The Reindeer Keeper

  We are in the midst of my favorite month of the year and so far, it could be described as an old-fashion January with lots of snow and wind. Blizzards. Rain. More snow. Perfect January weather. But with such perfect weather comes the need for some best friends. * SOUPS: A favorite soup I make this time of year is a soup my mother used to make & we all enjoyed. Over the years it was nicknamed, "Witch's Brew," because of the little acini di pepe as one of the ingredients resembling something that might be found in a witch's brewing pot of ghoul. The longer the acini di pepe sat in the chicken broth, the better they tasted. * SWEATERS: I love sweaters. The older the better. The more you wear them the warmer and cozier they make you feel. Many years ago, when my hometown had a downtown there was a store called The Surprise Store. It was a department store and with each purchase you earned S & H Green Stamps. It was also the place to go for sweaters. I sti...

I recently posted a feature about two of my old cupboards all decked out for Christmas, pointing out my love for such intriguing pieces of furniture with nooks and crannies meant to hold special little treasures. More often, special to just me. This morning, with the outside temperature in the single digits, I went to a drawer in one of those cupboards. It is a deep drawer. One of two. It is the one I go to often during the winter. That is because it is full of mittens. Well, not really anymore. Mittens were the intended occupants but that has changed over the years. I didn't realize how much that has changed until I pulled it open and was greeted by a hodgepodge of odds 'n ends of stuff. It was mostly all warm stuff. Like scarfs and gloves. A few woolen socks. A few hats. Knitted hats. But hardly any mittens. Matching mittens, that is. There were quite a few of those small, stretchy black mittens that you can even buy at the grocery store which I always find convenient. That i...

  I've been thinking about the day I took this photo a few years ago. It was mid-January and although it doesn't look it, the temperature was below zero. It was a day like the recent days we've been experiencing. Beautiful and sunny, then absolutely earth shattering frigid cold when the sun goes down. Even the moon, as glorious and bright as it has been, is unable to warm the night. I remember standing there in the snow, dressed in layers and shivering as I took some photos and as I took the photos, I listened to the Amish men, laughing and talking as they cut through the ice, then loaded those blocks onto wagons to take back home and store in their barns or sheds. A dog they had with them barked as the cattails snapped to my touch and geese said good morning. The horses stood in place, a few curious of my presence. I remember hearing and reading stories my Aunt Helen wrote in a family cookbook of my grandfather, bundled up in his fur coat and cap and his horses covered in ...

It was the Christmas when I was seven that I found a desk under the tree with my name on it. I’d smelled the shellac when hurrying down the front stairs. I didn’t know what it was until I was told my grandfather used something called shellac when making the desk out of pine. It had two shelves on the right side and a single drawer in the front. When I opened the drawer I found a pad of lined paper with a No. 2 sharpened, yellow pencil. From that moment on I considered desks to be magical. My best friend back then was an only child. I loved running through our side yard to go play with her. Once inside the pale yellow house with a back stairway that took us up to her bedroom, we spent time not only in her room but spare rooms full of stuff as well. Going from one room to another we’d have to walk by a desk sitting in a nook all by itself. It was my friend’s desk. It was a roll top desk and whenever I could, I’d sit in the chair and pull the top back and be taken away by the ...

  It’s fitting that January follows the hustle and stress of Christmas. Call me odd but January’s my favorite month of the year. It’s always been my favorite. When I was little, it was the mounds of snow that intrigued me. It didn’t matter how cold it was, my cousins and I would stay outside making snow houses and castles and forts. Now when January rolls around, the art of soup-making intrigues me. Drawing me to the kitchen which is not where I normally prefer to create. I didn’t come by this soup thing on my own. It’s in the genes. And it is an art. Add a loaf of bread and a salad and January gets even better. Along with donuts and breads, French goulash and everything else in between, my grandmother was the original soup guru. Anything leftover became soup for the next day. When you farm the land and you’re raising six daughters, there’s nothing called waste. Instead of following recipes, my grandmother followed her intuition with the season of the year determini...

I've written before about my love of January. After the rush and stress of the holidays, I consider the first month of the year a gift that continues to give for thiry-one gloriously cold, windy and snowy days and nights. January's beauty touches the soul; inspires the creative; rekindles the heart. Its stillness soothes the mind, and in the process, opens one to possibilities and acceptance and appreciation of the little things. January warms the heart with amazing sunrises and sunsets spreading over fields of glittering diamonds and wondrous icicles lined up one next to the other and pastures tucked in blankets of white and rambling drifts that disappear beyond the horizon. January's harshness is not to be dreaded. It's to be embraced with homemade soups and breads, hot cereal and hot chocolate, coffee and tea, good books, fires in the fireplace, skis, skates, sleds, toboggans, old favorite blankets, long underwear, wool sweaters, warm socks and ...

I really enjoy the fall; can't stand the muggy days of summer or drizzly days of spring-but winter, specifically January, tops the list as my favorite time of the year. It might be the contrast-harshness wrapped in breathtaking beauty. It might be the quiet after December's rush. It might be the welcome embrace of home when walking through the door as the snow flies and wind blows. It might be many things but one thing for sure-hot cereal cooking on top of the stove while toast is being toasted and hot chocolate is being stirred is the most soulful-most heartfelt reason for January to be the first of the twelve months on the calendar. My grandmother-my aunt-my mother all cooked hot cereal. They each had their variations. Some used brown sugar-some sprinkled cinnamon in the bubbling mix-some served it with cream instead of milk. My grandmother would add a dab of butter when dishing her cereal into a bowl. She used a simple sauce pan with a top that had a dent in it for cookin...