Kansas Snapshots by Gloria Freeland - December 13, 2024

A holiday gift to myself

After all these years, you'd think I'd be able to write one of these columns in my sleep, but I am rarely that lucky. All require substantial editing to correct errors and clarify the presentation. But the most challenging are those where I am ready to begin, but have a vague feeling I haven't quite found the real story. That happened a month ago when I received an email from my cousin Linda:

... I ran across some old recipe cards in a box of Mom's things. ... the two that caught my eye were this beet pickle recipe ... and the rice pudding one from your mom. ... My mom used that beet pickle recipe so many times. ... I thought you might enjoy seeing these and it might bring a smile to your day. ...

Looking at the attachments did more than bring a smile! They elicited images of mom and Linda’s mom - my aunt Edee (Edith) - cooking in one or the other of their usually-cluttered, but always-cozy kitchens. I could almost hear them bantering about this or that.

Mom's recipe was printed - her usual writing style, whether it was a recipe, notes to herself, or letters to us. It probably came from her years of teaching in elementary schools where her students wouldn't have yet learned the cursive style.

About a week after Linda's note, the originals arrived in the mail. Mom "borrowed" the beet pickles recipe from her mother-in-law, my grandma Ethel Freeland. It was so yellowed and faded it was hard to read. But the rice pudding recipe garnered from Lindsborg artist Signe Larson and her sister, Elvira, was quite clear.

Like many people, I have a bunch of cookbooks, but the recipes I refer to most often are the ones that have stood the test of time in more ways than just turning out well. Many came from family and friends, while others have been clipped from some long-discarded newspaper.

After Linda's email, I asked others about their experiences related to recipes, but it wasn't until after several column re-writes that the underlying story element that had eluded me began to emerge.

A Valentine card isn't love, but it almost feels like it. A Christmas card isn't family and friends being together, but it summons those feelings. In a similar fashion, the recipes we keep are more than just a list of ingredients and directions. While they are neither the food they document nor the cooks who used them, they cause our minds and hearts to return to earlier times spent with the people we were close to.

I have a recipe card titled "Jerry's Old-Fashioned Goulash" written by my first husband's mother Rita. She gave it to me as a reminder of when an old boyfriend had come to visit while Jerome and I were dating. He called Rita for the recipe and then shared he was afraid he would lose me. That recipe served as an excuse to talk with his mom. Both the thought of the food and speaking with Rita served to comfort him. Sharing that story with husband Art prompted him to ask me to make it. As I looked at the recipe card, the story and feelings associated with both Rita and Jerome returned.

Our recent Thanksgiving included honey-glazed dinner rolls that daughter-in-law Miriam made. While Art calls them the best rolls he's ever had, they were special in another way. Katie and husband Matt couldn't join us this year. That recipe had come from Katie and she had made them when we had Thanksgiving with them two years ago. Having the rolls at our meal brought them closer.

Every Christmas, Art's mother Donna made pfefferneusse cookies by following the directions on the faded recipe card she had made as a young bride, copied from her mother's handwritten recipe book. Donna baked bags of them each year, wrapping them in layers of plastic to retain the volatile anise flavoring. She insisted the cookies needed to "mellow" for a time for the flavor to mature.

If tradition holds, Katie will again make them for her dad as she has every holiday since Donna died. Art keeps them in metal containers and is careful to only eat a few at a time so they last until the next Christmas. He says when he opens a tin, the smell of anise makes him think of his grandmother and how she loved those cookies and anise-flavored hard candy.

Mary Shannon Wells, an associate digital editor at "Southern Living" magazine wrote in a November 2023 article:

Handwritten family recipes are priceless. There's something special about following your grandmother's own cursive script to prepare one of her signature dishes, especially during the holidays. The cards are usually faded and stained, tucked away in recipe boxes for safekeeping ... Then, out come the cards for a day of cooking and baking before they are carefully replaced in the box - sometimes with a new spot of butter or dusting of flour. Preserving these recipes keeps loved ones' memories alive after they've left us and ensures that they can be shared with future generations. ...

When friend Bryce sent me instructions for his mother's butterscotch pudding, he said my request gave him an idea for a chapter title for his future book.

... It will have to be catchy, but it will be something about how requests by others turn into a gift to me. I first became aware of this when [my] kids had me working on the weekly emailed question that after one year became a 52-chapter book. Although I was doing it for them, the questions stirred up memories that were so precious that I realized it really was a gift to me. ...

Linda's recipe cards were like that - a holiday gift to me, a gift of memories and the feelings that go hand-in-hand with them!