Recently, I ran across in a drawer a packet of recipes Mom had collected from my childhood. What a find!
There were more than 100 and they were all handwritten by her. They included meat dishes, casseroles (lots!), salads and desserts that she had made and we enjoyed (she was a great cook!).
I was so excited to have them, especially now that she is gone and we can’t indulge in her fantastic cooking anymore.
One part that is especially meaningful to me is a small note Mom included in the packet:
“To my family:
I hope these recipes will conjure some memories and emotion. Some are from Mom Archbold, Mom Brewer, Aunt Luella, Aunt Wilma, Lancaster school, friends and some church friends, etc. I hope they bring out your taste buds as you read them and as you prepare them.
I have many more but my poor hands couldn’t do any more. Ha. Anyway, I loved doing it and truly hope you’ll enjoy reading it.
Love, Mom”
**
While I plan to try making her Salmon Steaks and Zucchini Pie, Rhubarb Crunch won the day for my first recipe to try. It was just as yummy as I remembered.
The brown sugar/oatmeal topping (and on the bottom!) is a combination I always enjoy. The tartness of the rhubarb was off-set by the sweetness of the sugar and the crumbly texture of the oatmeal. This dish is good straight from the oven with a scoop of ice cream or for breakfast with yogurt.
While I will never be as good of a cook or baker as Mom, I now enjoy creating food dishes that she enjoyed serving to us several decades ago. Maybe someday someone in my family will do the same with recipes from this blog.
**
As a further tribute to Mom for the upcoming Mother’s Day, I’m sharing a funny story from her childhood which I named ‘The Prize’ when it was published in a magazine.
She grew up during the Depression. We may think nothing was funny about growing up during the Depression, but perspective is always the answer – if you look for good in life, you will find it.
Mom is pictured below on the bicycle to the left with a friend on the right.
I hope you have a good Mother’s Day, whatever and whoever that may involve.
Take care and keep cooking!
**
The Prize
When I was eight years old in 1938, the preacher at the Nazarene Church in Ossian, Indiana, where my family attended, made a surprise announcement: “The person who brings the most people to church next Sunday will win a prize.”
My mind raced around the word “prize”. What if they were giving away a doll? At recess the next day I looked for someone to invite. A new girl in town, Joyce Kincaid, seemed like a prospect. I wasted no time meeting her and asking her to come.
The next day she said she could go. I asked Joyce if she needed a ride. She said, no, her parents would bring her.
Sunday morning I dressed hurriedly, eager to get to church and see my friend. Upon arrival, I had a delightful surprise. Not only Joyce, but also her parents and five brothers and sisters stood outside the church waiting! I could almost feel the doll’s porcelain features under my fingertips.
The preacher’s sermon seemed to last forever. Finally, he closed his Bible and asked all the visitors to stand, introduce themselves and tell who had brought them.
Joyce’s father said they were new in town and that I was the first person to ask them to church. When asked to stand, I did so, blushing profusely.
The preacher welcomed all the newcomers. I wiggled in my seat. No one had brought more than eight people, so the prize should be mine, but you could never tell with grownups.
“We thank our visitors for coming today,” the preacher said. “We commend every person who took the time to invite someone. One person has done more than what was expected. The Bible would say she has committed her work unto the Lord.”
Guilt overcame me. I hadn’t thought about God when I asked Joyce to church. I only wanted the prize.
“Joan, would you come up here, please?”
I had won! The preacher nodded to someone at the back and I almost clapped my hands to hurry them along. With my back turned, I was unable to see what was brought in. I began to suspect something was amiss when the boys on the front row began to snicker. My excitement changed to horrified disbelief, when “the prize” was set before me.
The preacher laid a kind hand on my shoulder. “Unfortunately, our prize probably isn’t something a child dreams of winning,” he said.
He was right. Twenty-five pounds of flour had never entered my mind.
The congregation laughed, and I made my way back to the pew. I wasn’t crying but wanted to. Joyce squeezed my hand in understanding.
My parents couldn’t afford to buy me a doll, but I got over that. More importantly, Joyce and I became best friends and stayed that way throughout school.
During adulthood, Joyce and I each married and had families; her new name was Genth and she lived in Adams County about 20 miles from me. She was a talented cake decorator and made my wedding cake. Even though we were busy with our families, we tried to get together as often as we could. We always laughed about the “pile of dough” that brought us together.
The End
**
Rhubarb Crunch (1980)
Mix:
2 cups brown sugar
2 cups oatmeal
1 ½ cups flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 cup butter, melted
Spread half of mix in greased 9×13” pan.
Add 6 cups rhubarb. (See pictured above)
In saucepan make sauce:
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Bring sauce to boil.
Pour over fruit and add remaining flour mixture.
Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.
Yield: 12 servings
Vintage Eats of Kayleen Reusser 
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