Well, we live in the South, so of course we’ve just finished what we like to call false spring.
These past few days of warmth have been wonderful. We’ve spent time outside as a family getting our gardens ready, and we’ve enjoyed evening walks together. Man, these times are so amazing right now. Everyone relaxes, the boys open up during these walks, and the girls spend their time watching and learning. I’m just soaking in the moments.
I know we only get so much time with our kids, and moments like these are the best. They’ll be memories for me when the kids are grown and moved out, and hopefully memories the kids will reminisce about when they’re older too.
We’ve been spending so much time outside, finding any excuse we can to be out in the sun.
And of course, that also means grilling weather.
We had some friends over this weekend to enjoy it with us, and they’re just the best. My husband prepped and smoked the ribs today while I was on side and dessert duty. I’ll be sharing those recipes soon — homemade baked beans, lemon cream cheese pound cake, and a strawberry cucumber spring salad. Everything was wonderful, but what made it even better was sharing it with good friends.
But here’s the part I didn’t expect.
I was looking through my grandma’s old recipes today trying to find just the right dessert. I’ve looked through her cookbooks a million times, but somehow I still find something new every time.
Today I realized the pickle recipe she had written on an old envelope was from a piece of mail sent in 1984. There was even a grocery list tucked inside as a bookmark. It told its own little story.
Beer for $2.
Bread for $1.
Absolutely crazy to me.
And then I had this moment where it felt like my grandma knew I needed something.
In my last blog, I talked about wanting to be more intentional with herbs and possibly making my own teas from things grown in the flower garden. Wouldn’t you know it — one of her cookbooks has an entire section about what different herbs can be used for.
And somehow that means more to me than the information I can find on Google, Pinterest, or Instagram.
This feels intentional.
It feels like going back to my roots.
It feels like doing things the way our elders used to — when food wasn’t just food, it was something used to care for and heal the body.
I can’t wait to continue recreating her recipes, making them my own, and fueling my family with that same kind of intention.
