Taste of Home

I have always considered "home" to be the house in Spring City where I grew up. If I close my eyes and concentrate I can still remember what the rooms in our house looked like, where the furniture was, the sound of the back screen door slamming shut, the creaks in the floors. I can remember all the smells...the grass after it was cut, the hay in the barn, "Sanpete Turkey" on the grill over the fire pit out back, the smell of the trampoline when we slept on it in our sleeping bags, the garden veggies in the summer, the apple orchard in the fall, and the delicious aromas of my mom's cooking. It's a shame that I couldn't better appreciate those things when I was young. There are moments when I wish I could go back for just a day and soak everything in.

Mom gave me a little taste of home today that I haven't had in a long time. She baked homemade bread, fry bread, and rhubarb pie. I felt like a kid again eating my fry bread hot off the iron skillet, smothered with strawberry jam.

I could remember exactly what it was like when my mom used to make it in our old house. That's the best thing about Moms, they will forever hold that link back to your childhood, and can take you home with a few simple ingredients mixed together with a little bit of love.