on sandwiches and beer and things that matter
the ones when your tummy hurts
you’ve laughed so much.
and when you catch yourself smiling at nothing at all.
his kindness obvious.
he had a glint in his eyes and work on his hands.
and saw history in his story.
i wondered if he needed another grandchild.
i thought to myself, i’m so up for the job.
and polishes in tins.
newspapers abound and
his father repaired hats,
and now he the same.
it got me to thinking about
how easily things are lost.
of how tradition sometimes falters in the space,
from one generation to the next.
the ways we use our hands,
the ways we use our minds,
it got me to thinking,
it’s no revelation of course.
the truth is,
i just think we should listen more to stories.
we should make sure they are, well, less easily pushed aside.
i want to know where my cheese came from.
and i want to know the story of the family that started the farm.
i want to know who made my bread
and i want to know why they made it.
idealistic perhaps, but attainable just the same.
it’s simple really,
i drank beer this weekend, the kind made in small batches.
i ate maple butter this weekend,
the kind made in someone’s backyard.
i tasted smoked meat this weekend,
the kind that is that way, because tradition made it so.
and it all made me happy.
it was really good.
i hope yours was equally so.
happy tuesday all.
i can’t get over this light.
a new subscription, the art of eating.
this photo screams, waiting on summer to me.
moccasins for a friend’s new baby. love.
plus, i’m currently obsessing over meat pies.
do you have a family recipe?
the new recipe download i promised,
it’s just that there’s a surprise involved
and that bit, it’s taking a little longer than expected.
soon though, promise.