Some seasons seem to pass more quickly than others, maybe because they are so sweet.
Cherry season, for instance, rolls in gently on a cloud of soft, pink petals, produces bright red bursts of tasty fruit and disappears too soon, leaving behind an ordinary tree — still sturdy, still useful, but far less interesting.
Houses are like that too. Full of happy chaos and delicious smells during active seasons and then quiet, still and ordinary.
My days with Molly, my youngest daughter/personal chef/entertainment coordinator/sensei, are winding down. She’ll be moving back to Minneapolis soon to resume her real life.
She was never supposed to be living back home in the first place. COVID-19 travel restrictions landed her here and she’s been an extremely good sport about the whole thing. Instead of taking a bread course at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, she made herself at home in my kitchen and spent the past five months whipping us up mouth-watering delicacies. Her absolute refusal to waste any food products occasionally grossed me out. (I refer specifically to the time she converted the skin she peeled off our Friday salmon into fish chips). But, for the most part she has genuinely astonished me.
This past week she cheerfully boiled leftover shrimp shells into a broth. I was a little skeptical about the whole thing, but it smelled delicious and, when she later produced a summer chowder so tasty I had to have a second bowl, I stood corrected (and very, very full).
Last night, she took the last of the cherries we picked from our friends’ backyard tree and made a brandy cake with cherry curd and walnut mousse. The whole thing rolled out in fairly typical fashion — she puttered around the kitchen, stirring the curd, whipping cream and candying walnuts, while I followed her around licking each bowl clean.
“This is amazing,” I said.
“Oh, thank you,” she replied. “You have some cherry juice on your cheek.”
Other seasons also passed quickly with Molly in the house. All six seasons of Schitt’s Creek, for instance, rolled past so fast I felt like I had just gotten to know and love the Rose family and poof! they were gone.
Strawberry season zoomed by and raspberry season barely happened.
We all know all about Ecclesiastes 3, not necessarily from our excellent Biblical knowledge but also due to the Birds and Footloose. There really is a time for every season. And, as we are well aware in 2020, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing.
He has made everything beautiful in its time.
Like cherries. And cake. And lovely daughters who make them.