In the early years of grade school, I learned that there was an incredible invention called an Easy-Bake Oven.
I did not know how I was going to get my hands on one, but I was sure I could not live without it. I talked endlessly about this imperative need to anyone who would listen.
Instead, my wise mom bought a children’s recipe book and presented it to my sister, who was next in age to me. She knew my sister would include me in stirring up a recipe or two, and it would quiet my insistent desire for something that would have surely been a waste of money my parents did not have, taking up space in a closet after the first whim had passed.
It turned out we could use the real oven and make food that would serve the entire family instead of a miniature snack for a tiny child after baking it with a light bulb.
It amazed me that one cup of this and a pinch of that, a lovely dose of real butter stirred with gusto, then placed in the properly prepared baking dish, could come out with incredible flavor, bubbling over with joy in all who tasted it. It felt like a great gift of magic!
My father was the most appreciative eater I have ever known. He could still recall favorite meals made by his mother in a wood-fired stove. “We would get home from church on Sunday and everything was finished to perfection,” he said, still amazed by her talent.
He described the chicken which he had watched her pluck, then prepare, and it was served with gravy to a happy boy who ate with gratitude.
And so it was with great pride that I helped carry delicious desserts to the round table. My big sister was in charge, but if I so much as measured a 1/4 teaspoon of salt and stirred it into her perfectly measured mix of other dry ingredients, I was one proud chef watching my family enjoy a bite of cobbler.
I realize more and more as time unfolds that I grew up in a sweet time, within a happy family that worked hard and enjoyed the simple things. Between the morning and evening milking times of our herd of Holsteins and all the chores that went with it, we had time together building joyful memories.
We giggled when we saw our happy parents sneak a smooch and joke with one another. We gathered around our table three times a day for hearty meals, and there was always cake or pie or cookies.
Standing on a chair, measuring cup in hand, I suddenly felt like I had earned a place of joyful power, helping to bring smiles to people I loved, bringing them the cherry on top!
