The Beginning

I grew up in one of those families where food is love; feeding others is a way to share your love in a way that words just don't cover. My Aunt Karen always stood out because of the way she cared about food. She was always very focused on healthful eating; local, organic, unprocessed. When I was young, I didn't really understand what the big deal was -- but I knew that it mattered a lot to Karen . . . and that her collard greens were better than any vegetable we ever ate at home (sorry, mom and dad).

Over the past four years, I finally began to feel like I understood. My relationship with food has shifted dramatically since childhood, but I began to realize that I thought about Karen a lot when I was making decisions and forming opinions about the kind of food I would consume. Without even realizing it, I had gotten an education in healthy, natural eating from my aunt.

My daughter Zelda entered the world just two months after Karen left it; she will never get to experience those collard greens or the insanely delicious apple pie Karen made every Thanksgiving. There was a memorial service for Karen this Saturday, held among the gardens that she so lovingly tended; my cousin, Karen's daughter, mentioned that you could really, truly feel her mother's presence there -- and she was completely right. In a quiet, private moment, I introduced my baby to her Great-Aunt Karen. When I nurse Zelda, I find that I often think about Karen -- a huge supporter of breastfeeding; while feeding her there, in a place where I could feel Karen beside me, the entire world felt right. I knew that Aunt Karen was pleased by the way that I was nourishing my baby.

Occasionally, I have a similar sensation when I prepare meals at home; I look at what I have created and think to myself, Aunt Karen would approve of this. Not that it is necessarily a meal Karen would make herself -- but that it is a meal I can really feel good about, a meal that I could share with Aunt Karen. Feeding others, after all, is a vessel for love.

On the long drive home from Karen's memorial service, I made myself a promise: for the rest of the season, I would strive to make those kinds of meals. Healthy meals, made with local organically grown produce and whole grains. Delicious meals, filled with flavor and love. This promise will be my summer project, my personal memorial for Karen. I plan to document these meals here -- not for the world to see, but for me. I want to have a record of this personal tribute to Aunt Karen, so that I can look back on it in the future . . . and, maybe one day, share it with Zelda.