My Grandma Freda was a wonderful cook. She put me to work in the kitchen a lot. I loved to visit her because it meant there was always something bubbling away on her stove.
My grandma had a nice garden in her back yard of Minnesota where she grew her own strawberries, green beans, carrots, onions, cucumbers, and zucchini. How wonderful, what a treat for me to be able to go into her garden to pick and eat fresh, sweet, juicy red strawberries! The flavor would explode in my mouth and drip down my young chin. My grandma would laugh at me and say, “You better catch that drip off your chin before it hits your shirt!” and, of course, when she said that, I would look down and that would be that. My shirt would be stained and have to be washed. “Oh well, can’t cry over spilled milk,” she would say.
My grandma taught me how to put love in my kitchen. She never had a driver’s license or drove a car, but she could run a kitchen like nobody’s business. She came to the Lord when she was 64, the only one in my immediate family to profess Jesus as savior, and she had a tremendous influence on me when I was young. I have such fond memories of her and her love for me.
Grandma Frieda’s love for cooking became her way of love for me. The love of Jesus was overflowing in her heart, and though she was in the middle of a family that didn’t know Jesus, she still let His love shine into the lives around her. So, she cooked. I ate. And God’s love became the impressionable memory that still lasts today.
I guess this is why I write cookbooks (I’m working on my next volume, Volume 3). It is so exciting to see all the new recipes fall into place. It includes some of my favorites that my grandma used to make. I look forward to sharing the same love that my grandma shared with me: sweet juicy blessings like the fruitful garden of my Grandma Frieda.