Happy Campers?

Unlike other camping photos I've shared here, my mom, my sister and I all look relatively happy.  This is particularly impressive since Mom's arm is in a cast.  Camping.  With toddlers.  With your arm in a cast.  Maybe they gave her the good drugs at the hospital.

I hope so.  Mom remembers that 24th of May weekend as, "rainy and definitely cool... It was hard doing most things with a cast...Getting you two washed, dressed and to the bathroom was really fun. Lots of spiders."

My sister also remembers, "big, big spiders there and you wouldn't go to the bathroom.  We had to be lifted up and off the toilets and mom only had one arm for some reason or other."

Weirdly, my sister remembers my Mom doing things with only one arm, but she didn't remember Mom's arm being in a cast. Not even with this photo in front of her.

Probably because Mom still manages to look cute in that Audrey Hepburn gamine-chic kind of way. The fisherman's sweater, popped collar and penny loafers make it easy to overlook the cast.

Photo courtesy of Dad

Though Mom only had the cast for a couple of weeks while her wrist healed from having a ganglion cyst removed, those weeks did leave my sister and I with lasting memories.  

My sister remembers holding a dustpan up to the side of the table and mom sweeping crumbs off into the pan. That's such a toddler thing to remember.  She sort-of remembers Mom being able to use only one arm. She doesn't remember the surgery or the cast, but she does remember getting to use the dustpan. Such a good little helper! 

I remember running to the neighbours for help when Mom's good hand got stuck in the kitchen window.  I've never been a fast runner, but that felt like the slowest run of my life.  The slow-motion feeling was likely fueled by fear. I was scared because Mom was hurt, but I was terrified because the neighbours I was most comfortable with were away.  I dreaded having to go to the formidable F's for assistance.

Giant spiders, fascinating housewares, rescue missions.  We certainly had some adventures.  Glad Dad took all these pictures to so we could reminisce, though I'd happily forget the spiders.

King's Island

Several weeks ago I promised to share memories of our family trip to King's Island.  I'm finally getting around to it today.  Better late than never.  

I was a horse-crazy pre-teen.  I read every horse book in our school library, and my home bookshelf was filled with all things equine.  Riding lessons and horse ownership were not practical options when I was growing up, but my parents did indulge my childhood dreams by taking us to Kentucky - the most horse-filled place within driving distance - twice.

Kentucky Souvenir

One of those trips took place in 1979.  That was the year that King's Island in nearby Ohio opened the tallest, fastest and longest wooden roller coaster in the world.  We heard ads for the arrival of "THE BEAST" everywhere we went during the trip.  

It wasn't long before my sister and I were exclaiming "THE BEAST" in suitably deep, growly voices every time the ad came on the radio.  The advertising had certainly worked on us, but we didn't realize that it had worked on our parents too. One night, as my sister and I were tucked up in our hotel-room bed, we overheard our parents discussing making a detour to King's Island.  My parents quickly realized that we weren't asleep when my sister and I turned to each other and gleefully whispered "THE BEAST"! 

King's Island 

We were some of the first guests to arrive at the park, which meant no line-ups.  Somehow, we convinced Mom to go on the first roller coaster we came to: The Racer.  We even managed to get the front seats.  It was my sister and Mom vs Dad and I.  I don't remember who won, but I do remember having to pry my mother's white-knuckled fingers from the safety bar at the end of the race.  No one had to worry about Mom keeping her hands in the ride at all times.  We could barely get her to let go even after the ride was over.  

My sister and I went on the ride a couple more times while Mom settled down a bit.  She said she was fine, but we could tell she was rattled.  The ride was short, but it was really fast, and Mom isn't a fan of heights.  

So, it's kind of surprising that Mom joined us on the next ride: a huge Ferris wheel. Mom and Dad were the very first people on the ride. My sister and I were two cars behind.  Being loaded first meant there were lots of stops while the operator loaded more riders.  Poor Mom.  After the roller coaster the Ferris wheel was too much for her. Even with an empty car between us we could hear Mom.

"Oh, I don't like this.  I want off."

By the time Mom and Dad's car was swinging at the top of the wheel,  Mom was leaning over the side screaming at the ride operator to let her out.  My Dad, sister and I thought this was hilarious.  We laughed.  She screamed.  The entire line stared up at us.  

In spite of Mom's screaming, the rider operator didn't want to stop the ride.  He seemed to think that once the ride was loaded, he should run the required rotations before he let anyone off.  Mom managed to get him to re-think that policy.   When she and Dad got back to the bottom of the wheel the operator stopped the ride just long enough for them to get off.  It's a wonder we didn't get kicked out of the park.

We didn't though, and once Mom had her feet firmly on the ground, she stuck it out for the whole day.  None of us remember if she went on any other rides.  When asked, Mom's only comment was, "All I remember is the racer roller coaster that scared the crap out of me."

Family trips.  All about creating happy memories.  Well, at least memories.  And strangely, in spite of all the hype, none of us can remember riding The Beast.  We know we did, it just didn't leave a lasting impression.  I guess family drama always makes for a more memorable story. 

(*Note:  I don't get anything for the links above.  They're there for your information.  Hope you find them useful.)

Brain Freeze

Brain freeze.  That's the only thing that explains the look on my face.  It may also explain why my mom, my sister and I have trouble remembering details from the day this picture was taken.

Photo courtesy of Dad

Dad's caption for the photo is "Cedar Point 1975".  

My sister, after she pointed out that her shorts were once again shorter than mine, wondered if we were on a class trip.  She thought that might explain our matching school shirts.  I don't remember a school trip to Cedar Point, and I doubt we would have hung out together on a school trip even if Mom was a chaperone.  

So, back to Dad to confirm that it was a family trip to Cedar Point.  We spent a day there as part of a longer trip that also included Geauga Lake and Sea World.  

Mystery solved.  Until I talked to Mom.  She seemed to think that the picture might have been taken in Florida in 1976.  She has a picture of my sister and I at Busch Gardens wearing the same shorts.  She didn't think we'd be able to fit into the same shorts two summers in a row.  Even my sister would have found her shorts too short a year later.

Photo courtesy of Dad

Dad later sent me the Busch Gardens photo Mom was talking about.  Mom was right, the same shorts are in the picture, but my sister was wearing my hand-me-down shorts from the snow-cone picture. That seemed like evidence that the pictures were taken in consecutive years. 

(I would like to point out that this may be the only photo in existence where my shorts are shorter than my sister's.  My sister would like to point out that my fly is open.)

My sister wasn't convinced.  She wanted more proof that the snow-cone picture was taken at Cedar Point.  She also wanted to know how to pronounce "Geauga Lake".

I couldn't help her with the pronunciation, but I was able to enlarge the image of her snow-cone enough to get a better look at the logo. 

It's blurry, but that looks a lot like Cedar Point logo to me.

My sister still wasn't convinced.  Our conversations became much like an Abbott and Costello routine, particularly after I decided to skip a week last week.

Sister:  What photo are we doing this week?

Me: We're not doing a photo this week.  I'm writing about the Cedar Point photo for next week.

Sister:  What Cedar Point photo?

Me:  The one with the snow cones.

Sister:  I thought that was Busch Gardens.

Eventually, we decided to talk about our trip to King's Island.  Those were memories we could agree on, but they will have to wait for another day.

We never did figure out why we were wearing matching shirts.  Maybe Mom had us wear our brightest tees so she wouldn't lose us in the park.  A good plan, until you realize the park benches are pretty much the same colour as our shirts.  We're practically camouflaged. Only in the 70's could bright, mustard yellow t-shirts blend into the background. 

(*Note:  I don't get anything for the links above.  They're there for your information.  Hope you find them useful.)

Blenheim Beauties

This week's Throwback Thursday photo presented a mystery.

Photo courtesy of Dad

Dad titled it "Blenheim Sale". It's obvious from the sign on the shop behind us that we were in Blenheim, but neither my sister nor I have any memory of this trip.  I don't remember ever being in Blenheim.

My sister does.  She remembers going to Blenheim with her guy friends in the winter for hockey games. But, since, "that person beside me looks kind of like you, and I have very short, shorts on, and you have shorts on, it's definitely not winter. I must have gone a third time that I don't remember."

I'm glad she's the one who mentioned her short shorts.  

So, why were we in Blenheim?  Were we there for the carnival? What was the sale that Dad mentioned in the photo title?  Were we there to shop? Did we go on that rather rickety looking Tilt-A-Whirl?

When I look at our hair, I can't tell if we are suffering from post-Tilt-A-Whirl damage or if it's just a windy day.

Mom to the rescue again.  She figures we had gone for a drive out toward Blenheim looking for fruit - perhaps strawberries or cherries - and found the Blenheim Cherry Festival and Sidewalk Sale.  

"OH! No wonder I remember that day so well, it was SO exciting, NOT! Why would we have gone all the way to Blenheim to get strawberries?" 

While Mom's explanation didn't immediately jog my sister's memory, it did prompt this anecdote later in the day:

"Did we sing at this festival - up on a little stage with an old man playing guitar? Wasn't there a radio station there too, and we lost a trivia question but got consolation prizes like a  bumper sticker or something?  I remember playing sidewalk games somewhere too. At that age, I wouldn't have done those things in a town where someone might know me."

I don't remember that happening in Blenheim or anywhere else, though it certainly sounds like something we would do if we knew we would be anonymous.  We have done stranger things - usually at her suggestion.

I do remember the mom-made tops we are wearing.  My sister's without shoulder ties, because she was always more daring in her wardrobe choices.  Did I mention her short shorts?  I also remember the velour rompers Mom made from the same pattern.  They were deliciously soft, but oh-so warm on hot, humid days. 

And though I don't remember this particular day, I do remember summer drives through the county and beyond.  Sometimes there was a destination in mind, but often we were just driving for the experience of the drive.  We never knew where we'd end up, or what adventures we'd have along the way.  Sometimes we'd find perfectly ripened fruit at a road-side stand.  Sometimes we'd find "Ontario's longest running carnival and sidewalk sale".   

Elephants in the Family

A few weeks ago I shared a picture of my sister and I standing in front of elephants at the zoo.  That photo got me thinking about this photo of my nephew and niece.

Photo courtesy of Dad

I wasn't present when the picture was taken, but I thought my sister and her kids would like to share their memories of the day.  I forwarded it to the three of them for their thoughts, only to discover that my sister wasn't there either.  My parents had taken the kids on this adventure.

What?!?  My parents never let me ride an elephant.  Well, at least I had that in common with my sister.  Or so I thought.  

My sister has not only had the chance to ride an elephant, she's also ridden a camel, or  a dromedary, or maybe both.  She was rather fuzzy on the details.  In fact, it's possible the elephant was an alcohol-induced hallucination, as she believes she rode it at a bar in Texas. She didn't say if the elephant was pink.

And speaking of pink...

Photo courtesy of my nephew

My nephew sent this photo with the message "Same shoes" on seeing the elephant photo.  I hadn't even noticed that both my niece and nephew were wearing Crocs.

My sister did though.  Her first comment was "Aren't they cute?" 

Her second comment was, "Those orange and pink Crocs were around forever."

At least she mentioned her cute kids before she commented on their footwear.

My niece also focused on the cuteness, "My brother had the cutest effing smile in this picture."

He truly did. When you look at the delight on his face it's no surprise that he recently spent a semester living on a real African lion safari.

Because yes, that's where the picture was taken. I had to consult Mom to find out that the photo was taken at the African Lion Safari in Cambridge, Ontario. They had stopped there as part of a larger grandparent/grandchild road trip that stretched all the way to Niagara Falls.

Mom told me that after a rainy drive through the park, she, my dad, my niece and my nephew took in the bird show and the elephant show. Then they stood in line in the rain so the kids could ride the elephant. Standing in line in the rain? I don't remember my parents having that much patience when my sister and I were kids, but when I look back on the photos of my childhood road trips, I can see my parents had more patience than I remember.

*Note:  I don't get anything for the links above.  They're there for your information.  Hope you find them useful.)

We Thought We Were All That

Photo courtesy of Dad

Something about this picture led my sister to conclude that she is, and has always been, cool, whereas I lack, and have always lacked, that aura of authentic coolness.  She compared me to Sandy in the movie "Grease".  In her opinion, the transformed Sandy at the end of the movie is merely trying to be cool.  She's fake-cool.  As am I.

I don't pretend to understand how my sister's mind works.

Of course, as soon as my sister brought up "Grease" my mind went off on its own tangent.

My sister, Auntie P and I were all tween-agers when the movie was released.  It obviously captured our imaginations, and we often performed musical numbers from the movie when we got together.  From time to time we even made our parents sit though our performances.  (Proof indeed that our parents love us!)

Photo courtesy of Dad
Auntie P on the left, me on the right, and my sister in the middle.

Rehearsals for these performances usually took place in my grandparents' basement.  Not only was it suitably removed from the rest of the family, it had the added benefit of stage props.

First was a two-level coffee table.  Perfect for performances of Greased Lightin'.  My sister would take the top level as Danny Zuko, while Auntie P and I flanked her on the lower levels.

As Auntie P puts it, "Your sister was lead singer and, of course, we were backup.  She took charge and somehow you and I were never coordinated to her liking."

Yup.

Also in my grandparents' basement was a metal, floor-to-ceiling pole.  In reality,  it was there to support the upper storeys.  To the three of us, it was our dance partner for the slow numbers.   We were all, in turn, hopelessly devoted to that post. 

Scenes from musicals weren't the only things getting re-enacted at my grandparents' place.  On seeing the photo above, Auntie P flashed back to my sister's most-memorable recreation of this Brooke Shields' Calvin Klein ad.

Photo "borrowed' from random website

The three of us had been roller skating. My sister and the boy she was couples-skating with wiped out.  The fall may have stressed her denim, because later that day, when she attempted the pose above, her jeans experienced a complete structural failure.  

Auntie P and I still laugh ourselves to tears over that memory.  My parents, grandparents and possibly other family members gathered in my grandparents' living room. My sister, on the floor, arguing that anyone could pose like Brooke, then throwing her legs over her head to prove her point and RIP!  The ass of her pants explodes. My sister still remembers that her entire right butt cheek came through the hole.  At least, as she says, it happened at Gramma's and not at the roller rink.  

In the words of Auntie P, "The three of us had many years of fun, laughter and tears as we navigated our youth like sisters."

Thanks to my sister and Auntie P for helping me with today's post. I had so much fun reliving these memories with you. 

(*Note:  I don't get anything for the links above.  They're there for your information.  Hope you find them useful.)

  

Summer of '69

Photo courtesy of Dad
That's me on the left and my sister on the right

Somehow I don't think this is what Bryan Adams had in mind.

I don't imagine it's what my parents had in mind either.

I'm not sure why my parents continued to take us on family vacations.  You'd think they would have learned their lesson on the Algonquin trip.  Yet they persevered.  

On this trip we camped our way around Lake Huron. I'm surprised my parents didn't turn back before we were out of Southwestern Ontario.  Look at us!  

My sister thinks I look like I'm trying to make fart sounds.  Somehow I doubt it.  Fart sounds were more her thing.  She has no idea what prompted her expression.  Neither of us look very happy.

My sister did notice that her shorts were unusually long, which then led us to notice that mine were unusually short.  Perhaps Mom had put us in the wrong outfits. And it looks like our shoes could be on the wrong feet. That might explain our displeasure - wardrobe malfunctions.

We also noticed the band-aid on my knee.  Then we noticed something on her knee too.  I think it's calamine lotion.  She thinks it's two band-aids, because if she's going to have boo boo it's going to be twice as bad as mine.  Sibling rivalry never ends. 

Either way, boo boos and bug bites couldn't have helped our mood.

Once again we had to turn to Mom for her insight.  She thinks our expressions could have been due to a combination of things.  It had been a long day in the car.  The photo would have been taken around the time Dad was setting up the tent - always a stressful event.  The water behind us was too cold for swimming.  That would have been a huge disappointment for both of us.  Mom also remembers that neither my sister nor I liked the bathroom at this campsite. I'm not surprised that I didn't like it.  I never liked campground bathrooms.  Too many spiders.  

My sister seems to think that she has an aura of cool in this photo that I am lacking.  I think that is hard to determine our coolness factors from this photo, though I know there are pictures out there that support her claim to superior coolness.  They might even show up here.  In the mean time, I'm going to enjoy this adorable snapshot.  It makes me laugh every time I see it.

Family Vacation

The full photo, as supplied by Dad

Here's another photo provided by Dad.  This one is from a 1968 family vacation when we travelled to Ottawa via Algonquin Park.  That's Mom, holding my sister, and me, looking less than enthused.

My sister and I had the same response on first seeing this photo.  Mom looks so young!  And happy! And cool!  Look at those Wayfarers casually clasped in her free hand.  And that gamin-chic oversized cardigan.  Though, since Mom is about 4'11" (and 3/4, if you ask her), she finds lots of clothing to be oversized.

Next, my sister commented on her own cuteness. Then she ridiculed my hair.  I'm actually surprised it took her that long to make fun of my hair. Though personally I thought my hair was kind of sweet.  I did wonder what was up with my jacket though.  

The same photo cropped so you can see the details. Like those Wayfarers. 

Though my sister looks like an adorable, if stunned, cherub, she was the force behind the most-told story of this trip.  She "pitched a fit" (her words) in a restaurant while we were having breakfast.  Mom took her and her "loud-ass mouth" (again her words) outside. Dad stayed with me so I could finish eating.  We were well on our way home before anyone realized Mom had left her purse in the restaurant.  Fortunately, the restaurant was kind enough to mail the purse back to my Mom.  Lucky for my parents. Could you imagine having to extend a several-hundred kilometer road-trip when travelling with kids like us? 

What I Did Last Summer: The Illustrated Lists

List the First

• Started a new job.

List the Second

• Headed to Ontario with Hubby days after starting the new job. (Thanks to good friends who don't mind getting up before the sun to take us to the airport.)

Hubby and I at the airport. Not too bad considering Hubby had to work all night the night before our trip. Neither of us got much sleep.

• Visited with his family and my family.
• Reunited with university friends and mosquitoes at a sweet waterside cottage. Who knew we had such cut-throat croquet players in our little group?
• Accompanied my niece on her first drive.
• Watched my nephew kick ass at karate practice.
• My niece and I were pretend judges at a fake karate tournament.
• Short overnight trip to London for....
• Pearl Jam concert!

On our way to the concert.
What a middle-aged woman wears to a rock concert when it's too hot to wear what she planned to wear. NYDJ capris courtesy of my Mom!
Note the woman in the background. See her striped dress? That's what cool, fashionable women wear to a rock concert. She looked great, and nowhere near as sweaty as I did. 

The morning after.
Note the new Pearl Jam t-shirt worn with white capris I borrowed from my sister.

List the Third

• Hubby and I returned to Vancouver Island with my niece and nephew. (As I mentioned in a previous post, it didn't rain at all here in the month of July. Sad news for farmers, gardeners and green lawns, but perfect for me. (Because it's all about me, isn't it?) This summer marked my niece and nephew's first trip to the island. We couldn't have asked for better weather. Though I'm sure they wouldn't have minded a couple of rainy, indoor days. At 16 and 13 years of age, they are rather attached to their electronics.) 
• Attack of the teen-aged berry thieves.
• Seals, starfish, sand dollars...
• Bunnies and deer and... a snake! Oh my!
• Evening walks around the neighbourhood.
• Classic Cruiser parade.

Vintage truck belongs to the local Canadian Tire.
I'll bill them for the advertising space. 

• Discovered Roosters really do have Teeth.  
• Was introduced to "Video Game High School".
• Introduced my niece and nephew to "Ghostbusters" "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and "Shaun of the Dead".
• Never did figure out the appeal of "Big Brother". 
• Discovered I don't mind "Amazing Race Canada". 
• Coombs, Cuckoo's and Goats on the Roof.

Look! A Goat! On a roof!

• Parksville Sandcastle Competition and a stroll on the beach.

• Fish Tacos! (Meh.) 
• Spaghetti Tacos! (Awesome!)
• Air-popped popcorn
• Pancakes and Tannadice Farms bacon. Mmmmm. Bacon.
• Spaghetti alla Carbonara. Mmmmm. More Tannadice Farms bacon.
• House elves! (I miss having teenagers to sweep my floors and wash my dishes.)
• Beachcombing at Kye Bay.

• Live crabs were wrestled.

• Gelato, gelato and more gelato at Benino Gelato.
• Hiked though the woods and down to the beach at Seal Bay.
• Walked the beach at Goose Spit.
• Lunched at the Filberg Park Tea House
• Saw "The Wolverine" ... Take it off Mr Jackman! 
• Walked the boardwalk and enjoyed the company of the whiskey jacks at Paradise Meadows.

Honest Mr. Conservation Officer. We weren't feeding the birds. They just flew onto our hands for no reason!

Or maybe they stopped by to check out our shoes!

• Five fingers for all!
• Visited friendly farmers.
• A cougar sighting

• An almost bear sighting.

Photo courtesy of L at Sleeping Cougar Acres. The bear was wandering her property within hours of our leaving it. It left the above as evidence.

• Swam in the river. 
• Another swim in the river.
• Ran an earring sweatshop featuring child labourers in our dining room (after ages at the bead shop selecting materials).
• Set up the tent in the yard for a teen camp-out.
• Farmers' Market.
• Market Days.
• Korean food. Our treat, then theirs.
• Two trips to the chocolate shop. Or maybe three.
• Several trips to the art gallery.
• Jelly bean roulette. 
• Bedtime story!  Not quite like the old days, but close enough. 

List the Fourth

• Left Hubby to the peace and quiet and flew back to Ontario to return the teens to their rightful owners.
• Wrestled a seal head into my carry-on and a tayberry plant into my checked luggage. Both survived the trip. Wasn't sure if the teens would. The 4:30 am wake-up call was a bit rough for them. 
• A happy reuniting of the teens with their mother, their grand parents, their cat and their dishwasher. 

"You missed me? Did you go somewhere? Play with me."

• Discovered "A Very Potter Musical" and the sequel "A Very Potter Sequel".
• Winery visits, family visits, perch, broasted chicken, blueberries.
• Colasanti's! Remember when they sold plants?
• Started a container herb garden with my niece and nephew in spite of lack of plants at Colasanti's. 
• More air-popped popcorn.
• Shopping with my Mom.  
• Shopping with my sister and niece.
• Mario Party!
• Ratatoullie! The dish not the movie. Cooking with the teens is fun! (Until the big knives come out. Then I panic.)
• Steaks and summer sausage from local grass-fed cattle. Meet the meat.

List the Fifth

• Returned to Vancouver Island...eventually. Unplanned delays allowed for...
• Beer and snacks in Calgary.
• Really late arrival at Comox Airport.
• Barely awake reunion with Hubby.
• Back to work. I didn't quite forget everything while I was off gallivanting. 
• Hiking and movies and meals out and lazy weekends off.
• Labour Day Weekend wedding...
• ... which pretty much brings us to the present.

Wow! What lists! I'm particularly impressed with all we managed to cram into the two weeks with my niece and nephew. And there's so much more we could have done. Now that they know where to find us, I hope they come back and visit us again soon! 

Great-grandma approved food

I found an interesting story about Julia Child while researching “Julie and Julia” for my book club’s potluck. While on their way to Paris in 1948, Julia and her husband Paul stopped for dinner in Rouen. Julia later claimed that the meal there marked “an opening up of the soul and spirit” for her. It was this meal that sparked her career as a chef, an author and a television personality.

I too had a moment like this. It was an event that eventually led to my starting this blog. I’ve never written about it before because I haven’t known how to describe it. I like Julia’s way of phrasing it. Surprising considering my early aversion to her boisterous nature and my difficulty with her recipes. I guess Julia and I have something in common after all. Given her success I find this reassuring. There may be hope for me yet.

My moment of revelation came last June while watching “The Hour” with George Stroumboulopoulos. His guest that night was Michael Pollan. I hadn’t planned to watch. That I caught the interview was a happy accident of channel-surfing.

I had seen Pollan’s book “In Defense of Food” at the library. Prior to the interview I hadn’t been tempted to pick it up, but after listening to him I knew I had to read it. Here was a man who was brave enough, or crazy enough, to admit on-air that his book could be summed up in the seven words that appeared on the cover. You didn’t even have to open the book to get its message, yet after the program I logged onto the library’s website and added my name to its waiting list. Much of what Pollan said confirmed what I already knew, but it was his encouragement to “get back to foods, real foods, the foods your great grandmother would recognize as food” that stayed with me.

It was several weeks before I received a copy of Pollan’s book. While I waited I thought a lot about family and food and tradition. From my mother’s side there were memories of meals at my grandparents’ house. Aunts and uncles and cousins sharing meals of roast turkey or pork or beef with all the fixings. There were breakfasts of fried eggs and peameal bacon. There were family barbeques to celebrate summer birthdays, and there were huge meals of perch or pickerel or smelt following successful fishing adventures. We went apple-picking. There were springtime afternoons of foraging by the train tracks for asparagus, and there was a memorable trip to the cemetery to gather hickory nuts. We went for Sunday drives to buy fresh veggies from roadside stands. We noted the changing seasons by what we found there.

My dad's grandparents are from the Ukraine. Meals with his family, held at his grandparents’ house, included perogies, cabbage rolls, kubasa, rabbit, and , at Easter, paska. I have memories of Baba’s substantial vegetable garden. It seemed like every time we stopped in to visit my great-grandparents we found Baba in the kitchen preparing meals or preserving food.

I finally got my copy of “In Defense of Food” from the library. I don’t have the words to tell you how the book affected me. To paraphrase Julia, my soul and spirit opened a bit further, and I was so inspired by what Pollan wrote that I bought my own copy of the book. In hardcover.

In defining food Pollan again talks about eating food your great-grandparents would recognize, and again I was drawn back to family memories. I’m fortunate that I don’t have to rely on my memory for foods from my mom’s side of the family. Mom is the one who taught me to cook, and she created a recipe book for me prior to my moving out on my own. As the book included several family recipes, I’m able to recreate many of the dishes I enjoyed as a child. And, since we get back to Ontario about once a year, there are family gatherings and shared meals to look forward to.

I’m not so lucky with my dad’s side of the family. After Baba died his family drifted apart. Recipes didn’t get shared in his family. Of course, I’m fairly certain Baba didn’t use recipes, and I don’t think she could read or write English. Still, I knew there were written records of her recipes out there. I spent a wonderful afternoon one Easter weekend making paska with Dad’s cousin’s wife when I was still in elementary school. I was so excited that she chose me to help, and I was so proud of myself when we were done. I had never helped to make bread before. I still remember being completely thrilled to be part of a process that created such delicious, golden braids of bread.

Fortunately, finding good Ukrainian food isn’t that difficult. I’ve been able to indulge my cravings for cabbage rolls, perogies and kubasa regularly. Paska, on the other hand, is a bit more tricky. I’ve been able to find it, but it’s never as good as I remember. I even went to the extreme of joining the local Ukrainian dance troupe in my search for paska like Baba’s. I ate lots of good food, but none of the paska compared.

Though Pollan’s writing prompted me to remember meals and foods shared with family, that isn’t all I took from his book. What I now try to practice is eating foods that are unprocessed, with few ingredients that are locally grown or produced. This has changed what I eat, how I cook, and how and where I shop. I’m not always successful, but it’s a process that I’m enjoying. I particularly enjoy my trips to the Farmers’ Market, which took me right back to the paska dilemma on Easter weekend.

Our local Farmers’ Market includes several stalls selling baked goods. On the Saturday of Easter weekend I noticed a stall selling paska. I almost walked right by, as I was sure I would be disappointed again. Then I saw they had samples. I figured I could taste-test without having to commit to an entire loaf, so I wandered over to try some. It was good. Really, really good. It was so close to Baba’s that I was speechless. I’m glad I had my sunglasses on, as I got all teary. Still, there must have been something on my face, as the guy at the stall looked at me, grinned and said, “Grandmother?” All I could say in response was “Great-grandmother”. Once I recovered my powers of speech I bought a loaf. I tried to convince everyone else at the booth they needed a loaf too. I probably wasn’t the craziest person at the market that day, but I’m sure the people at that booth thought I was.

Since that day at the market I’ve done something so bold (well bold for me anyway) I’m starting to wonder about myself. In a manner that I find stalker-ish (but which probably isn’t), I used the power of the internet to track down Dad’s cousin’s son. This would be the son of the woman I made paska with all those years ago.

I was fairly certain he wouldn’t remember me, but I was driven by paska-deprived desperation. I was also fairly nervous about doing this. Contacting a relative who I haven’t seen in 30 years to ask if he could put me in contact with his mother so I could have her bread recipe is a bit out of my area of expertise. I did it anyway. And he responded. His mother is going to contact me this weekend. I’m so excited I could dance. OK, I did dance. I knew those Ukrainian dance lessons would come in handy. I’m so looking forward to hearing from her, and I would be even if she no longer had the recipes. Like Esther says on the cover of her book, it’s not about the food. It’s about connection, and sharing, and in this case it’s about family. What a wonderful outcome from a randomly-viewed television interview. I think Mr. Pollan would approve.