Grandmother was far away.
Dad said she made the best apple butter.
At dad’s 80th birthday,
I brought a jar of my apple butter for him.
He whisked it into the trunk of the car.
When I made the apple/pear butter today,
I reached for a clean paper towel
to wipe the rim of the jar before I put the lid on.
In David’s kitchen on his farm,
we canned together.
He was fastidious in using a clean paper towel
to wipe the rim of the jar before putting the lid on.
This afternoon, at Saanich Fair, with one of my writing friends
more memories surfaced -
Regina Exhibition - 4-H, candy floss and roller coasters
Lubbock County Fair - blue ribbons for my homemade bread
Armstrong Fair - a great time with friends from Kelowna
But most of all, in this time of
harvest, cooking and preserving
cooling nights and crunchy fallen leaves
memories gather like the fruits of harvest.
All the times in the kitchen of my childhood,
on the farm or in town,
on the farm or in town,
my own various kitchens or
in kitchens with family or friends
creating delicious comfort food
to take us through winters
where ever or with whomever
I have shared a piece of life.
I have shared a piece of life.
“The true harvest of my life is intangible - a little star dust caught,
a portion of the rainbow I have clutched.”
~ Henry David Thoreau
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