Yeah I know, it is still February. But we had a brief spot of 60 degree weather and I couldn't help but start to get that familiar itch to dig in the garden, freshen up the house and think about menus with fresh foods.
There are two times of year I miss my grandmother, Gogie, the most...the lead up to Christmas and Spring. I have always considered her the Martha Stewart of her era...Martha Stewart with a soul. Despite the rarity of a working woman in her era, she did indeed work. She had a beautiful old house on the North Shore in the Chicago burbs with an over-sized lot. By the time I came along, some of her domestic work had slowed down, but the stories told over meals and the reminders still blooming in the garden made an impact.
During WW II, she also owned the vacant lot next door. Where an ugly 60's ranch now stands used to be a "Victory Garden." Foraging through the basement shows how prolific that garden was...a room larger than any in my current house lined with wooden shelves that were filled with home-canned treasures.
There were pear trees, apple trees, cherrytrees and such a variety of vegetables it would take too long to list. In her own backyard, her creative juices could flow to the whimsical with blooms and blossoms of extensive varieties. It is where I fell in love with the dainty beauty of bleeding hearts. It is why the smell of lilacs and lilly of the valley make me swoon. It is why my wedding flowers were the simple but elegant tulip.
I can't help but wonder how she did it all....and wonder how to get to a mindset that lets me do it too. She was busy, money was tight for most of her life, she had a house full of kids and a husband who was of little help when he did manage to be around. And yet, the meals, the garden, the beautiful clothes and quilts she made and sweaters she knitted came with comforting regularity.
As I look at the touchstones of my life, and what traditions I am installing in my children's DNA, so much of it comes from her.
In these troubled times, with an economy that is suffocating and depressing, I long for the simple ways she made her home a haven for me. But where to begin?
