Where Tradition Comes From

A memory surfaced for me in the past few days.

I didn’t know it was there, as I had not thought of it in so very long. I think this covid precaution holiday season has so starved me of family interaction, that naturally I have begun to focus on happier times in days past.

The holidays inevibitably remind people of their childhoods, good, bad or ugly. I don’t think my parents knew exactly how to handle the holidays. We were an utterly non-religious family. Being born to an atheist and a rebellious former evangelical, holidays were a wee bit “complicated” and I think filled with a bit of baggage for both parents.

I think because we didn’t have any specific traditions around Christmas – other than the usual talk of Santa and setting up a tree, we travelled for Christmas quite often. With a family spread far and wide and my parents’ divorce, we never really knew where we would be or what we would be doing when Santa was on his jolly ride delivering gifts.

We had a Christmas tree at home most years. I remember the color coded assembly of the branches on the wooden center pole. I remember stringing tinsel willy nilly, and trying to keep our kitties from playing with it. I also remember my mother re-tinseling and re-arranging ornaments to her liking afterwards. (Kids never put the ornaments on the tree in an esthetically pleasing way I suppose).

Other than that, I do not have a lot of memories of Christmas at home. But - there was one Christmas tradition that I only just remembered this holiday season.

Every year, my mother's parents would send a box.

Boy did I look forward to that box. Anticipating it was like waiting for Santa to arrive. It was a giant sweet surprise wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. The “to” and “from” address was handwritten in my grandmothers script. Inside there was always a handwritten note about what was in the box and sometimes a little anecdote or story. My mother usually had to read it to us, as the script writing was difficult to decipher sometimes. I don’t even remember exactly when it would arrive but sometimes it was in late November I think.

Inside was inevitability a large bottle of sweet, golden honey from my grandfather’s hives. If we were really lucky he would also send some honey comb to chew on too. The word "luscious" was made to describe chewing on oozy, sticky honeycomb. There were always other treasures in that box too. usually packed in a shirt box, layered with waxed paper, were sweet, home baked treats from my grandmothers kitchen. She was one of the best bakers that ever lived. Her home cooking could never be matched.

I remember very little of what varieties of cookies she sent, but I know there were sugar cookies sprinkled with green and red sugar and divinity candy…impossibly light whipped meringue candy studded with nuts. There may have been fruit cake, I don’t remember exactly. But I do remember candied fruit and nuts and the sweet, buttery smell that wafted upwards when opening that box. There was usually a wrapped present or two for my sister and I. Occasionally a bible, or a new hand sewn jumper.

But those sweets, home-made, and colorful, said Christmas to me. I knew that grandma took the time to measure, mix, and stir every variety. And she always sent more than enough to be enjoyed for a long while.

It is only now after celebrating my 52nd holiday season that I realize why baking at the holidays is so important to me. Cookie baking has been a tradition for me for many years. Prior to cookies, I made dark chocolate ganache truffles and gifted them to family and friends.

I completely ignored my drive to gift sweets this season. I squelched the desire as Covid meant not seeing people and the disaster of the USPS mail this season meant that shipping food could have been a waste. (Nobody wants stale cookies to arrive a month after Christmas). But working through these memories in my head this morning I realize that there is more to this need to bake than the desire to lick the bowl… this tradition is generational. It is in my blood.

Look out for the holidays in 2021 for I vow it will be an epic year of gifting cookies from my kitchen. And I will think of my grandmother with every batch.

Grace and Albert Hetrick