SEVEN FALLS

SEVEN FALLS

BabyBird,

Your story begins with a pile of leaves from the red maple trees

growing in front of Mama and Daddy’s home.

A world away, I was just starting school.

A student was raking leaves for the BSU at the U of A.

He caught my Mama’s eye,

and she was not the type of Mama who had ever been caught

worrying over beaus and grooms.

She just handed him a broom.

On a Sunday afternoon in the middle of summer

she was reading the paper.

I heard her say, “There’s my friend.”

I could not have known then

when she first said his name—

the road we traveled would be the same.

When he told Mama goodbye and handed her the broom—

the unsuspecting groom—

none of us ever would have guessed.

Seven falls down the road would find we three—

our family—

dancing with you in our arms

beneath the glow of the red maple trees

where he’d raked leaves seven years before.

 

Amy Holt Taylor 2005

 

 

 

MANIC GUMBO

 

                                                                        Dinner at 8

I have Mardi Gras beads festooning the ingredients, skirting so ever lightly not to touch the thawing chicken breast. Nothing touched the raw chicken. Yes, there are many things about this Covid era gumbo which need forgiveness. But I never expected to write a blog in the next nine days so I think Gumbo is a good place to settle. Even though I am not a professional, I'm giving it the old try. With a nod to an old friend, Frenchie, who regaled me with tales of the color of roux as he was a true Acadian with many stirred pots to his name.

Butter, bacon grease and flour compromised my roux which guarantees a smooth, palate pleasing broth even if it does not win the Justin Wilson Award of Cajun inspired PBS fame. I have made many a beurre blanc to pour over potatoes and the occasional salmon, pasta, scallops and my favorite fresh Halibut (wish) and anything else needing butter sauce in adequate quantity.

While my house is adequately stocked, this is a surprise gumbo and I am not stocked with file or gumbo. I almost quit but I know I can create something delicious. I told my Sous Chef this will be one of the finest things he has ever tasted which is a tall order for all he has sampled in his years. Tonight it will go into the garage fridge and marry. We will not peek.

In no particular order, my ingredients include the Trinity, thinly sliced grilled turkey kielbasa, small pieces of grilled chicken, curry, Tabasco, salt, ground pepper, garlic salt, chipotle, lots of tomatoes, Old Bay Seasoning, Hungarian Paprika, splash of Coca Cola (if you have to ask we've just been introduced) garlic, and the shrimp which brings in the manic phase. Rapid cycling. 

I was so thrilled to have shrimp until the pass it by date of almost two years ago. My Sous Chef can eat anything but my delicate system would know the shrimp had been sitting in the back of the outside freezer for a spell. Ever resourceful, he moved the end of the world food supply in the freezer and came up with frozen, cooked with shell on shrimp with the proper due date. I have been told I am too picky about such dates but they can get you into trouble.

Continuing to be helpful, he thawed and shelled the la crevette just as they needed to pop into the bubbling brew. Perfection. Tomorrow over hot, buttered rice. At the last moment, we remembered a canned okra, tomato, corn dish we like. Now we have almost gumbo. 

Please do not judge my attempt at shrimp gumbo. The broth glistens like golden red silk. I will give myself points for not jumping off the deck when I discovered the missing ingredients and lack of the purest of quality in the back of the freezer. We also located a heavenly iced pastry which needs to be brought to room temperature, baked and frosted in butter. This will be a feast for another day.