Today, I’m on a bit of a high, because a couple of lines from my post for the “I am from…” synchroblog were chosen to be part of SheLoves Magazine’s September zine. Also, my parents are coming into town this weekend, and I haven’t seen them since July, so I’m looking forward to that. I’m thinking a lot about heritage today.
Food is in my roots.
Growing up, we didn’t eat at restaurants very often. We were the sit-down-at-the-supper-table family. We were the five-kinds-of-pie-at-Christmas family. We were Baptist potlucks. We were homemade candy at Christmas and homemade jam in the summer.
In many ways, we still are all those things.
We grow food. Apple pies and canned peaches come from fruit on the trees out back. Pecans are picked and shelled, not bought. And some glorious day, I’m going to find a farm near me that grows Cream Crowder peas, which, until about two years ago, I knew only as MeMaw Peas.
Yesterday, I didn’t have a lot of time. I had a sandwich for lunch, and a frozen dinner at Kim’s that I ate while watching Parenthood.
But tonight, Mom and Dad are bringing tomatoes and peppers from the garden. They’re bringing Mom’s apple cake (dairy-free, so I can eat it without taking a pill). Tonight, we feast on foods that are homegrown and homemade.
That’s where I come from. That’s the place I’m rooted.
That’s what I miss every time I eat food out of a bag or carton.
Themes, observations, and lessons:
– The food I choose affects my sense of place in the world.
– In a pinch, frozen tikka masala is still pretty tasty.
– Even when I just have peanut butter and jam, at least the bread is good, and the jam is made from Mom’s blackberries.
M. Suzanne Terry 
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