My Grandmother's enthusiasm for gardening and cooking was
a staple of my childhood. Through the dual wider lenses of being an adult and her passing…I still see
her organic joy of planting, nurturing and cooking as the core to her soul. Babbie’s passion never wavered…she looked as
forward to the first turn of warm, black dirt as she did to prepping her
canning jars. She adored daisies and the smell of fresh cut
parsley could make her toes curl. At one
house I lived in, soil, water and sun came magically together to create a
truly, once-in-a-lifetime, magnificent herb garden. Twenty years after I had moved out, Babbie
was still fondly raving about a particularly prolific and fragrant marjoram bush. When
she was frail, going blind and nearing the end of this stay on Earth, I was
blessed with the opportunity to give her the most absolutely perfect gift…“Dirt," “Tomato Leaf” and “Marjoram” scented hand lotions from Demeter
Fragrances. I confess that I am often
guilty of thinking that I give the very best gifts, maybe yes, maybe no…but for sure,
if only this one time, I impeccably nailed it.
Babbie loved to fall asleep to the sound of
raindrops and often had me to go outside and put our metal trash can lids under
her window before a nap. She also loved traveling and visiting her near and far family often carrying seeds and
plant cuttings in both directions. This resulted
in her frequently being detained in airports… pre PSA regulations…over
suspicious items hidden in her suitcase… mushrooms from a cousin in Czechoslovakia
…oregano from California and her favorite hostess gift… one gallon bags of
poppy seeds. Her criminal behavior also
included an activity she and my father liked to share called “midnight
requisitioning." Normally, relatively
upstanding citizens, these two would think nothing of raiding fields of onions,
lettuce and corn or maybe an orange grove or two after dark. Most of the time, they channeled their inner
Robin Hood and stuck to commercial operations, but if a neighbor’s artichoke
plant or strawberry patch looked “forgotten” then it became fair game.
Babbie’s
gardening methods were mostly organic, especially pest control. One day there were a couple of blue jays
raising a noisy fuss and eating seeds that did not belong to them. The next morning there was one dead in the
garden, how the bird died still remains a family mystery. Babbie took his
little body and staked it out in the dirt, crucifixion-style, so the other jays
would see what happened when you messed with her garden. After that, even the snails kept a low
profile.
She was sturdy first generation, mushroom
picking, sausage making Eastern European stock, the first one to speak English
in their Slovak enclave in St, Louis, Illinois. She tried to keep the bi-lingual thread
going with her grandchildren, but the only phrases I have retained are, “Thank
you,” “Good Night,” “Give me a kiss” and “Please get me a beer”…come to think
of it, maybe that is all you ever really ever need to say.
Babbie loved to cook huge pots of rich
and hearty old world dishes. Her fundamental
ingredients were chicken, potatoes, caraway seeds, a head of cabbage and her
beloved parsley. As children we were not
very impressed with these dishes, but as adults whenever we are feeling a
little bit punky, stuffed cabbage rolls, potato pancakes or chicken and
dumplings are our go to cure.
My
favorite dish was lush, rue based, meat-free vegetable soup we always had for
Christmas Eve dinner. The tradition was that whatever you had on your dining
table that night would be plentiful during the following year, so the goal was
to include a bit of every vegetable you possibly could which added up to a
copious pot of delicious. The abundance theme
was carried out with a centerpiece full of assorted fruit, flowers and
nuts. Occasionally, one of us would try
to sneak in some candy and then one special year a red paper heart appeared.
Throughout
my childhood, if I was being particularly stubborn or challenging my mother would
often vent her frustration by chastising me with “You are just like your
grandmother!” At the time, I took the comparison to heart with all the
negativity it was zinged at me with. Now
that I am older and wiser, I can’t think of a better compliment. Right up to
the end Babbie was enthusiastically outspoken and rabidly curious, always marveling
at some clever new idea or sharing a fresh concept she had just heard or read
about. She worked hard most of her life,
but she was able to make a living doing what she loved most, cooking and caring for others and a piece of her beauty-full
heart went into every pot. She lived bitter, hard things…prejudices, challenges,
and the crippling pain of burying a husband and three of her children, but she
would still weep with joy over a field of daisies. Babbie knew a full, well-led life held both
great sorrows and great happiness and she always carried both equally with faith,
humor and grace.
Dobru
noc Babicka, all my love,
Majinka
From Garden Table: A Celebration of Bare Feet, Fresh Picked Tomatoes and Not Waiting Until Sunday Night to Grill, by Mango Dragonfly. Available at Amazon.com
