Every family has their little holiday traditions. For some it’s carol singing. For others it’s having a blazing row after dinner and spending the rest of the day not talking to one another. But in our case, it’s cookies.
Not surprising, really, for a Pennsylvania Dutch family, that one of our most cherished traditions* involves food, especially sweetstuffs. (These are the people who invented Scrapple; a meat product that’s basically whatever is left over after the butchering process shoved in a blender, formed into a loaf and then pan fried. I personally have never partaken, but my parents used to bring some back every time they came back from visiting family up in PA. However, I was not made aware of it’s contents until I was older and possessed a stronger constitution.)
My great grandmother was the guardian of Christmas in her time. The family Christmas Eve celebration was always held at her house in the little town of Bally. These events are much remembered by the older members of my family and although the most wonderful celebration passed on to my mother’s cousin (Christmas Eve was always my favorite part of the holiday due to these gatherings!) Christmases past “at Grammy’s” were always much talked about and fondly remembered.
My great grandmother, was of course, like most grandmothers, a fantastic cook and many a grandchild (my mother included) would always make for her kitchen upon arrival at her house to see what treats lay in store. Grammy Kemp’s cookie tin (an octagonal affair decorated with sailing ships that already had a fair few years under it’s belt by the time my mother discovered it’s delights) was always full of delicious baked goods. It was the memory of this that inspired our Christmas tradition many years later.
Although the cookie tin was lost for some years, it began to find it’s way to various family members at Christmastime, filled with cookies and a poem from the baker. A book of the poems began to appear to accompany the tin as the list of recipients grew. While it moved for a long time in exclusively the female family circle, I am proud to say that when /I/ received the tin while I was in college, I passed it on to it’s first male recipient, my cousin, Jim. (Who passed it on the next year with a collection of store bought cookies, but a hugely clever poem about how hard he’d worked to bake them.)
My mother, who’s seen the tin more recently than I, says that it’s lovely pictures are nearly worn off of it’s many surfaces from it’s constant journies across state and sometimes country lines. Due to some extremely hard eBay graft of Jim’s sister, my mother now has an exact replica of the tin with all of it’s pictures in their colorful glory; a wonderful reminder of Christmases past, even when the original is far away.
Although I’m not sure about the whereabouts of the tin at present, I very much hope that it makes it’s way back into my hands again so I can share it’s story with my daughter and send it off on it’s continuing journey.
*Our other most cherished tradition which ended several years ago involved sneaking a completely hideous looking candle into each other’s luggage following family get-togethers. Said candle traveled the length and breadth of the US, surprising recipients for many years before the death of our family matriarch, Great Aunt Louise. The candle (as she loved a good prank and would have laughed her ass off) was supposed to go in her coffin, however, I’m not sure that anyone had the bottle to do it and it was instead, I believe, left on her grave, where it quickly vanished. (I’d like to think that Aunt Louise manged to somehow pass it on to some other family of worthy recipients who could properly appreciate it’s awfulness.
A very Merry Christmas from rural Maryland!
