I’m writing from my mid-winter kitchen, looking out on the bare branches and stormy grey skies, and delighting in the jars of dried apples and pile of canned pizza sauce. Preserving isn’t something I grew up with, but it is its own little time shifting magic, and dissolver of walls between kitchen and garden even when hunkered down.
Reading your beautiful piece has me longing for the first berries of late spring and contemplating a cupboard dive for the Brandie’s cherries I’m mostly sure are somewhere in there.
Very nice piece, Charlotte. I read it aloud to Marilyn, like I always do. We both enjoyed it very much. You should know we look forward to your essays.
I’m writing from my mid-winter kitchen, looking out on the bare branches and stormy grey skies, and delighting in the jars of dried apples and pile of canned pizza sauce. Preserving isn’t something I grew up with, but it is its own little time shifting magic, and dissolver of walls between kitchen and garden even when hunkered down.
Reading your beautiful piece has me longing for the first berries of late spring and contemplating a cupboard dive for the Brandie’s cherries I’m mostly sure are somewhere in there.
Eat the cherries! And think of summer and the centuries of women who came before us, squirreling away something delicious for a gloomy day....
Very nice piece, Charlotte. I read it aloud to Marilyn, like I always do. We both enjoyed it very much. You should know we look forward to your essays.
Thanks as always Mary Ann!