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Food Memories
I grew up listening to stories of life on the farm by my mother who was the eldest of 13 children. They toiled in the fields seven days a week and their only meal was something she called "mush". At Christmas one solitary gift was an orange. Gunny sacks were sewn into dresses. Her education summed a total of eight years at the same one room school house. Duties and obligations forced her to stay home to help raise her siblings and work long hours in the fields.
As a grown woman I have come to value the taste of real food. Joining a co-op of like minded folks, we drive over an hour to purchase raw milk from a small farm in Yamhill, then bring it back to the city for distribution. My daughter referred to it as our "raw milk bootleg run".
Recently I worked in a four star cafe where polenta was served as a side dish on all entrees. I was constantly reminded of the irony of how the mush my mother ate as a staple in her childhood has now become a food choice on pricey menus in stylish cafes. And always at Christmas I give each of my children an orange in memory of my mother and her simple stories of food.

posted 4 years, 4 months ago
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