Kitchen world

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

We left early in the morning, when the creek valley air was still cool. With the El Camino's windows down and the cozy wings turned in, it was almost too cold, but I felt wonderful. We were heading east in a line of old cars, with our old car friends, driving along the winding road that followed the Ohio River. I looked out the window at the river's water flowing smoothly past small towns and under bridges. It was a beautiful day.

After lunch with our friends, Greg and I headed back home to our puppy dog. We did not want to leave her alone for too long, and we decided to take the inland route, following a twisty road that wound its way down from the western Appalachians. It has been a while since we had passed this way, and I enjoyed seeing the familiar sights. Each small town that we drove through was really no more than a few houses clustered around a road crossing.

I kept my eye out for one house in particular, and when I saw it, sitting on a rise just past a small town, my heart sank. I could tell that she had not been home for a while, and such a wonderful home she'd had. A new fence ran off the side of the house and new things were scattered about the yard. I thought back to our warm welcome, now 10 years ago, as we stepped into her kitchen world.

A kitchen is defined as a place where food is prepared and cooked, but I believe, and we all really know, that a kitchen can be so very much more.

Her daughter had called ahead to let her know that we would be stopping by. We stood on the back kitchen step as I knocked on the old wooden framed door. I could hear a soft voice on the other side telling us to come on in.

We stepped inside quickly, trying to keep out the cold evening air, but I could feel that some of the chill still slipped in beside us, and there we were, standing inside her warm kitchen, her world. A plate of just baked cookies sat on the table before us. Their scent filled the air.

From her wheelchair, she gave us a tour of her kitchen home. A bed was set up in one corner, covered with a handmade patchwork quilt. An easy chair was next to the table, and there was room for her to wheel herself about from cook stove, to chair, to bed. She explained that she no longer used the rest of the farmhouse, and that everything she needed was here in this one tall-ceilinged room. This was the home where she had always lived, where she had raised her children and watched after her grandchildren, and where her great grandchildren now came to visit.

She showed us the windows where she could look out across her farm fields, and told us about all of her family who lived just down the road, over this way and that, and just across on the other side of the road. The pride in her voice told us that this was not only her home, but her family's corner of the county, her family's corner of the whole wide world.

We told her of our city life and how we had left it behind for the beauty of the country that had always been her home. We talked of what we had learned over the past years that we had been living the country life. How we'd  learned to grow a large garden, heat with wood from our land, gather free-range chicken eggs, keep bees, raise cattle and boil down maple sap. These were all things that had always been a part of her life. She was so glad to share. She offered us some of her cookies, and we talked, but in time we left to walk back outside into the evening air.

Since that day, I have thought of her often, living in her warm kitchen world, looking out across the fields to her daughter's house, baking cookies for her great grandchildren, perhaps listening to the radio or visiting with any who happened to stop by, but no matter what I've thought of her doing, I've known that her world was warm and secure.

Even though my heart sank to think that she was no longer home, my heart was warmed by her welcome into her world. This morning as I made the coffee, I looked out the cabin's kitchen window. I saw the puppy dog running past with a stick in her mouth. The hillside greenery was glittering, covered with a heavy dew. 

The crows were just beginning to caw upon the hill, and another creek valley day was beginning. I smiled, knowing without a doubt that a dear lady had taught me that a kitchen can be so much more than a place where food is prepared and cooked. As I sipped my coffee, I smiled to know that every kitchen has the ability to be its own very special corner of the world. I am so thankful to have met the dear lady who taught me to share my world with any who happen to stop on by.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com. 

* * *

••• Publisher's note: A free press is critical to having well-informed voters and citizens. While some news organizations opt for paid websites or costly paywalls, The Highland County Press has maintained a free newspaper and website for the last 25 years for our community. If you would like to contribute to this service, it would be greatly appreciated. Donations may be made to: The Highland County Press, P.O. Box 849, Hillsboro, Ohio 45133. Please include "for website" on the memo line.