women’s groups in the area. These I am
keeping in the house, to enjoy leafing through recipes for salads, baked goods,
local game, and drinks such as the local version of the hot toddy: the Tom
& Jerry.
While I treasure some of these things for their uniqueness
or as a link to the rich past of an area I now call home, what they really are,
are memories of lives that I won’t ever be able to know. I can admire the
colorful threads and half finished cross stitch in an old sewing box, but I’ll
never know the woman who sat in this living room sewing. Did she smile as
children roamed noisily around her or sit quietly chatting with her husband
about the events of the day? Did she
love living so far away from town, seeing only her family day in and day out? Or did she feel isolated and cut off from the
world?
Maybe I ask these questions because they now concern me as
well. Will I like living a 15 minute drive from stores and people? Will being
alone out here gel us as a family or cause tension and friction? Can we be more
self-sufficient, can I learn to rely on myself and my instincts and creativity
rather than drive into town every time I get bored or I realize I’m missing
just one little ingredient for that dish I want to make? All questions that I
don’t yet know the answer to. As they say, time will tell. Meanwhile I will sit
here, sifting through drawers, imagining what memories we will build here, in
our new lives, here in this house.
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