And we're off

Derby comes every year in Louisville on the first Saturday in May. Most Kentuckians(and all of Louisville) turn their attention to The Run for the Roses. I've done my share of yelling, "go baby go" as the field of horses run down the stretch toward the finish line and the winner's circle. I have viewed this race from various positions(sorry Leonard) including Millionaire Row. I have never been in the infield and I strongly suggest I never will. This year, my number one son and darling Andrea summoned us to the city of brotherly love to introduce some of their friends to the fine art of southern hospitality and horse racing and bourbon. So, we're off. For me, any reason to travel is good enough. All seasons, all weather...I love to plan, pack and leave or just leave in a flurry, the dust billowing behind me. The days leading up to our departure were filled with stuff. Good stuff. I have a garden! A real garden. Phil, my new friend and benefactor has kindly allowed me to till his yard into a fantastic plot filled with possibilities. We gather by the yellow shed to chew the fat, pick up rocks and lay out neat rows. We talk about what will grow in those neat rows. Friends stop by...an outdoor living room takes shape by the shed. Neighbors lean over fences and walk by(often) to check the progress. We laugh, we plant, we bask, we reminisce. As the garden germinates, a sense of community develops. There is a deep sense of purpose associated with producing food. I was surprised when oodles of people wanted to share the chores associated with preparing a garden. When I was a youngster, long rows of beans were synonymous with hell. As I became older and wiser, I found the zen of gardening.... This brings me full circle. I awakened this morning at 6:00am. Six! Second comings do not get me out of bed at that unholy hour. What would rouse me? The twittering of birds? The promise of a campfire by a lake in West Virginia? The call of a few last plantings in my garden? Yes. Yes. And, yes. The next two weeks will drift by as we explore the Chesapeake Bay and the Blue Ridge Parkway. We will condense our routine to match the day ahead. Nothing more. Except I will worry about the sweet little garden I left behind.

MILESTONES: BURGER'S MARKET

Once, a long time ago, I was a young woman with big dreams, two little boys and a yearning to do something incredible. Life, as it was for me, had other designs and it did not include luxury. Actually, as I look back, it barely included necessities. But, what did I know? My origins were from a very rural and humble background..... not bereft, just sparse. Each and every part of my learning curve was steep and slippery. I learned to feed the cow,milk the cow,strain the milk, separate the milk, churn the butter, make the buttermilk and slop the hogs with leftover milk. I learned to save the seeds, dry the seeds, sow the seeds,plant the seeds,weed the plants and harvest the results. That was only the beginning. I learned to hull the peas, break the beans, dry the onions, cut the corn and scrape the cob, blanch the tomatoes and shred the cabbage. I learned to cut the eyes from a potato and plant them with the eye facing the sky. Not to mention the endless washing of jars and canning all spring and summer. Still, I dreamed and yearned. I dreamed at the spring dipping water into the galvanized buckets. I dreamed at the pond breaking the ice for the cows to drink. I dreamed at the creek checking the box traps with my brothers, hoping for a young rabbit to be fried and served with biscuits and gravy. I dreamed at the spring house that cooled the buttermilk. I dreamed. The sway of my dreams and ambitions did not correlate with my reality. I am not easily daunted. I knew, somehow, I would find my dreams. I backed into it. I never would have thought the domestic arts would be my salvo. But, there they were...my hidden talent, awakened from a wall of mind sludge and drudgery I considered the very essence of droll. I had cooking skills and a huge number of people had none. Supply and demand. The Paul Sawyer Library afforded my sons and me a window to the world and a reading haven for the three of us. Betty Crocker's Cookbook and Kroger matched pretty well for my adventures in food...but at the Paul Sawyer Library I soon discovered The Joy of Cooking, Sunset Magazine and oh, my god, Gourmet. A star wasn't born but a beginning chef was. I dreamed. I dreamed food. I dreamed of adventures in locales I previously did not know existed. I envisioned the possibilities. Ambitions and dreams wed and they prospered and lived happily ever after. My sons were not the first to leave the nest, I was. I simply had to fly. I made nest after nest after nest. It might be my best asset. The most familiar asset and the one that I hold dear, is cooking. From the cutting, carving, chopping, dicing, baking and icing...I never tire of finding new and challenging avenues. To me, the biggest luxury of my life is going to the market and finding lovely ingredients and making something divine happen. My sons, my friends, my colleagues, employees and my spouse have all followed me to " find that secret ingredient". The closing of Burger's Market will certainly be a milestone in my culinary career. I have traveled there day after day, week after week, year after year for 25 years searching and finding not only secret ingredients but the best chicken and the best country ham and the best pork loin and the best ribeye steak and the very, very best burger. My friend Jeff said, I would have to seek my "secret ingredients in fence rows and special orders." Tis true, dear Jeff...I will miss the tiny market and it's friendly staff forever. Jeff and Tony always greeting me with a happy hello. Dennis knowing my meat or poultry order to the exact detail. Cream in large quart containers....sigh. Yes, I know, just like churning butter straight from the cow versus the store bought kind...the beat goes on...but, did it have to be Burger's?