My grandmother set her bread to rise each day before the sun yet dared to dawn, wresting two loaves into the oven before a shadow had stirred. She saved a handful of the dough to roll into the morning’s coffee cake and topped it high with buttery struesel. By the time I tramped into her ancient kitchen on summer mornings, the air bloomed with the sweetly sour greeting of yeast. It was breakfast time, and no one needed to ask.
Her house is now flattened, ground into the dust of the earth’s eternal crust. She is gone and the time has passed. But what she fed still ferments on my tongue, and I recognize my place and lineage.
I made pancakes today.
Funy, I was thinking about my grandmother this morning. AND I made pancakes. Have a wonderful weekend.
Comment by Kathleen Botsford — May 24, 2009 @ 5:11 pm
Wonderful warm memory. I made french toast this morning. It’s become a Sunday tradition in my home. Anyone dropping by almost always knows they’re invited and in for a treat. (Hugs)Indigo
Comment by Indigo — May 24, 2009 @ 6:14 pm
Clean plate. Once again, nothing to show for it. 🙂
Comment by Karen Maezen Miller — May 24, 2009 @ 10:17 pm
only you, dear mae, can make poetry of pancakes.
xo
Comment by Wendy — May 24, 2009 @ 11:39 pm
Hee. What else would I make it out of?
(Thanks)
Comment by Karen Maezen Miller — May 25, 2009 @ 1:45 am
These are the memories I too hope to pass on.
Comment by Shalet — May 25, 2009 @ 3:04 am
This is pretty.
So many kitchen aromas remind me of my young years and my precious, dear grandma, who was like my second mother – peppers, roasting as early as 10:00 in the morning, french toast, which I requested every time I spent summers with her, and which she made happily in huge batches, and I would wake to the smell of vanilla and cinnamon at the crack of dawn, and so many other smells, which mean safety, and love and coziness. I can see her laughing face in my mind.
Comment by DQ's Windmill — May 25, 2009 @ 4:11 am
Mmm, pancakes.
I don’t know if I could make my self wake up predawn, but the idea of baking my own bread AND coffee cake sure is an enthralling one.
Comment by Rowena — May 25, 2009 @ 1:34 pm
Ahhh…you bring back memories. They are of my very own Mae that loved to bake bread, Clara Mae. I can almost smell the coffee and the delicious smells from the oven!
Comment by Cam@Journey Wildly — May 25, 2009 @ 3:49 pm