An Apology
There’s a pattern to our three weekly posts: first a Healthy Change, then a supporting recipe, followed by a weekly dinner menu. Recipe writing has been a blast. It’s hard but it’s been a wonderful introduction to a better food culture.
Because this week's Healthy Change is to eat orange fruits and vegetables, my plan was to write a healthy menu for sweet potatoes. Sweet potatoes—a great nutrition bargain—are usually drenched in sugar and marshmallows. So I wanted to write a menu for a a low-sugar casserole, or a sweet potato soup.
But there’s a complication. We’ve come to picturesque Midway, high in the Wasatch Mountains to marry off our last single child. It’s a happy day but I haven’t been able to devote the time needed to develop a recipe. So this post is an apology and a promise for the future.
I would like to offer a couple of possibilities: The N.Y. Times had a casserole recipe, Sweet Potato, Carrot and Dried Fruit Casserole, that sounded delish but I haven’t tried it. Won’t someone give it a try and report back?
Likewise, I saw two delicious sweet potato soup recipes: Sweet Potato-Peanut Bisque and Curried Carrot, Sweet Potato, Ginger Soup. I can’t bless them because we’ve haven’t tried them but they sound as tasty as they are healthy.
Midway Memories
We’re the guardians of a Victorian farmhouse that has been the home of the beautiful wife’s family for over a century. Though I’m an outsider, I love this small village because it still resonates of how farm people once lived. A century ago four siblings build homes on a corner and together they had 44 children. Imagine 44 first cousins growing up within a stone’s throw of each other. As a result, much of the town is some kind of relative to the beautiful wife. Can I tell you about a few?
Two of those 44 cousins, aunts to the beautiful wife, became schoolteachers but never had the blessing of marriage and family. As schoolteachers they lived lives sanctified by service to the children of others; they were angels. In college we came to this home for Sunday dinners a time or two. The aunts were marvelous cooks and at dinner one of them would stand behind my place at the table, trying to anticipate what would make my dinner experience even more enjoyable. You had to love their solicitude but it did give me a confused image of what marriage might be like. How could such gracious treatment ever be forgotten? It’s part of the reason we’ve dedicated our time and means to preserving the old home.
A saintly uncle lived through the back lot. Once on a visit he came to me as I was loading the car to leave. His arms were filled with packages of meat from his freezer. “Here,” he offered, “can’t you use these?” As struggling college students meat was a rare indulgence so his gift meant a lot. Another time he gave a gallon of his homemade apple cider. It was the best ever. This was behavior typical of farmers—giving something of what they had raised to visitors. But it was done in such a kindly way that I have ever since wanted to be like him.
The beautiful wife has a cousin some might think a little grumpy. He’s a hard man, not someone who would get pushed around. He once gave me his assessment of California: “I wouldn’t give my backyard for the whole state,” he declaimed. This caused me, on a walk, to peek over the fence to see his backyard.
This past year, after a long marriage, his wife passed away of breast cancer. She was buried in the old cemetery on a hill overlooking the town. What does this man—who on certain days can be hard and grumpy—do with his evenings now? In his grief, he takes his guitar to the cemetery, sits on a bench, and sings songs to his departed wife.
I apologize there is no recipe or menu this week but as you probably know, it’s a lot of work to get ready for a marriage. And if I could give one thing to our daughter and her new husband, it would be this: That their marriage be blessed with that special grace found in small towns.