The Legacy of a Baker's Heart At 14 and full of me, I could be walking home from school on a snowy cold winter day, not dressed for the weather in only a skirt and knee highs, with a warm coat but no boots or a hat. On opening the door to our home I know it is Thursday with apple pie cooling on the counter, meatloaf in the oven, and a house that is toasty warm. I don’t need a calendar to tell me the day because I know where I am by the smells from the oven and the baking created the same each day, in every week. On Monday we will eat warm bread from the oven leaving leftover dough for the plump caramel rolls that on Tuesday morning, greet us like a warm hug. Wednesday, we arrive home for lunch to eat a quick sandwich or a bowl of soup and then dive into a warm fried donut. We know what Thursday brings, and that takes us to Friday when we eat whatever cookie her baker’s heart desires, or maybe the kitchen is closed. Oh, the weekend is special as we wake Saturday morning, to watch cartoons, then line up at the stove with plate in hand to receive our grandma pancake, the kiss of heaven. Sunday may be a day of rest but after church there is a beef roast or fried chicken with a mouthwatering desert that could be my favorite, German chocolate. Mom, the baker and so much more but while she had to cook, baking was in her soul, and it is how she showered us with love and her affection. Cinnamon, flour, sugar, and of course, oil, with fruit and berries, chocolate, and vanilla creating so many smells that I now appreciate and understand, filled With love, in her own language, of the heart.
I was motivated to write this poem through d’verse, a site for poetry with a different challenge every week. This week was to write a poem about a food memory in verse style. Writing it not only warmed my heart but made me hungry! I carried on the pie making as did my sister who also marvels with her cakes and cookies. And always a holiday memory for me is mom walking in the door bearing all the baked goods.
What are your food memories?
The Vast Inner Landscape
Walking on the beach, I look up to see eighteen pelicans flying in a straight-line formation, heading north. Suddenly, the fifteenth breaks out and heads east over the Atlantic. Two behind begin to follow, then hesitate, think better of it, and maneuver their way back in line. The lone rogue pelican heads out over the…
After traveling for 33 days and nights my body and mind seek rest. Drink water. Sit still. Eat light. Remember, my dear, the Anhinga who, after diving for her food, rested on the branch, wings unfurled, letting herself air dry in the sun’s rays, watching the world around her, waiting in quiet confidence for all…
sounds of ocean roar on crystal beach — hearts in repose “She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air.” Holly Black, Tithe “It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and…
4 thoughts on “The Spirit of a Loving Heart”
Amen. Many memories coming forth. We certainly ate well.
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It is a wonder we all lived a slender life.😊 🍴
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Thanks, Mary. It was fun and surprising to see where one thought of apple pie and meatloaf took me. 💕