{I've been thinking a lot about this table of mine.
Thinking about all that happens on and around it, and how it truly is a center for our family life.
How the things upon it are so reflective of who and where are at any given moment.
It's turned into a little bit of a regular photo series here...}
(Last time, at the table.)
11.10.2013, 6:50pm
On the table: Chicken stew with lard tortillas, last years seed catalog with my woodland mug from our dear friend Jess, and a table set for seven.
At the table: I did not want to make dinner tonight. This weekend has been long with too much time away from home, and I feel so out of my kitchen element. We are low on eggs, out of milk and cheese, out of pork for a few weeks and I am tired of chicken and turkey. Not to mention, I have nothing to cook any of that in - the oven is broken again as we wait a week for the repairman to return. And the entire contents of the laundry room, mid-construction, sit in front of my pantry blocking me from digging around for anything else. Aren't there some leftovers?, I ask the boys. (They ate them for lunch.) Or some takeout?, I fantasize. (That's nothing more than a dream 'round these parts.) As the clock ticks and the energy level rises from the little ones, showing signs of dinner-is-late spiraling, I give in to the reality that no one else is going to make dinner (Papa's working on the barn), and begrudgingly begin. But first, I make some tea (Brahmin from Smith Tea is a favorite these days), and put on some music (Old Crow Medicine Show seems just right), and ask for some help in the kitchen. I get three (little) volunteers, and we begin.
It isn't long before we find our groove. That the familiar rhythm of moving around my kitchen fills me up with something else all together - the comfortable chaos of all of us, the feeling of fullness in preparing food we grew and raised, and the gratitude for this moment in all that it is right now.
After a quick dash to the garden by headlamp for parsley, I use some leftover chicken to craft a quick soup. I keep it simple - carrots, onions, garlic, parsley and onions. As I look at the clock and the dropping eyelids of the two littlest ones, I make the decision to skip the usual half hour resting time for the tortilla dough. The table is set, the candles are lit, the dinner bell has rung for Papa. I notice that somewhere along the way, someone (Ezra) has changed the music from bluegrass to a fusion sort of thing (Parov Stelar is a favorite here these days). When all five of them are dancing - and happy - I roll with it, joining them in between tortilla flippings until Papa comes in.
The simple soup, it turns out, is a hit. And tortillas a treat. Everyone is happy, the meal is peaceful. Perhaps it is the simplicity of the meal, perhaps it is that we are all together at the table after such busyness in our days right now. Or maybe it is just that their bellies were empty enough, that filling them up was all anyone needed. I do not know the ingredients to a perfect meal. What I do know, is that sometimes the family dinners I struggle most getting started, end up being the very ones I treasure most of all.
