There is always something to be thankful for, and in these times, we can never underestimate the value of good health, access to food and a roof over one’s head.
But the theme over the past year that continues to show up in myriad beautiful ways has been community. I don’t need to tell you what happens when people come together around a common goal (it’s magic, ain’t it?), but I think the sentiment bears repeating: We need each other more than ever, regardless of age, religion, politics, wallet size and education.
We need each other when Congress thinks nothing of defining pizza as a vegetable for our youngest citizens. We need each other when 1 in 7 of us is receiving food stamps assistance. We need each other when buying a cantaloupe is a potentially lethal exercise. We need each other when we get pepper sprayed for challenging the status quo.
We need each other in the kitchen, in soup kitchens, in the school lunchroom.
We need each other at the farmers’ markets, and on the farms, and digging in the dirt in our own backyards.
We need each other’s support, encouragement and offer of a hot meal when the world feels monstrous and unkind.
I’ve gotten rich this year in community. Here’s a taste of what I’m so very thankful for:
My fellow canvolutionaries at Canning Across America, who continue to keep the spirit of safe home food preservation alive and to share their passion for putting summer in a jar. We pulled off Can-It-Forward Day with grace and style, and I am proud to know you.
A group of women scribes and cooks from various parts of the country --Virginia, Sandra, Sherri, Jackie, Lisa, Sally -- who gathered over a weekend in July to cook, drink, cry, laugh and share their fears and dreams. On its heels was a book signing in a small town in central Mass. and much of the audience comprised of dear friends such as Jim and Susan who drove with their families more than an hour to support my endeavors. It’s the little things that are the big things.
Two years ago, I stumbled upon the itty bitty Ozarks hamlet of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, where I worked on my first cookbook. I’ve been back a few times since and am headed there again next week. It’s where I never stop laughing, learning and appreciating the ups and downs of small-town life with the likes of Barbara, Cat, Mary Pat, Fuzzy, the farmers at Eureka farmers’ market, and that’s just for starters. It’s home away from home.
The world of cookbooks (and all things literary for that matter) suffered a huge loss this year with the untimely passing of Kim Ricketts who knew how to put on a book event and inspire creativity like nobody else. The love for Kim in Seattle is palpable, and when she died in April, folks across the city came out of the woodwork to pay tribute in a way that will be forever etched in my memory.
It’s been an extraordinary year of both new connections and the resurfacing of folks from the past. And then I got the rare gift of melding the two. Dear friend Stephanie joined me on a spa adventure at Rancho La Puerta in Tecate, Mexico. I got to know chef Denise who runs the cooking school where I taught a few classes. Denise knows my dear friend Monique, who lives just a few hours south and joins us for a few days in a seven-acre organic garden. If that’s all that happened to me this year, I’d feel rich.
Getting Russ back to Seattle full time is one of this year’s big gifts. My co-pilot and I were bi-coastal for most of the past year that included the passing of his father, and now Russ is home, where he belongs. Note to Hughes: Russ is making cornbread stuffing in your honor tomorrow.
Wishing you a delicious, safe and mindful Thanksgiving. With much gratitude, kod
