HONOR -- Because of illness, Edna Shaffer will not be writing her "Grandma's Kitchen" column for the next few months. She expects to be back this spring.
You can send cards to: Edna Shaffer, 9192 Platte Road, Beulah, MI 49617, or e-mail her at coachngrandma@charter.net.
My door has been revolving with out-of-town daughters this past month. Vicki, the eldest, came for 10 days, with lots of garden goodies packed in her car. As she exited, Sarah, the youngest, entered.
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When I think of the dog days my mind goes back to a skinny 10-year-old who was terrified just by the words. Living in one of the hottest states in the union, I didn't connect the heat to the position of the Dog Star, Sirius, like the ancients did.
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Lately, I've been giving lots of thought to my relationship with Mother Nature, or maybe that should be lack thereof. It's obvious that I have grievously offended her to the point she has been visiting one plague after another since early June.
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One of my favorite birthday cards is still displayed on my table. It's an amazing photo of a "granny woman," her hands supporting a gigantic slice of watermelon. Her face is buried in it and even more surprising, the woman looks exactly like me!
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Spring is a great time to take a journey back home, if only in memory. I loved springtime in the Ozark foothills, with the fragrance of blooming magnolias.
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Because Molly and I are trying to support each other in sticking to our healthy eating plan, our newest caper involves stevia, an all-natural, non-caloric sweetener produced by a plant of the same name. It also has zero carbs and rates a zero on the glycemic index.
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To all my dear reader-friends, I am sure this is tacky, but my column today is both a food column/thank-you note, so please indulge me. I can never thank you enough for all of your thoughtful cards, notes and e-mails. They have been my joy and my strength.
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Christmas always seems to come at just the right time to pull mankind back from the brink of insanity ... to invade our hearts and lives with a spirit of peace and hope. When our emphasis shifts from ourselves to others the Christmas spirit becomes contagious.
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November is met with differing degrees of enthusiasm by the man of the house than it is by his wife. From the minute the first trees start to show a splash of color, the Michigan men start counting days until deer season. As wives look ahead they see Thanksgiving, Christmas, shopping, cleaning, cooking and company looming with considerably less excitement. But really now, wouldn't you rather do what we do, than get up before daylight and go to the woods and sit on a frozen stump all day? So pass the sticky notes and let's get at it.
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Once again we are caught up in Mother Nature's annual fall spectacular. My biggest maple is a fluorescent red that seems to burst into flames when touched by the sun. Mother Nature speaks to us loud and clear if we take the time to listen. (Plus, 8th Annual Grand Traverse Bioneers Conference, applesauce over mashed potatoes, a new bread, and National Honey Month.)
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It's mid-August as I write this and I'm still waiting for my big juicy homegrown tomato. I want to make my over-the-sink sandwich. That's just what it sounds like -- two slices of fresh whole wheat bread, a swipe of Hellmann's and a sliced tomato so ripe and full of juice the bread can't soak it up. With the first bite it runs down and drips off your elbows! That's summertime eating at it's best.
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I've really enjoyed some good times and great food around the family tables this week. At the center of it all was the joy of eating and talking with the people I love. Anyone who lives alone will quickly tell you that one of the hardest parts is eating solo. Last night there were four generations of us, from age 2 to 83 around the table. The beautiful words of Henry Harrison Murray flooded my mind and misted my eyes
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I am slowly easing back into the land of the living. My routine is different, but at least I have one. For five months I've been in a strange land without boundaries, but with the love and prayers of my girls, my church and Record-Eagle family, I'm finding my new "normal," and it feels good!
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(Editor's note: This column was written by Molly Franks, Edna Shaffer's third-born daughter. Edna expects to be back writing next month.) The future is uncertain for all of us. Complex matters are part of life. There is no escaping them. When we embark on a journey through hardship, fear paralyzes us. Eventually, we each make a road. We find our way somehow, through the most difficult terrain.
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(Editor's note: This column was written by Edna Shaffer's daughter Vicki Kritzell, who was taking her turn caring for Edna as she recovered from surgery.) I know every child thinks she/he has the best mom in the world, but you know what? My sisters and I actually DO have the best. As you have probably guessed, food has always been at the core of our memories.
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How do we measure the sum of our days? We spend hours not noticing the miles between, the spaces grown, the aging face. Society demands busy-ness of us all, and stress so often pulls us from our own priorities and realities. And then, a phone call, a conversation, a knock at the door, a doctor report can stop it all on a dime. And we are faced with the possibility of no more time.
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I think about that a lot in relation to food and all the cycles and changes I've seen over the years. Food speaks volumes about the mind-set of a people and culture. Ever since the hunter/gatherers went out and conked some poor unsuspecting wild beast on the head with a club, the race has been on for a faster, tastier way to satisfy our hunger.
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Editor's note: Edna Shaffer's daughter, Sarah Earl, wrote this month's column. When mom first asked that I consider guest writing her column, the first topic that came to mind was "moms." Actually, my mom. I was happy for the chance to expound on how she perfectly embodies a nurturing spirit, a quiet intellect and quick wit. She has more compassion than anyone else I have ever met.
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How very different today is from the last day before the Christmas holiday. All of those chirpy "Merry Christmases" have turned into grunts and barely audible "yes, we had a fine time." As you slide into your La-Z-Boy, you hear those old familiar words sliding across your lips once again: "Next year is going to be so different."
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Since this is the last column of our "Christmas Caper," I really want to say a big thank you to all who took the time to share their favorite recipes. It has been fun for me, and I hope for you. Time and space are limited, so I'll get right to the recipes you sent. Each one is a tradition in your homes and it's our privilege to share them.
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Today was pretty gray and snowy. I missed church because I'd been under the weather all week and was feeling a little down. On a whim I drove into Honor to pick up the little weekly Insider. I noticed the open sign was lit at the Gathering Place and ran in to get the monthly newsletter. Talk about your serendipitous moment.
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Today our holiday caper is my priority. I have a file brimming with notes and recipes from you faithful friends, just waiting to be shared. Since this lands in your box before Thanksgiving, I'm using two recipes you might find helpful for turkey day. For those of you who missed the column requesting holiday recipes, I hope you can sit back and enjoy, and wouldn't it be nice if we could coast through the holidays without our hair standing on end!
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Can I "talk turkey"? You will probably think I've lost my mind. Three of us (one was vegetarian) sat down to a 12 pound turkey dinner on Saturday! It didn't really start out that way. Our local daughter's family had other fairly urgent obligations like helping with the new baby and laying up a chimney. So the New York crew is transporting frozen leftovers across four states to their freezer! I fear that by Thanksgiving we will be turkeyed- out , maybe lasagna will sound good!
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These cool, snappy mornings put a spring in your step and whet your appetite for some of those great tasting and wonderful smelling dishes we haven't had for awhile. I think of a bubbling pot of spicy chili, or a favorite soup, and what smells better than a pot roast cooking with onions? Now we can enjoy turning the oven on for this and some tall buttery lighter than air biscuits! Are you hungry yet? I am -- grab your aprons.
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