As young children, our grandmother would let us pick our
birthday dinner and I always chose roast beef, potatoes, and carrots. I looked so forward to that dinner! I remember the smell of my dinner cooking all
afternoon in my grandmother’s “pot”. As
I grew older, I came to realize that no matter what my grandmother made in the
pot, it was delicious. In my mind, she
was the most awesome cook ever.
Thanksgiving was the best holiday at our home and I can
still remember waking up to the smell of home cooking. My mother and
grandmother had already been up for hours preparing the feast for the day by
the time that I would first make my appearance into the kitchen. I could hear them chatting back and forth
about anything from hoping there was enough food to wondering who would be the
first to fall asleep after the meal! Chet
always got the vote and then an outburst of laughter followed. One thing that
stands out in my memory is seeing the pot on top of the stove and knowing that whatever
was in it would be phenomenal. As I approached my teenage years, I would join
in the early morning cooking not so much to do any cooking but to partake in
the gossip that took place during the cooking!
As an adult with grown children of my own now, I still look back on
those special Thanksgiving morning cooking sessions with very fond memories
which always included the use of the family pot.
When my grandmother passed away, my mother inherited the pot
and to my amazement, whatever she cooked in that pot was delicious! When I become a mother, I made my mother
promise that I would be the one to inherit Grandma Grace’s pot. We used to joke about her giving the pot to
someone else and how I would put a curse on the pot so whatever was cooked in
it would burn beyond recognition. She always ended the conversation with “don’t
worry, you can have the pot”. My mother
died suddenly and the family pot sat empty for several years. No one wanted to cook in the pot because the
pain of losing our mother was too great to bear and using the pot would only
magnify our loss.
The time came when my brother and I had to start sorting
through our parent’s history as we prepared to move our father into a long-term-care facility. I remember reaching into one of the cabinets and pulling out the family
pot. As I held it in my hands rubbing
the inside of it and thinking about all of the delicious meals that had been
prepared in it, I asked my brother if he minded if I had it and he responded,
"of course, you are now the cook of the family".
Today, I use the pot and no matter what I cook in it, it is
delicious. The pot is stained with love
and it will be passed to my only daughter and from there, my oldest
granddaughter. There are over 60 years
worth of meals made in the family pot...all of which have been delicious! The
best part about the pot, however, is the love used in preparing the meals and
the times spent having conversations while doing so. As I pass down the pot to
my daughter, I pray that the memories she builds while using the pot will last
a lifetime. My hope is that passing the
pot will continue for generations to come.
