Many many thanks to Nicole of SistersFromAnotherMister.com for sharing her memories of cooking with mom today as part of our Motherhood Memories series. Once upon a time, oh, a long, long time ago ….
There is a memory from my childhood. It is probably the earliest memory that I have that is very clear. I believe that I was about four years old, my Mom remembers that was how old I was when they lived in this house in a small village in England. I recall this garden, and even this tree, and a pathway to a wooden gate that would take you out to the field behind. As a little girl, I remember it to be a huge field, but it probably wasn’t and my Dad says we planted potatoes there once. We yielded way less than we planted apparently.
All it takes to bring me to this place is the fragrant smell of apple pies. I don’t remember if we picked the apples in this garden, I do remember blackberries being there. I remember the path as uneven, there were many branches and blackberry bushes may have thorns.
This is me, back then in the garden …
If I close my eyes, I can picture walking thro the backdoor and into the kitchen. I think the counters were a green colored sort of linoleum, and there were cupboards above the counters. My Mom would have me by her side as she would slice the apples … she always made pastry from scratch (not sure there was another way back then) I can see those little cubes of butter she would use as she would slice up a block of butter. I would sift the flour onto the countertop for her to begin rolling out the dough. I remember her slicing the apples, so tart, it makes my mouth water now at the thought.
That is my Mom on the left, and the daughter of a neighbor on the right I believe.
I think her Mom’s name was Marjory, and she worked in the cafeteria where I went to school when I was four. I know we sat at big tables, and she came to talk to the teacher who wanted me to put my utensils in opposite hands … they were not forgiving of a left handed child in those days.
Apple pie – homemade is still my favorite. With real apples, no jellied mush, and definitely no raisins in sight. (let it be said that they are just sad little grapes with the very life just squished and dried out of them.) Leftover pastry, all those little pieces cut from the edges, it was always the highlight. I would roll it out, twist it into shapes, spread a little apricot jam or strawberry jam and they would bake quickly in the oven.
Little treats for little hands.
The other night, here in our home, we made the teeniest little tarts with left over pastry. We used the smallest cutter, filled them with a little jelly and baked them with the light on in the oven so The Princess could watch the jelly bubble. Later, we used spray cream in a can, and made little mountains on top of them and popped them into our mouths.
Every last one.
Now a firm favorite with my youngest.
Every time I eat an amazing apple pie, it takes me back, way back to that time when it was just my Mom and I in the kitchen. Side by side, me on a chair, and her talking me throough it. I am blessed to have my Mom nearby, and I am doubly blessed that we are still making memories together … I love you Mom.
A huge thank you to Jessica for this little trip down memory lane. I am blessed to know Jessica both on line and in real life, and love all that she brings to the blogosphere with her kind heart and passion to bring good to the world.
Thank you for having me Jessica … hope to hug you soon.
Happy Mothers Day to all and a recipe worth saving …
And as always …
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