Stocking up on food for winter is about more than simply having a full pantry. It is about being prepared, being practical, and giving yourself a little peace of mind when the world outside becomes less predictable.
For those of us who garden, preserve, and try to live a little more self-reliantly, summer is a natural time to think about what we will need through the coming cold months.
Winter changes the way we get food
In summer, food can feel abundant. The garden is producing, farmers’ markets are overflowing, and fresh produce is readily available. And then there’s winter. In Alberta, that means months of cold, snow – and no local growing. In the past, preparing for winter was critical to having enough food, and keeping your family healthy. In recent generations we’ve become very ‘entitled’, and think we should have everything we want, whenever we want it, but that is not reasonable or sustainable in the long run.
A well-stocked pantry means that when the roads are bad, the weather is miserable, or you simply don’t want to venture out, you already have the makings of good meals at home.
Use the seasons as an analogy. Sometimes ‘winter’ is more than just the months between November and March when the trees are taking a break and the garden is sleeping.
It could be a period of unemployment, when the regular paycheque stops coming. Or an an illness, an unexpected expense that makes the household budget a little tighter than it used to be. Could be a transportation disruption, a shortage, or oh I don’t know …. maybe something completely wild, like – tariffs we’ve never experienced before, or some other circumstance that makes the things we normally take for granted suddenly harder to find.
Sometimes winter is simply a season of uncertainty.
Just as we prepare for the winter that arrives every year, we can prepare for some of these other ‘winters’ too. Stocking up isn’t about living in fear or expecting something terrible to happen. It is about recognizing that life has seasons—and not all of them are predictable.
Many of us have learned to put food by when there is plenty. We preserve the garden harvest, fill the pantry, tuck things into the freezer, and make sure we have some basic staples on hand. We do these things because we know that ‘summer’ won’t last forever.
The wise gardener doesn’t wait for winter to begin before thinking about winter. And perhaps the same principle applies to life. When things are going well is the very best time to prepare for the season when they aren’t.
Eventually, spring comes again.
Stocking up also makes good economic sense
Buying and preserving food when it is plentiful can save money.
When your garden produces more tomatoes, beans, carrots, onions, berries or rhubarb than you can eat immediately, with a few skills, you have an opportunity to turn that abundance into food for later.
The garden doesn’t have to stop feeding you just because the ground freezes.
Potatoes, onions, garlic and jars of roasted tomatoes in the cold room; jars of jam, dried apples and herbs in the pantry, berries and pesto in the freezer, apple cider, kefir and sauerkraut in the fridge – mean that reliance on the grocery store is minimized.
A stocked pantry gives you choices
There is an important difference between having food and having food you will actually eat.
If we’ve been friends for a while, you already know my philosophy has always been to Store what you eat, and eat what you store.
There isn’t much value in filling shelves with foods nobody in the household enjoys. Those jars of gorgeous red crabapple preserves look nice on the shelf but if no one knows how to eat them, they’re a waste of jars.
A practical winter pantry might contain the ingredients your family regularly uses:
canned and dried tomatoes
dried or canned beans
rice, pasta and grains
flour and other baking supplies
onions, potatoes and other good keepers
frozen or dehydrated vegetables
fruit, jams and preserves
meat and other sources of protein
soups, broths and meal ingredients
spices, oils and other cooking essentials
And don’t forget the simple things that can be surprisingly inconvenient to run out of in winter – special baking ingredients your family likes, pet food and other household staples like laundry soap and toothpaste.
Preserving your own food adds another layer of security
There is another thing I love about gardening and preserving. When I freeze, dry or can something from my own garden, I know where it came from. I know what I DIDN’T use while I watched it grow. I harvested it when it was ready. I preserved it when it was at its best.
There is something deeply satisfying about opening a jar in February and finding summer inside.
It isn’t merely food storage. It is the continuation of the growing season.
And then there is the emergency side of preparedness
We don’t stock food because we expect disaster.
We stock food because life happens.
Power outages happen. Snowstorms happen. Illness happens. Family emergencies happen. Supply problems happen. Sometimes a person simply doesn’t have the time, money, transportation or physical ability to get to the store.
Having food already in the house gives you breathing room.
You don’t need to panic-buy when life throws you a curve ball, because you have been gradually building your supply all along.
Perhaps most importantly, it is a mindset
Stocking up isn’t about fear. It is about responsibility and self-reliance.
I don’t expect to provide absolutely everything my household might ever need. None of us can.
But I can ask:
What can I reasonably provide for myself?
If I can grow some of my food, preserve some of it, store some of it and keep a reasonable supply of everyday staples on hand, then I have made my household just a little less dependent on circumstances beyond my control.
And I think that is a worthwhile goal.
Winter comes every year. We know that.
So rather than waiting until the shelves are bare or the weather turns nasty, now is the perfect time to look at what we have, decide what we will need, and to begin filling the pantry.
There is a wonderful feeling that comes from looking at a well-stocked pantry in the middle of winter and thinking: “We’re okay. We’ve got food.”
I’d love to hear your ideas about what you stock up on, where you store it, and how you use it in the winter.
We’ve all had ‘moments’ in our lives that influenced us for good; perhaps defining moments that altered our life trajectories, or foundational moments that awakened some sense of who we really are.
Some of my fondest early childhood memories involved our bedtime routine. My mom would come to each of us individually to tuck us in. She always said something nice about our day, and pulled our blankets up nice ‘n’ snug under our chins. It was a safe, comfortable way to close the day. She taught us to say a little prayer.
Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray thee Lord my soul to take.
It was a comforting little ritual, and the words themselves caused me to ponder God as I was closing my eyes. I considered what they meant. . . . .
“I pray thee Lord my soul to keep” sounded like I was asking Heavenly Father to take care of my soul while I was sleeping, since I couldn’t do it myself. I was sleeping. “If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take” made me hope that God would take my soul and give it a good home since I wouldn’t be needing it anymore – if I were dead.
I never really understood them, but the ritual and repetition brought comfort to me – the words inspired godly thoughts that helped shape the beginning of my understanding of who I was.
When I was older and learned that prayers should be more personal, I still opened them with that little rhyme. It was a prayer my mother’s mother taught her, and I assume it was one her mother had taught her, since it’s been around that long – and much longer.
Though both my parents were born into it, we weren’t raised in the church. We were, however, all four of us baptized. I have often wondered what propelled my parents to make sure that happened, but I’ve always been grateful they did. Clearly, there was something that pulled them in that direction. I am ever SO grateful they followed through. Some of my aunts and uncles did not.
I admit when I was asked to speak in church on Spiritual Leadership in the Home recently, I wasn’t thrilled about the topic. I told the person who asked me if he’d have asked me 15 or 20 years earlier, I might have felt that I was rockin’ it, but lately I was feeling very inadequate. As I have been thinking about Spiritual Leadership in the Home, though, the spirit began opening new things for me to consider. Like the little prayer I told you about.
Like me, neither of my parents was raised in strong LDS homes, but they and all their siblings were baptized. In both their homes, it was their mothers who were the spiritual leaders.
My mother’s father was not a good dad, and not a good husband, and certainly not a spiritual leader in his home. He abdicated that responsibility to his wife, and he died at the age of 42 years, the father of 8 children. Though his death affected them all and caused great financial hardship, the older four did not miss him, the youngest never knew him, and the others had varying memories of him.
I’ve often wondered about him and the legacy he left his family. I assume from his vantage point in the spirit world, he has many regrets. I imagined he was not unlike Jacob Marley’s ghost, wishing he could undo a bunch of terrible choices. But lately, the spirit has me looking at him a bit differently.
The Hand of God by Yongsung Kim
It was his job to take care of his family. He was a good provider, but he should have done better on the home front. Leaving this earth did not take that responsibility away from him. Families are eternal. And when we die, we don’t get released from all our responsibilities to them.
I believe it may have been Jeffrey R. Holland who taught that guardian angels are real and that they are most likely family members who came before us, intimately connected with us and highly invested in our spiritual well-being and progression. Russel M. Nelson taught that the most important job any of us could ever be involved in is the gathering of Israel, on BOTH sides of the veil.
What if those of our family members who’ve passed away continue to be interested in us? They know us. What if they truly love us? What if they see the good in us and also the challenges we currently struggle with? What if my grandfather repented of the things he did in this world? Repented of breaking the heart of his wife and losing the confidence of his children. What if he is sorrowing for the generational trauma he caused? What if he truly wants to make things better for his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren? What if he were given the chance to do that?
So this Spiritual Leadership in the Home thing . . . . . Whose job is that anyway? Dads? Moms? What if it’s both of our jobs? And what if we don’t ever get released from that calling when we die?
It wasn’t my dad who took the spiritual lead in the family I grew up in. It was my mom who made sure we blessed our food and said our little prayers at bedtime. We didn’t go to church often in my young years, but when we did, it was she who took us.
We didn’t live the “Word of Wisdom” or read scriptures. My mom smoked the whole drive to church (and then popped a piece of gum in her mouth so nobody would know lol). My dad spent a lotta time in the bar with other dads who should have been home. We had a Bible, and I liked to look at the pictures in it. I didn’t know any of those stories, and neither did she, but I’m confident it was she who made sure we were baptized. It was she who spent her evenings with us, read to us, tucked us into bed and made us oatmeal for breakfast.
It was she who planted the seeds of love we would come back to.
My father’s brother entered our lives when I was 10 years old. He was transferred to CFB Cold Lake, where we lived – both these brothers being in the Royal Canadian Air Force (as it was called then). It didn’t take long for me to notice that my dad was a better dad when my uncle was around. Over the next two years, it was my uncle’s family who influenced me and quietly tutored me in my values, my character, and my understanding of what a strong, caring family could look like. It was my father’s brother who, after having left this life many years later, continued to work with my dad from the spirit world, until we were sealed together as a family in the temple.
I asked my dad as we walked out of the temple that day “Why now? …. After ALL this time, and after all the things we tried, why Now?” He said, “It was Uncle Merlin’s death.” He meant that for the first time in his life, he stared mortality in the mirror and decided he had better start cramming for his final exams, but I came to realize that he was ‘righter’ than he thought. Though my uncle was the younger brother, he was a great example of what a GOOD MAN looked like. I had four girl cousins, three of whom were all within a year of me: one a year younger, one the same age, and one a year older. So I spent more time in my cousins’ home than my siblings did. I saw what a faith-filled home looked like and felt like. When I was only 11 years old, I consciously knew that when I grew up, I wanted to marry someone like my uncle, not someone like my dad (bless his heart). That was one of those defining moments I mentioned earlier, and even from that tender adolescent age, it changed the course of my life.
Uncle Merlin had done all he could for my dad in this life. But after he died, he had different ‘access’. They were no longer miles apart. I don’t pretend to know how things in the spirit world work, but I know Uncle Merlin was with us in the temple that day. There was no way he wouldn’t have been. He literally changed the trajectory of my family’s life and relationship forever – through love and example. And his family did the same.
To be clear, that change of course wasn’t a sharp turn. It wasn’t a right angle. It was a very slight shift—almost imperceptible at the time—that took decades to fully reveal itself.
But it was pivotal.
Let the Children Come by Liz Lemon
And along the way, I learned an important lesson: If you’re ever going to come back, it helps to have something to come back to.
Sometimes we might get impatient when things aren’t moving quickly enough. There were times I didn’t believe anything in my family could change. But I knew I was baptized. I was on the records of the church. I belonged. I had received the gift of the Holy Ghost, who never let me down. And when I decided I wanted to come back, there was a place for me.
~
When I married Dan, he was not a member of the church. He had been attending church every Sunday for the year we dated, because that was where I was. He committed to baptism a time or two, but then changed his mind. His family was not happy with this whole “Mormon thing,” and they didn’t like that Dan seemed to be changing right before their eyes. He wasn’t resolute about the gospel, but he was resolute about me. And the good people in the Cherry Grove ward (which was where I went to church) were kind and welcoming to him. You could even say they were loving. They modelled what a ward family was and what life with the gospel could look like. Among them, and in my Uncle Merlin’s home, he felt the spirit for the first time.
A year after we were married, Dan was baptized. A week or two later, he started smoking again—and so began a roller coaster.
There were times he felt deeply loved by God, and others when he felt like a dismal disappointment. Such is the nature of addiction, pulling a person back and forth, between hope and shame, between resolve and relapse.
That pattern lasted for over 30 years.
During that time, we raised five children. One by one, most of them came to realize that their dad smoked. And one by one, they came to me—each carrying the same difficult question in their own way.
I would ask them, “Are you trying to tell me that you think Dad smokes?”
“YES!” “And you want to know that I know?” “YES!” “Okay. I know, And I have one thing to say. Your dad is a good man. He has an addiction that none of us can fully understand, and it beats him up sometimes. It’s between him and God. But here’s what I do understand…”
“Charity is the pure love of Christ—and it endures forever. Moroni taught that if we don’t have charity, nothing else we do really matters. It all counts for nothing. Because charity is greater than all. Your dad has charity. He would give the shirt off his back—I’ve seen him do it, and so have you. God counts charity. In the meantime, we’ll support him. As long as Dad stops one time more than he starts, he’s still on the right road.”
Spiritual leadership in the home is not about doing everything right. It’s not about never making mistakes. It’s about being real. It’s about knowing that God loves us—and choosing to love Him.
It’s not about being better than anyone else, but about knowing who you are.
It’s about being a window to God’s love. Julie de Azevedo wrote a song by that title –
“I want to be a window to His love So when you look at me, you will see Him. I want to be so pure and clear That you won’t see me standing here ‘Cause His love will shine brightly through me. … I want to be a doorway to the truth So when you walk behond, you will find Him. I want to stand so straight and tall That you won’t notice me at all And through my open door He will be seen.”
Spiritual Leadership in the home when you have young children involves training and teaching and modeling. And sacrifice. It is about protecting your home emotionally and spiritually.
When your kids get older, it also involves letting them see struggle and faith, and letting God prevail. It involves a lot of humility and hoping you did right when you had the chance, because the years have flown by and you need to start letting go. And it involves MORE sacrifice.
When they become adults, there is an added dimension, and it becomes quieter.
Spiritual Leadership now means worrying about them—and praying for them—more than you ever have before. It means trusting that your God is also their God, whether they recognize Him or not.
It means understanding that your job as a parent will never be over. And you continue to love. You continue to sacrifice.
And you hold onto one quiet, steady hope: That if they ever choose to come back, they know they have something to come back to.
As I reflected on all of this, I asked a friend this week for her thoughts on spiritual leadership in the home. Her words are a fitting way to close.
She said, “Love makes everything else work. There is always room to love better and deeper; always room to be kinder and softer; and always room to try to see things from another’s perspective, rather than just our own.”
I whole heartedly agree. I’d love to hear your thoughts and feelings.
I love the poem below. I hope you’ll take the time to read it. It’s spoken from the perspective of a young parent. I’ve been in that place and as a former young mom, the message is a very tender for me. In that young mom’s shoes, I was smart enough to never allow myself to wish any of those moments away. I wanted very much to feel them all and remember them all – knowing that though I couldn’t see it, or imagine what it would look like, the day would come that they’d all be gone.
But I am looking at life from a much different perspective now, and I’ve had so many last times. My heart aches for some of them, not because I wasted them by wishing them away, simply because they are gone. It has been my observation that spending one’s life being unhappy in our circumstances, leads to more of the same – because being happy is not a matter of circumstance, it is a CHOICE.
In my younger years, I never wanted to waste my life wishing things were different. I was self aware enough that I could either make them different, work toward that goal, or accept them by making the best of them. Those were my options. I found it much more satisfying to focus on appreciating the sacredness of each day and what I could learn by living it. Even so, my heart aches for many of those ‘last times’. How much worse would it be if I regretted wasting them by not appreciating them in the moment?
wake up to a new way of doing things
If Covid taught us anything those many months, it should be how quickly life as we know it could be over. No one had the crystal ball to know how long our covid-affected circumstances would last. How long before we could go back to ‘normal’ – a week? a month? how many months? In actual truth, in many ways we never did return to normal. What would we have thought then, if we knew that in many ways we’d be inventing a new normal?
And why risk losing your present by pining away for all those potential last times? . . .
I don’t pretend to be a great philosopher, and I certainly don’t know what the “secret to life” is. But I believe that part of that secret is to be PRESENT, living in each moment. Enjoying each season while we’re in it. Finding ways to reach out and make someone’s world a little better for us having been in it. Never wishing any moment away, because life is so full of last times – not just with our babies but with everything and every one.
The last time we hugged our mom. The last time we said “goodnight, sleep tight” to her. The last time we had dinner with our cousin. The last time we went to the farmers market. The last time we planted a garden. The last batch of jam we made to give away. The last time we laughed with our niece, played go fish with our grandson, pack a lunch for our spouse, even the last time we vacuumed our own floor, or hung laundry on the line. The last time we help a neighbour, chat with that special friend, smile at a passerby, …. made someone’s day better. The last time we flew anywhere? The last time we drove ourself? That last book we read. Who knew it would be the last one? The last time that grandchild came for a sleepover. Who knew it would be the last one? The last time we held hands. Who knew?
Life changes on a dime – with no notice. Last times stack up, and they’re often in disguise. We never recognize them till they’re long gone. I’d love for all of my last times (whether pleasant ones or unpleasant ones), to be with me ‘experiencing them’, enjoying them, or learning from them, so that I could look back and think “I’m sure glad I did that when I did, who knew it would be my last time?” Life is by nature, bound to be full of regrets. I hope when my days get shorter, to have many more “glad-I-did-thats” than “wish-I-did-thats”.
The Last Time
“From the moment you hold your baby in your arms, you will never be the same. You might long for the person you were before, When you have freedom and time, And nothing in particular to worry about.
You will know tiredness like you never knew it before, And days will run into days that are exactly the same, Full of feedings and burping, Diaper changes and crying, Whining and fighting, Naps or a lack of naps, It might seem like a never-ending cycle.
But don’t forget … There is a last time for everything. There will come a time when you will feed your baby for the very last time. They will fall asleep on you after a long day And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child.
One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down, And never pick them up that way again. You will scrub their hair in the bath one night And from that day on they will want to bathe alone. They will hold your hand to cross the road, Then never reach for it again. They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles, And it will be the last night you ever wake to this.
One afternoon you will sing “the wheels on the bus” and do all the actions, Then never sing them that song again. They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate, The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone. You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face. They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.
The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time Until there are no more times. And even then, it will take you a while to realize.
So while you are living in these times, remember there are only so many of them and when they are gone, you will yearn for just one more day of them. For one last time. author not confirmed, but possibly Taryn McLean
A sermon about two cousins on either end of the age span (Jonas is the 4th oldest, Jack is the youngest of 19), and what they have to offer each other.
This seemingly trivial photo from years ago makes my heart happy. 14 year old Jonas washing the glass bricks for me. 2 year old Jack hanging around him, watching and chatting it up, Jonas patiently including him and listening. This speaks sermons to me.
A sermon about two cousins on either end of the age span (Jonas is the 4th oldest, Jack is the youngest of 19), and what they have to offer each other.
A sermon about the value of sharing even the insignificant moments of everyday life.
A sermon about the example of service. Jonas is doing a service for me and Jack is learning.
A sermon about Jonas’ patience in his little cousin wanting to hang around him.
A sermon about the ease of familial love, comfort and yea, even loyalty.
A sermon about devotion. Not just Jack’s devotion to this big boy hero in his life, but of Jonas’ devotion to him as his little cousin, who some might say has nothing in common with him.
It’s a sermon of what the world needs more of.
One day Jonas will be all grown up and away, living his adult life, and Jack will be a bigger little boy who remembers him, and looks forward to the times he comes home. Perhaps they’ll play board games together like Jonas does with his uncle who is just a little more than 12 years older than him (who incidentally is Jack’s father).
A sermon about Jack’s spot in the cousins lineup. #19. Our baby’s baby. The youngest cousin. How he is surrounded by people who love him, and adore him, and patiently include him in the little things they do.
From the kitchen where I was working, I observed these two and grabbed my camera. This snapshot is a mere blink of what was going on and what I would like to have captured. It was precious and I wish I had chosen to video it.
I cannot tell you how many times I’ve had the “one-and-done” conversation with people who are rightly concerned about investing in long term food storage but don’t want to be inconvenienced by it.
Being compelled enough to invest money into food storage, buying a bunch of it all at one time, and then (having their conscience soothed), put it away and forget about it. Their thinking is that they have done their due diligence, with minimal inconvenience and now can get on with life giving no more thought to it.
The first time I heard this philosophy was a friend many years ago. They had learned of a new brand of food being sold locally, that had a very long shelf life. It was kinda pricey but the shelf life was attractive. They bought a year’s supply for their family of four, stacked it into a corner of their basement, and brushed off their hands so-to-speak. They were more than content with this marvelous plan; they had their food storage and didn’t have their life complicated with having to eat it. Simple. I admit, the idea was a little unsettling to me; it didn’t seem that life could really be that easy. Fast forward a couple decades. My friend had passed away of cancer. Their children had grown up. Her husband had remarried and moved to a different city. He called me one day. They’d had a house fire! All was lost including their long term food storage, which he had carried with him ten years before. Insurance had provided the money to replace it and he wanted to do exactly the same thing they’d done before.
1. USE IT
The reason he called me? Because he knew that at the time I sold Thrive Life foods, a relatively new brand of freeze dried food. “Just give me a reasonably varied assortment of food like I had before.” he said. He had no intention of ‘wasting’ it by eating it. It was intended as 100% food insurance, to be packed away again. We talked about the fact that most of the food he had depended on to ease his conscience for so long, was well over 20 years old, and not all of it was freeze dried, meaning it didn’t have the 25 year shelf life he thought it did. We talked about what he’d had previously – including milk and eggs (neither of which at the time he bought it, claimed to have the 25 year shelf life he believed everything had). As a friend, my counsel was to USE some of the food he was buying for two very important reasons: 1) to KNOW what one had, and 2) to know HOW to use it. Long term food storage is not the same as buying perishable food from the grocery store. It requires a little different ‘thinking’ to get used to it. He was adamant about “not bothering with all that”. What he had done two decades ago was conscience soothing and he wanted more of that.
We came up with a reasonable selection, and it was sent to him – which he stacked in a corner somewhere to never think about again.
His details involving the house fire may have been unique, but his philosophy was not. I have had that same conversation with many people over the years.
them: “Oh freeze dried food! I have a ton of that in my basement.” me: “Great. How do you like it?” them: “Oh, I have no idea; I’ve never used it.” me: “Why not?” them: “Because its FOOD STORAGE! And besides, I haven’t got a clue what to do with it.” me: “How long have you had it?” them: “We got it the year after we were married.” me: “How long have you been married?” them: “37 years.” me: “Wow. You know its 12 years past its expiry right? You don’t have milk and eggs in there do you? them: “Yes.” me: “Well, I know the food you’re talking about, and the shelf life of milk used to be 5 years, and eggs was 3 years. Those are over 30 years past their expiry date. You might wanna dispose of them. . . . . I wouldn’t even open them if I were you, just throw them out. . . . . So, . . . just curious, when were you planning to figure out how to use this food anyway?”
I have another friend who had pretty much the same idea. She had a lotta long-term-food-storage that she’d never had any intention of using, but a few years ago it became alarmingly evident to her that it was waaaay past its prime. She doesn’t want to waste it, (and waste all the money she spent on it), she wanted to learn how to use it. She had no recollection of how long she’d had the food (decades she admits), and there was no date on the cans. Apparently the labeling laws have changed since then.
My counsel? To USE it of course. I promised to come over and show her how to use them. We opened up her first can – broccoli. It was absolutely indistinguishable. Looking nothing like broccoli should, and smelling terrible. Nothing anyone would want to eat. “What can I do with it?” she asked. “Throw it in the compost.” was my suggestion. We opened a can of spinach with similar results.
On the left is dehydrated spinach that was deliberately left on the shelf waiting for some emergency that would justify opening it. No one could remember how old it was, and the owner mistakenly believed it was freeze dried when in actual fact it was dehydrated (with a much shorter shelf life). This is what happens when you don’t USE the food you store. The result was a lot of wasted food, and a total waste of the money spent to acquire it. The spinach on the right is a 7 year old can recently opened. It is what freeze dried spinach SHOULD look like today, tomorrow, next year and 17 years from now.
To be fair, the food we opened was much older than it was ever intended to be. It is not the manufacturer’s fault that the food was not used when it should have been. It is the result of faulty “save-and-protect” reasoning. But on the other hand, from the beginning she never knew what she had, what it looked like, or how to use it anyway. Ironically that scarcity mentality intended to not ‘waste’ food by using it, resulted in ultimate waste. Wasted food is wasted dollars. It’s simple math.
I well remember that same brand of freeze dried food when it was a new thing, trying to wrap my mind around the concept of it and trying to justify the cost. I bought some, used it, didn’t see the value at the time, nor the point. As the science of freeze drying got better over the ensuing years, the food got better, and the nutrition got better.
2. FIND THE BEST
In 2009, when I first started buying Thrive Life (the brand I finally settled on after trying several on the market), their guarantee was that the produce went from field to freezer in less than 24 hours. I was impressed with that. By the time I put that into print, the company corrected me – their guarantee was now less than 12 hours. “Can’t get better than that” I thought. Produce picked ripe, washed, peeled, chopped and into the freezer in less than 12 hours? Incredible. “Can’t get better than that” I told people. Wait! In another year, they raised the bar again. Produce picked at perfection when all nature’s goodness was at its height, and then washed, peeled, sliced and into the freezer in less than 6 hours! (usually 2 to 4 hours). Amazing. NOW with a pretty good degree of confidence I can be sure “it really canNOT get better than that!”
In summer months my household eats directly from my backyard garden. I am hard pressed to get produce from my garden to the table in four hours! Truly it cannot get better than two to four hours.
What does that mean to you and me? Why is that such a big deal?
Because all fruits and vegetables begin to deteriorate within the first hour after harvest. That’s why. They begin the process of deteriorating in colour, texture and nutritional value immediately. To pick a fruit before its fully developed is to start out with a handicap. Thrive Life has a commitment to excellence that forbids picking produce before its ripe. Then its a race against the clock. That produce is washed, peeled (if needed), sliced or chopped and flash frozen to -40C within four hours! In that frozen state the food is transferred to a facility where all the remaining moisture is removed in the second step of the two step process of “freeze-drying”.
When spinach or broccoli or mangoes or strawberries or whatever, goes into that BPA free can at the end, it is more nutritious than those same ‘fresh’ fruits we buy in the produce department of our local grocery stores – that in nearly all cases were picked before they were ripe, and have been shipped a thousand+ miles to ripen on the supermarket shelves sometime in the following week or two. Without any moisture, that food is sealed in an oxygen free can, giving it an exceptionally long shelf life. Zero moisture + zero oxygen = zero decomposition. So when I open a can of peaches that was packed 7 years ago, it is as nutritionally sound as it was the day it was sealed. If I open that can another 7 years from now, it is still the same. THAT is what we’re talking about. And that’s why timing is such a big deal.
“freeze drying food is not rocket science”
3. Benefits of using freeze dried food NOW
FAMILIARITY Becoming familiar with freeze dried food while our lives are comfortable and predicable is so important. Sometimes people fool themselves into believing they’ll use it when they have to, but a crises is not the time to start experimenting with foundational necessities like meals. There are bound to be some differences between what you’re using now and freeze dried food. Familiarity brings confidence, and confidence removes fear. When we are prepared, there is no fear.
KNOWLEDGE With familiarity comes knowledge and skill, opening a whole new world of possibilities. Learning how to use freeze dried food will make meal preparation a lot quicker and easier. Those fruits and vegetables are already washed and chopped, ready to eat straight out of the can, or to throw into your soup, casserole, omelette or stir fries. The cheese is already shredded, the meats are already cooked – ready to refresh and add to your meal. You’d be surprised at how streamlined your meals become. You can have dinner on the table in minutes.
ZERO WASTE Not only will you reduce the waste of produce in the fridge going bad before you can get to it, and the waste of trimming a good portion of your broccoli, cauliflower and peppers etc, but you will eliminate the waste of those cans of food timing out. Think of the waste that my friend experienced having to throw out most of her ‘shelf stable’ canned food. My other friend who replaced it all after the fire – he would have had to replace it all anyway, fire or no fire – because most of it was long expired before the fire.
When you regularly USE your food storage, it replaces perishable groceries that would other wise go into the trash. The North American average for household kitchen waste is up to 40%. That’s an incredible figure to wrap your mind around. If you’re the average North American consumer, up to 40% of the food you buy is going into the garbage! What if you could reduce that waste? How much money would YOU save in a month, in a year? Take a minute (knowing your monthly food budget), and use some simple math to roughly calculate what that might look like to you. Imagine what you could do with an extra $3000 or $4000 a year! You could probably have your food storage built up in a very short time for one thing.
CONVENIENCE One of the things we will depend on in any emergency is having food that will be convenient to prepare with fewer resources than we’re currently accustomed to. Knowing what that food is and what kind of variety is available ahead of time is helpful. Also knowing what your family prefers and doesn’t prefer ahead of time is pretty helpful too. You don’t want to learn that when its too late.
4. SCARCITY vs ABUNDANCE
A can of dehydrated cabbage, about twenty years past its expiration. This is the kind of thing that never should have happened.
A scarcity mindset is a way of thinking that focuses on the idea that there is a limited supply; one becomes obsessed with protecting it. Its a trap many of us fall into when it comes to food storage: “This is food storage. It must be protected.” But we’ve already seen where that thinking leads, and its a slippery slope. When the supply is not being replenished, protection mode kicks in. So what is the antidote?
Rotation. Rotation is a “1st in-1st out” mindset. It is continuously using and replacing. It is treating your food storage like groceries and your groceries like food storage. It is the philosophy you’ve heard me repeat many times if you’ve read anything I’ve ever written on the subject: Store what you EAT, and Eat what you STORE.
If you are constantly adding to your food supply every time you buy groceries, and constantly eating from it, then replacing it, you are ROTATING. This keeps everything fresh and updated, saving you money and providing peace of mind. Your food storage becomes an organic thing with a pulse, not an inorganic box of dead food that nobody wants that cost you too much money. Consider a different perspective.
5. CHANGE THE WAY YOU LOOK AT IT
When you change the way you look at it, everything about it changes. The missing link between the SCARCITY mindset and the ABUNDANCE mindset is ROTATION. Rotation of “using and replacing” helps us regain control, and allows us to see abundance instead of scarcity. Change the way you’re looking at things.
I truly believe that when we are prepared, there is no fear. It is a personal mission of mine to help people gain the freedom and peace of mind that BEING PREPARED offers. And that includes FOOD STORAGE. Part of that is to help people stop wasting the food they purchased and are currently purchasing, and to help people acquire their food storage in the best possible way, getting the best prices and benefits in the process.
This is a course of action I have followed my entire adult life; it is very important to me. In the process, I discovered Thrive Life freeze dried food in 2008, and by the beginning of 2009, I brought it into our family bookstore – Generations Bookstore in Edmonton, Alberta. One of our major sidelines was food storage and emergency preparedness so it was a perfect fit. Since that time, we sold the store, but I kept Thrive Life with me as a personal consultant. I believe it is the best brand on the market today for high quality freeze dried food, and I am committed to helping people benefit in the same way I do from it.
In our house I’ve put it to the test. We’ve used it almost daily since those early years, and I know of which I speak.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on food storage and all things related. I welcome any questions you might have about Thrive Life specifically. Who knows? You might even want to become a consultant yourself.
I do not know what I ever did in the pre-earth life to deserve to be born in Canada. I suspect I didn’t ‘deserve’ it; nevertheless Heavenly Father saw fit to place me here and now. I am so grateful for that mercy and blessing.
There are so many things in our life to be grateful for …. sometimes we don’t even think about the blessing of ‘where we are’. Canada.
Thank you to all those immigrant grandparents and great grandparents who made it possible for this to be the land of my inheritance
I did not know this, but the last German POWs were not released from the Soviet Union until 1956!
While the western Allies released their final World War II prisoners in 1948, many German POWs in the U.S.S.R. were kept under lock and key for several more years. Most were used as slave labor in copper or coal mines, and anywhere between 400,000 and one million eventually died while in Russian custody. Some 20,000 former soldiers were still in Soviet hands at the time of Stalin’s death in 1953, and the last 10,000 didn’t get their freedom until 1955 and 1956—a full decade after the war had ended.
Among the delayed released POW’s (not likely in this picture) was one Gotthold Sulzle, Dan’s grandfather Jakob’s brother.
Gotthold appears to have been born in Cogealac, Romania. He went to Germany for work just prior to WWII and as a German was drafted into the German Army. He served on the Russian front and became a Russian POW. Gotthold was decorated with 2 iron crosses (a German military award awarded for bravery on the battlefront).
After WWII ended, Gotthold attempted to immigrate to Canada where other family members had immigrated, however he was unable to take his family with him at the time. Having already been separated from his family for too long, he decided instead to immigrate to Australia.
That is how a branch of Dan’s German family ended up in Australia.
– picture and information shared from Linda Sülzle-Michl.
*note: I am not making any statements about this nationality or that nationality. There were (and there are) terrible things that happened (and happen) to individuals and to families as a result of hate and wicked people – wherever they are. I do however have a tenderness for those who suffer, and an appreciation and admiration for those who overcome and show me a better way. I am attracted to real life examples of the strength and resilience of the indomitable human spirit. They strengthen me and encourage me.
I also feel so much love and appreciation for those first generation immigrants who in many cases sacrificed much so their children could have the better life that eluded them. Dan’s grandparents came from German occupied Poland shortly after the first world war. They had been people of means; educated, land owning farmers. For the rest of their lives while living in Canada, they were labourers and I personally never heard Dan’s grandmother speak very much English. But their children grew up on the prairies and all went on to have meaningful work as they raised their own families in a world of opportunity and comfort – free from fear for their safety. Their children’s children received good educations and also raised their children in a peaceful world of opportunity and comfort. All because Edmund and Olga sold all they had for ship passage, hoping for a better life on the other side of the ocean.
When I was a little girl my mother bought apples by the case this time of year. Usually Macintosh if I remember correctly. They were FRESH, crisp and wonderful, and we stored them in our cold room in the basement.
We loved eating them and could have one whenever we wanted during those weeks. I equate fresh crispy apples with fall school days.
My mom would put some in a bowl on the table and I took it upon myself to shine them so they looked nice enough for a table centrepiece. I took great pride in this task, and it was a continual job as the apples got used up quickly. They needed shining because they came to us looking like the apples in this picture. Once I shined them up with a clean damp cloth, they looked like the apples in the picture below – which incidentally, I just shone to go on the table before writing this.
Can you see the three lady bugs that came inside with them? They thought they found a safe hiding place for winter, but ….. sorry ladies, out you go, find another one. Did you know lady bugs can live three years? I love lady bugs.
By the time I was married, apples came from the store already shiny and I puzzled over my childhood memory of shining them. I missed the ritual, and wondered why my mom would have had me shine apples when apparently they were already shiny. (?)
Years later I learned that the apples we buy in the grocery store are ‘waxed’1 to have that shine. I didn’t know with what, but there was no option. They’re all like that after the initial harvest.
I began washing my purchased apples to ‘remove’ the shine . Ironic eh?
But today. Today we brought in our very own beautiful honey crisp apples. They’re in the fridge now, but some inner voice compelled me to shine up a few for the table.
That’s when it happened. My flash back. THIS! Déjà vu. This I have done before. …. Just exactly like this! With a clean cloth. And just like those in my childhood memory, these apples shone up quickly. Almost like magic. And beautifully.
THIS IS WHAT APPLES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE!
Beautiful. Organic. Right outta your own backyard, or outta your community garden, or your nice neighbour’s yard. With a natural matt finish that shines up with the touch of a slightly damp cloth, till you can see the light reflecting in them. Apples in the fall are one of life’s great pleasures.
I hope you get some FRESH apples this fall, and I hope you have to shine them up. I’d love to hear your apple stories.
Warmly,
Cindy Suelzle
Footnotes:
In an effort to make ‘fresh’ apples available to consumers all year round, it is necessary to treat them. “Waxing these foods seals them, protects them from pests and diseases, and prevents them from drying out, thus maintaining freshness.” (*my note: Interesting use of the word “freshness”) https://www.canada.ca/en/health-canada/services/food-nutrition/food-safety/information-product/fact-sheet-use-morpholine-apple-coatings.html I rest my case with regards to my opinion of eating IN the Season. Is it really necessary for us to eat ‘fresh’ apples 12 months of the year? ↩︎
It’s not very often I publish the words of someone else in this format, but from time to time – as I take notes for me to remember, it occurs to me that you might also appreciate them. These words from Chieko Okazaki, are comforting, reassuring and true.
Who is Chieko Nishimura Okazaki? She was an American writer, educator, and religious leader. I came to admire her while she served in the Relief Society general presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from 1990 to 1997. I looked forward to hearing her speak – she always started with “Aloha” to which the congregation always responded “Aloha” – and I enjoyed reading her words.
Chieko was born in Hawaii in October 1926, growing up in a Buddhist family of Japanese ancestry that was employed on Hawaiian plantations. She was 15 years old when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, and her family did not escape the horror that followed, especially for those of her ethnic and cultural status. She was Hawaiian born, from Japanese heritage, and spent most of her life living in mainland America, but she confronted racism throughout her life.
As a young teen, she became a Christian, working as a maid to pay for high school. Her family (parents and two brothers) sacrificed for her education, and education became her life’s work. She received her first degree in Education at the University of Hawaii in Honolulu, her Master’s degree in Education from the University of Northern Colorado when she was 51 years old, and another degree in Educational Administration.
Ironically, she was about the age I am now when I first became familiar with her as a speaker and writer. To me, she had a lotta credibility, and I loved her. She served in the trenches and she got it. She really got it.
In The Wilderness by artist: Ron DiCianni
“It’s our faith” said Chieko Okazaki “that He experienced everything- absolutely everything. Sometimes we don’t think through the implications of that belief. We talk in great generalities about the sins of all humankind, about the suffering of the entire human family. But we don’t experience pain in generalities. We experience it individually.
That means He knows what it felt like when your mother died of cancer — how it was for your mother, how it still is for you. He knows what it felt like to lose the student body election. He knows that moment when the brakes locked and the car started to skid. He experienced the slave ship sailing from Ghana toward Virginia. He experienced the gas chambers at Dachau. He experienced Napalm in Vietnam. He knows about drug addiction and alcoholism.”
. . . There is nothing you have experienced . . . that He does not also know and recognize. He understands about rape and infertility and abortion. His last recorded words to his disciples were “And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” He understands your mother-pain when your five-year-old leaves for kindergarten, when a bully picks on your fifth-grader, when your daughter calls to say that the new baby has Down Syndrome. He knows your mother-rage when a trusted babysitter sexually abuses your two-year-old, when someone gives your thirteen-year-old drugs, when someone seduces your seventeen-year-old. He knows the pain you live with when you come home to a quiet apartment where the only children are visitors, when you hear that your former husband and his new wife were sealed in the temple last week, when your fiftieth wedding anniversary rolls around and your husband has been dead for two years. He knows all that. He’s been there. He’s been lower than all that. He’s not waiting for us to be perfect. Perfect people don’t need a Savior. He came to save his people in their imperfections. He is the Lord of the living, and the living make mistakes. He’s not embarrassed by us, angry at us, or shocked. He wants us in our brokenness, in our unhappiness, in our guilt and in our grief.” – Chieko N. Okazaki
One of my favourite songs by Kenneth Cope – Broken. Enjoy.
This tender image painted by the Danish painter Frans Schwartz at the end of the 19th century, was brought to my attention recently, and I find myself coming back to it again and again. It amazes me, the kind of emotion that can be captured by the talented brush strokes of an inspired artist. This is not the whole picture, its a close up of the faces. While the full image is breathtaking, I am drawn to, and am captivated by these faces.
We learn about it in Luke 22:43,44
“And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.“
Agony in the Garden by Frans Schwartz 1898
Years ago, I was reading this story from a beautiful illustrated children’s book to my then 4 year old granddaughter Rebecca. At this point in the story, when the angel comforted the Saviour, I said aloud “I wish I was that angel who did that for him.”
She sighed and softly replied “I wish ‘I‘ was that angel.” I reflect back on that previous shared moment from time to time. I’m quite sure she has no recollection of it. But among other things, it testified to me of the power of inspirational art to convey the spirit, and the ability that a child has to respond to it when given the quiet opportunity. And it testified to me as well, of the importance of seeking out those quiet opportunities.
I also reflect on the fact, that sometimes, all you can do is offer love and support. There wasn’t a single thing anyone in this universe could have done to take away His pain, or to even make it easier. But this! . . . THIS could be done. . . . A tender embrace, a demonstration of love and empathy, and in this case – heart rending gratitude. For some reason, we do not know the name of this angel, this privileged one sent from above, while many others undoubtedly stood ready, wanting to do the same. What an honour to have been the one to embrace Him at that pivotal moment in time. To have been the one to offer Him comfort, heavenly succor and support. And more personally – Gratitude. Because after all, He did it for us. For you and for me. Personally. Privately. And yet for us all.
Dieter F. Uchtdorf said “What the Saviour did from Gethsemane to Golgotha on our behalf is beyond my ability to grasp. He took upon Himself, the burden of our sins and paid an eternal and binding ransom not only for Adam’s original transgression but also for the sins and transgressions of the billions upon billions of souls who have ever lived. This eternal, sacred sacrifice caused ‘even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer in both body and spirit.’ (DC 19:18)”
Look closely at his reddened eyes in this achingly tender image. At the furrowed brows. I love that his eyes are open. Look at the soft and gentle face of the angel and the enveloping embrace. Though none of us will ever have to experience the depth of His suffering, we know that we do have “our own dark and bitter hours” as Elder Uchtdorf calls them. “Times when our sorrow and grief may appear to be greater than we can bear. There will be times when the weight and remorse of our sins will press mercilessly upon us.”
We can be assured at those times, that we are not alone. That He went before us, and suffered all those things. And not just for our sins, but for our sadness and grief, and hurts of every kind, for our sickness and afflictions. To take them all away. As I heard one say some time ago (referring to suicidal thoughts and intents) “We don’t have to die for our sins. Someone already has.” He knows and He understands. He’s been there. He gets it. He’s atoned for it all. He’s taken my name through the temple of Gethsemane, individually. I don’t pretend to know how, but I absolutely know it. He knows me. And He knows you. He can and will strengthen us. And by taking advantage of that sacrifice, we don’t cause him any more grief, we don’t add to the cost – because the price has already been paid. Whether we accept the gift or not, it has already been purchased. For us.
This song Wondering by Aaron Edson, was brought to my attention from a friend Ron Bissett many years ago. He played it to me over the phone, a poor recording he found somewhere. He wanted me to find him a CD (back before the days of Spotify etc). He asked me because we owned an LDS Bookstore at the time. I found it for him, and for me, and for several other customers, because that over the phone introduction made it personal for me too. Thanks for the tip Ron. Enjoy.
I really hope that I was that angel, but I kinda think I was not. Unlike the angel however, HE can take pain away. And I can be that angel to others, embracing, comforting, supporting, … not able to take grief away, but loving them through it, and hopefully pointing to the One who can take it away – who will take it away.
Just some of my thoughts on a tender subject. I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.
If you knew my dad, you’d agree that he looks just like his father. Most of my paternal uncles also look like him. In fact, so do most of my paternal cousins. Even my kids do! Lol. I guess he had some pretty strong physical traits.
On September 13 this year (2024), he would have turned 127 years old, but he left this earth over 45 years ago. He’s my grandfather Leland Albert Harrison.
Grampa always seemed to be old. It shocks me now to realize that he was only a few years older than I am now for most of the time I knew him. He suffered from gout, and was in near constant pain, which restricted his mobility. It didn’t help that he was quite heavy. Which came first – his weight or his gout is hard to say, but each condition aggravated the other. He always wore slippers, even when he was outside, because his feet were constantly swollen and painful.
It is well known – especially among his grandkids (of which he had many), that he didn’t know how to deal with kids. He didn’t know how to chat with kids, interact with kids, or even how to keep us all straight. So he resorted to teasing. It was his only way.
He’d sit in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, and try to catch us if we attempted to get by. We needed to get by because the kitchen was full of adults sitting around the table or standing, and the living room had red plastic building bricks (the only toy I ever saw in that house), and a television with only one channel, so there was never anything good on anyway. He had an extended reach with his cane, and we learned not to underestimate his reflexes. Just because he couldn’t walk didn’t mean he couldn’t grab you. We’d watch him closely, and when he seemed distracted, we’d make a dash for it. Though I think it was meant to be fun, it wasn’t a lotta fun for most of us. It didn’t help that he didn’t know what to do with us if he caught us, so he’d give us a rub-a-dub, which was a rough head rub. Some cousins said he’d twist their ears, but he never twisted mine, and I personally never saw him do that.
In the summer, sometimes we’d get smart and go around to the front door, but in the winter time, there was only one route into the living room and that was past Grampa. For us older ones, it was more an inconvenience, but terrifying, maybe even traumatic for some of the younger ones. Now I look back on it and I see an old man who did the best he knew how, but from the perspective of young grandchildren it was very tricky to navigate. I never knew him any other way.
One day when I was maybe 8 or 9 years old, my grandmother sent him outside to put the sprinkler on the front lawn. I was outside running around with cousins when I came upon him kneeling on the ground beside the sprinkler, unable to stand up. I stood back and silently watched him as he struggled. It was almost a reverent moment for me. I’d never seen an adult in so much need. He asked me if I would bring him “that chair over there”. I brought it, silently. I stood back and watched as he used it as a prop (with much difficulty) to help him stand. When he was on his feet, he quietly walked back to the kitchen, and I quietly walked away to rejoin my cousins. But something had changed for me. I liked him better after that; he was no longer just the scary grampa who sat with a cane in the doorway. He was much more . . . . Though I couldn’t have known the word for it at the time, I recognized that he was ‘vulnerable’. The first adult I knew to be ‘vulnerable’.
He and gramma lived in a tiny house they built on his parents’ property in town. In that tiny house with one bedroom and a room reserved (so I’m told) as a place to store coal (later converted into Grampa’s bedroom), they raised 15 kids. Gramma bore 16 children: one died in infancy (Earl), and one died of typhoid fever just before her 15th birthday (Dorothy Ileen). Sadly my grandmother and his mother never got along ‘to put it mildly’. Living a stone’s throw from each other didn’t help, and it must have been very distressful for both of them. I’m sure it was a series of misunderstandings and misplaced pride on both sides that caused the rift, but those feelings perpetuated themselves as life continued and offenses piled up – the older boys tormenting their Gramma Harrison with childish pranks. I never knew my Great Grandmother Capitolia Harrison, she died when my dad was only 13. But I kinda suspect if she’d been alive when I was little, I still wouldn’t have known her. It’s sad that friction and even enmity in families can be such a thing. And sadder still that it can ooze into future generations long after the original offences are forgotten. (hmmmm, a life lesson there for sure)
Many years later, while expecting my first child, I told my mother I was considering the name “Afton” as a good name for our new baby if it was a girl. This was my Grandfather’s sister’s name. My mother was mortified and told me that Gramma Harrison would be most UNhappy with my choice, as she very much disliked her sister-in-law. I didn’t want to bring any grief to my grandmother, so I abandoned the idea, but I was curious about the harsh reaction. My mom had never even met her, but she knew she didn’t like her. None of OUR kind liked HER kind. I regret never knowing that part of my dad’s family. They all lived in the same little town, and attended the same congregation on Sundays. Tragic when you think of it. I wonder how they reconciled those feelings after they all met each other again in the next world. I bet there are many regrets from their current vantage point, about how long they allowed their feud to continue – well into the fourth generation, for assumed offences that many years ago ceased to have any relevance.
Leland and Pearl Harrison had a lovely cozy ‘little’ home. Emphasis on little again. And it was always clean; Gramma was fastidious about clean. She had iodine on a kitchen shelf and woe be to any kid who fell and scraped their knee. Iodine hurt worse than the wound. My dad inherited her fear of ‘germs’. He was only 6 years old when his oldest sister died of typhoid fever, but it seemed that the years following her death were ones of hyper anxiousness on the part of his mother; today we would call that PTSD.
My younger life was greatly influenced by the religion of ‘not-spreading-germs’. That rule was pounded into our heads. More than the reality of God, the goodness of our Saviour, or that families are eternal. From the vantage point of adulthood, I empathize a lot more with my father’s preoccupation with washing hands and clean dishes. Typhoid fever is a terrible disease caused by a salmonella bacteria that is spread through contaminated food or water. It is most common in rural areas or developing countries where there isn’t modern sanitation. I guess small farming communities on the Canadian prairie in the 1930s qualify. It rarely occurs in isolation. It is ugly and painful and very contagious. Those who contract typhoid continue to be contagious long after they’ve recovered. Though my dad had few memories of his older sister Dorothy, or her sickness, he was raised by a mother who lost her daughter to typhoid, and who undoubtedly had others in her household sick with it. I was raised by a father who was raised by a mother who suffered PTSD from losing her daughter to a disease that had the potential to take more. It helps me to understand my father better.
~
Grampa often asked us “whose kid are you?”
I would answer “I’m Wes’s daughter Grampa. I’m Cindy.” I was never certain whether he was teasing or if he really didn’t know. But now, I’m quite certain our sheer number and the fact that we only showed up for a few hours once a year in those days, didn’t help. There was never a hint of any question that Gramma knew us, though. She would cup our faces in her hands and kiss us and tell us she loved us. She knew where we fit in and who we belonged to. HER!
He’d call my sister and I “Winder and Cinder” which would always make us giggle, and implied to us that he at least knew OUR names (Wendy and Cindy). Some days anyway. He was a tease in every way. It was the only way he knew how to deal with people. And he teased my gramma mercilessly.
There may have been a time early in their marriage that she laughed at his teasing, but she wasn’t laughing when I knew them lol. He’d tease her, and she’d lash out with “BUD!!! . . . . . .”. Then he’d respond with “Don’t be mean to me, Mama. You know you love me.” It was very entertaining to us grandkids, but I felt a bit bad for Grampa because it seemed he was always the injured party. One day, when I was a young teenager, I confessed to my mom that I thought Gramma was mean to Grampa, and that she hurt his feelings. Mom told me he’d often reach over and lift her dress with his cane – which embarrassed her and prompted her rebukes. I had never observed that important little detail, which undoubtedly explained her sharpness when she’d lose her patience. No wonder she’d get mad at him.
He was also very accustomed to being waited on hand and foot. She took care of his every need. It probably never occurred to him to peel a potato or wash a dish or even push the toaster down. She fed him every meal he ever ate.
In those days 70 years old was a lot older than it is now, and though he never drank a drop of alcohol or smoked a cigarette in his life, he was not the picture of health. His sheer inactivity was probably his biggest problem. From my vantage point now, I think he deserves some credit for holding his own when literal hoards of adult children, nieces and nephews, grandchildren and other relatives would descend on their home on given day throughout the summer time. In that small house, there was only one place for him to be – sitting on his kitchen chair in the doorway of the kitchen.
I wish I had known the man inside him. I never did, but I treasure the few memories I share with my siblings and my cousins of him. As scary as those moments were while we lived them, they make us chuckle as we relive them now. He died when he was 80 years old, one month before our first child – a son, was born. They overlapped for that short time in the spirit world. I hope they knew each other.
Happy birthday Grampa.
My guess is you’re celebrating with Lemon meringue pie. I’m quite certain they serve that in heaven. It was my dad’s favourite too; perhaps you’re sharing it together.
Warmly,
Cindy Suelzle
* Grampa died March 17 1978. Leland Albert Harrison * Gramma died 12 years later, at the age of 88, April 16 1990. Pearl Cora Reece Harrison
. Ironic eh? 
