Rewinding Conversations with Momma

Nothing Tastes Better than,.. Food from Momma's Kitchen

Sipping my morning coffee mixes well with a sentimental journey. It seems that in those times when I am preparing meals, I tend to re-wind from conversations with my Momma and everything about her presence in the memory speaks love and comfort to my heart. She offered so much positive encouragement when I shared any concern with her. Her words, like jumper cables on a battery, gave me the boost I needed.

Heartfelt, childhood conversations with my Momma have been shared in different places, times and seasons. Our trip into town on the bus and the clapping of her suede heels hitting the sidewalk as we headed to the salon. And I chattered as we made the little mid-summer jaunts from our house around the mountain side to tend the garden. And sometimes in the kitchen where she created some of the most delectable meals. I was a curious one as I stood by the old cabinet with the flour bin and porcelain top where I watched two hard working hands mix and knead dough that provided rolls, biscuits or pies for her family. And the chocolate cakes she made from the recipe on the Hershey's cocoa box. I was always hanging around wherever Momma went, full of curiosity and seeking answers for any subject I didn’t understand. The one invisible ingredient used for every effort…It's the heartfelt taste of that mother’s love that nourished my soul and recorded the endearing times with her.

Those memories never grow old because we have stored them in our hearts like priceless jewels. They are locked away for those times when we need a comforting touch or a momentary escape. Then we pause to listen.

Every season of mountain life brings with it, new opportunities to explore, to create! Surrounded by the vastness of nature and the way each season of the year exhibits beauty as if on a runway of newly designed fashions, there was much to discover no matter which direction you looked. Sometime back we were on a tourism trip to a historical farm and there were many Black Walnut trees on the property and that stirred my memory from childhood about how we would gather them from the mountains, as many as we could and, on occasion, we would sell them. Folks gathered them in very large burlap sacks for home use. At our house, we used them in fudge and Momma added them in applesauce cakes she made around the Christmas holiday.

Momma was not afraid of hard work, and it showed in the way she preserved foods for winter use and the extra touches she applied to our clothing on wash day. She exemplified a woman with endurance to weather the storms of life. And the storms…oh, how they blew upon our family!

Then, there was the lighter side that took her away for a few moments of fun…

The time came that I needed to learn to make bubbles from bubble gum. I couldn’t figure out how the grown-ups were doing that. I took my momma captive in her room and lying cross ways on the bed, I insisted that she stay put until I had this down to a science. Every time I took her jaws in my pudgy hands and said, "do it again", she laughed at me because of my determination. And so, she stayed with the task until I gave her “permission” to leave my presence. Now that I'm an adult who enjoys reading the Scriptures, this event with my Momma reminds me of Jacob who wrestled with an Angel at Bethel and said, "I will not let you go until you bless me!" Of course, my momma being the angel in this scene...Mission accomplished.

Momma allowed me to get “under foot” too, as she lovingly prepared our meals. As a young child, I loved watching her mix a batch of homemade rolls on that old kitchen cabinet with the built- in flour bin and sifter and the pull-out enamel top on which she kneaded the bread. She then placed that large lump of dough in a crock bowl covered with a cloth and placed it on a chair behind the cook stove where the warmth would cause the dough to rise. The smell of yeast permeated the kitchen…It’s a wonder that people from miles around didn’t get a whiff of that wonderful bread baking in the oven and ascend to the mountain where we lived!

That special something about my Momma’s presence as well as her cooking over the years that has written on my heart a love letter that I am able to go back and read over and over…I know it was a “mother’s measure of love” that was added to every dish she prepared. Thank you, Momma.

She watches over the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children rise up and call her blessed; Prov.31