No matter what the occasion, be it holiday or other, everyone always ended up in our large country kitchen. Growing up on a farm, in the middle of no where, gave me an education far more valuable than any obtained in any classroom. Life on the farm was my classroom. I learned respect, honesty, compassion, how to work hard, and how to get by in this old world.  My Grandmother cooked three full meals a day, every day, until I was almost grown and as long as she was able to stand in front of the stove. The feisty little 5 ft. 2 woman was a no-nonsense, get it done kind of cook. I got the beginnings of my love of cooking standing on a chair from the dinning table by her side. My first dish that I was allowed to make on my own was white milk breakfast gravy. (I have yet to be able to turn out the same biscuits to go with it.) No one ever left our house hungry. Everyone that visited always ended up in the kitchen, either at our family meals or over some desert and coffee. The holidays were a revolving door of family and friends. An all day parade from near and far that all ended up enjoying some boisterous conversation over some traditional southern treats. We had cats and dogs, we raised cows, chickens and hogs, we grew our own food, we fished in the summer and we hunted what ever was in season. I didn’t always have all the things some of my friends had but I was never hungry. When I was young I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to escape. Now, I long for the days on the farm. The work was hard but the times were much simpler. This blog is a celebration of times gone by and the wonderful flavors that were my childhood. I hope you enjoy the stories as well as some of the food.