Did you have a special childhood place? Perhaps a place where your family went to every summer. My family had one such place. Each summer, my mother, sister, and I traveled to Tennessee and spent six weeks with our grandmother, aunts and uncles, and cousins.
Summer in eastern Tennessee was a magical place. There were June bugs to catch, a slow-moving creek to explore (complete with crawdads), and good southern cooking. My mother and aunts were not fancy cooks. They were down home cooks with a flair for infusing everything with an extra bit of flavor and a large dose of love.
My Aunt Maxie had a specialty, and I begged for it whenever I saw her: wacky cake. Wacky cake contained no eggs but was made with the unlikely combination of oil and vinegar as well as cocoa, sugar, and flour.
More than fifty years later, I can still recall the moist, humid air of late evenings, the chirping of crickets, and the delectable texture of wacky cake. Small memories. Precious memories.
So, for today, I am grateful for memories.