|the eating started before we could snap a photo|
A weekend ritual; each had their place in the pizza making line up. My cousin and I (nearly the same age) always shaped the dough. We chatted and laughed as our hands worked the lump into every inch of the baking sheets; getting it ready for the toppings our mothers and grandmother would add to it. Hot, cheesy pizza was eaten over the chatter of family gathered around the big table covered with my grandmother's embroidered table cloth.
My cousin and I would slip off to the creek after dinner to catch minnows and wade the cold waters before dark fell on the woods.Off alone, we shared our stories of interests, life and activities- we were close back then. Night would fall; games were pulled from the closet and played around that same big table with great rivalry- the competitive spirit running deep. Those days seem so long ago.
Now, in my own home, pizza making nights are shared with many who come and go through our doors. Extended family, friends even our past foster children loved gathering around lumps of dough and pots of sauce sharing our lives as our hands worked together forming the meal. No special occasion is needed; no fancy recipes; just hands and hearts and a lump of dough.
This past weekend, we revisited the pizza making gathering as my parents came to visit. All around the farm table.. dough and sauce, toppings and tasting...chatter about our projects and plans and days gone by- all in celebration of a special birthday. We made memories together- again.
One day the torch will pass and it will be up to my farm kids to carry on the tradition. We will gather around their kitchen with dough and sauce; with their families and friends. Laughter and love will continue as we make memories with dough and sauce.