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Fresh peas were on the stove and needing my attention: a little more water, some seasoning, a few gentle stirs. As I lifted the lid and tended them, I had a flashback of years gone by.
I saw my grandmother’s kitchen and remembered the constant aroma of good food. Food cooked with skill and love, food that never disappointed. How many times did I walk to my grandparents’ house after school and help myself to peas and cornbread from the oven? Before we were taught it was dangerous to leave food sitting out, food was commonly kept in the oven between the noon and night meals. Her peas were so delicious I didn’t bother with reheating, just filled a plate with room temperature field peas and helped myself to a piece of cornbread, and indulged. If I close my eyes and think really hard, I can still taste them.
Staring down at my boiling peas, I moved on to my mother’s kitchen and saw them there. There was a certain pot of cast iron with a yellow lid that she used for cooking peas. I thought about picking the peas, then shelling them from a huge white dishpan. What wasn’t for immediate use was processed for the freezer.
Some things cannot be reproduced by assembly line companies, and for me, field peas is one of them. So through my years of cooking for a family, there have always been fresh peas on my table or those of my own preserving. Are mine as good as my mother’s or grandmother’s? Close, but not as good as theirs.
Flashbacks are bittersweet. Things that will never be again can bring melancholy. Remembering times around a family table with parents and grandparents no longer living kind of puts an ache in the heart. It all happened so fast – losing them and growing this old. But if I can move past the sadness and be grateful for those who left me with this legacy, it gets better. I always, always loved to cook and I know it was because of the high standard set before me. I can honor Dulcie Spencer and Louise Spencer Luffman today by carrying on the tradition of preparing in my own kitchen the very best I can do, and never just “making do.”
Father, I give you thanks for these two women who taught me the art of cooking. May I never forget the time and love that went into every dish they put on the table. And, may I never fail to remember the other lesson they taught me about food: always share what you have.
Prayerful Pondering 
Thank you, Pat, for sharing the memories. I had a few myself. When I saw the picture of your day on FB, I dug up a picture of mine. It’s on my Father’s Day blog post at http://www.missue.blogspot.com. Hope you are doing well today.
I just read your blog, Sue, and enjoyed your memories. Yes, I’m having a very good day. I hope you are, too.
Brings so many memories to mind! My mother, my grandmother and my mother-in-law all contributed to whatever cooking skills I have. I don’t cook for “just me” the way I did for my family and I surely enjoyed cooking for them. And all the family sitting down to the table for breakfast and dinner was a given in my parents’ home, my grandparents’,and thus my own. At grandma’s house, you usually had lunch together as well, because “Daddy Acie” came in from the field to eat. Having family meals is being touted as ever so good for children’s behavior, and family closeness.
Well said, Ernestine. We had three full meals every day and I’ll bet you did, too. We called the noon meal dinner and the night meal supper. When I would say something to Mother about dinner (meaning our night meal) she would think I meant the noon meal and we would both get confused. What mattered was being together as a family and eating very nutritious food.
Exactly, noon was dinner. My aunt told her doctor one time, we don’t have fancy food, just peas, corn, green beans, etc from the garden, fruit from our trees, cornbread and biscuits. He said “Miss Sadie, that is the best food on the plant, not only for taste but nutrition”.