All Roads Lead to New Glarus Pt. 1- A Travel/Memoir Series – Retelling of a Story

My father once said, “All roads lead to New Glarus.” Throughout the years a small town in Southwestern Wisconsin seems to have repeated itself in significance. Our tapestry has been woven traveling through, in and around this lovely weekend getaway spot. The rolling hills and deeply cut valleys reminded the early Swiss settlers of their homeland.

I’ll never forget the first time I found myself in New Glarus, Wisconsin. It was a late August afternoon, and the air was starting to smell like newly sharpened pencils. Locusts played their organ-grinding songs, and all that grows grew golden. Thoughts of going back to school lurked in the back of my mind, causing me to capture each moment and savor it like a piece of creamy, milk chocolate melting slowly over my tongue. Every hour was precious freedom.

My family strolled down the main street of a town proclaiming to be “America’s Swiss Village.” With almost-black rough wood beams criss-crossing over white stucco, the buildings looked like they could have been in Glarus, Switzerland. Under the windows, geraniums spilled out of flower boxes. Passing a storefront with sausages hanging in the window, my nose crinkled trying to distinguish the fragrance of spice and uncooked red meat, an odor foreign to my young nose. Church bells broke into exultation, signaling that it was half past the hour.

This photo of New Glarus is courtesy of TripAdvisor

As my father opened the door to the New Glarus Baking Company, the unfamiliar tunes of an accordion playing bouncy polka music blasted into the street. A shaft of light streamed down the staircase and beckoned us to follow it’s guidance to the pinnacle and into the tea room.

I sat on the smooth, wooden chair, my feet almost touching the ground. the side of the table at which I sat was against the wall, facing the window. My parents sat across from me. They were surrounded by the bright sunshine, which created halos around their forms like the paintings on Eastern Orthodox icons. The tables were adorned with white linen cloths and napkins and in the center of each one was a bud vase with a silk red carnation reaching towards the ceiling. The waitress came to take our order wearing a customary Swiss peasant dress. She looked like a member of the Van Trap Family.

This photo of New Glarus is courtesy of TripAdvisor

Soon after ordering, my father was drinking a cup of coffee. Mother was checking a glass for water spots. I, on the other hand, was about to dive into a biscuit with a creamy chicken gravy, topped with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream. My mouth watered. The sound of silver on china now accompanied the accordion as the velvety flavors exploded in my mouth.

Looking down on the last bite, I realized that just as I was about to enjoy the last of this delectable treat, I was also enjoying the last moment of my family vacation. Surprisingly, new notebooks, pens and shoes seemed like a welcome adventure after spending lazy days in the summer heat. I leaned back in my chair satisfied with my meal and with my fifth grade summer vacation.

To read the next installment of this story click here.

Linking with Imperfect Prose

My 5 Favorite Cookies – Friday Favorites

5. Pepperidge Farm – Milano…actually I love any Pepperidge Farm Cookie

4. Girl Scout Peanut Butter Cookie – Don’t they bring back memories?

3. Girl Scout Thin Mint Cookies – I can’t stop eating these, so I just don’t buy them.

2. Christmas Snowball Cookies – when these are in the house during the holidays, I won’t stop eating them until they are all gone. Thank goodness Christmas comes just once a year!

1. Alexis’ Brown Sugar Cookies – This is a recipe submitted to Martha Stewart’s Entertaining cookbook, by her daughter Alexis. They are EVERYBODY’S favorite. My friends started asking for them by their own name, “Ugly Cookies”. Over a pound of butter and 4 cups of sugar make the consistency like toffee. Yummm….If you click on the photo, the link will direct you to the recipe.

Happy Eating!

What are your favorite cookies?

All Roads Lead to New Glarus Pt. 1- A Travel/Memoir Series

In honor of my mothers birthday i thought I’d tell a family story.
Happy Birthday mama !

My father once said, “All roads lead to New Glarus.” Throughout the years a small town in Southwestern Wisconsin seems to have repeated itself in significance. Our tapestry has been woven traveling through, in and around this lovely weekend getaway spot. The rolling hills and deeply cut valleys reminded the early Swiss settlers of their homeland.

I’ll never forget the first time I found myself in New Glarus, Wisconsin. It was a late August afternoon, and the air was starting to smell like newly sharpened pencils. Locusts played their organ-grinding songs, and all that grows grew golden. Thoughts of going back to school lurked in the back of my mind, causing me to capture each moment and savor it like a piece of creamy, milk chocolate melting slowly over my tongue. Every hour was precious freedom.

My family strolled down the main street of a town proclaiming to be “America’s Swiss Village.” With almost-black rough wood beams criss-crossing over white stucco, the buildings looked like they could have been in Glarus, Switzerland. Under the windows, geraniums spilled out of flower boxes. Passing a storefront with sausages hanging in the window, my nose crinkled trying to distinguish the fragrance of spice and uncooked red meat, an odor foreign to my young nose. Church bells broke into exultation, signaling that it was half past the hour.

This photo of New Glarus is courtesy of TripAdvisor

As my father opened the door to the New Glarus Baking Company, the unfamiliar tunes of an accordion playing bouncy polka music blasted into the street. A shaft of light streamed down the staircase and beckoned us to follow it’s guidance to the pinnacle and into the tea room.

I sat on the smooth, wooden chair, my feet almost touching the ground. the side of the table at which I sat was against the wall, facing the window. My parents sat across from me. They were surrounded by the bright sunshine, which created halos around their forms like the paintings on Eastern Orthodox icons. The tables were adorned with white linen cloths and napkins and in the center of each one was a bud vase with a silk red carnation reaching towards the ceiling. The waitress came to take our order wearing a customary Swiss peasant dress. She looked like a member of the Van Trap Family.

This photo of New Glarus is courtesy of TripAdvisor

Soon after ordering, my father was drinking a cup of coffee. Mother was checking a glass for water spots. I, on the other hand, was about to dive into a biscuit with a creamy chicken gravy, topped with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream. My mouth watered. The sound of silver on china now accompanied the accordion as the velvety flavors exploded in my mouth.

Looking down on the last bite, I realized that just as I was about to enjoy the last of this delectable treat, I was also enjoying the last moment of my family vacation. Surprisingly, new notebooks, pens and shoes seemed like a welcome adventure after spending lazy days in the summer heat. I leaned back in my chair satisfied with my meal and with my fifth grade summer vacation.

To read the next installment of this story click here.

Linking with Imperfect Prose

The Bread of Life

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As I continue to fast bread during Lent, I am looking for the significance of bread in Scripture.  The middle eastern understanding of bread is quite different than that of the western mindset.  We have a white doughy substance which can be rolled up between two fingers into a perfect ball.  It gets stuck on the roof of your mouth and tastes something like pasty air.

The bread from the time of Jesus would have been quite a different substance.  First of all, the grain would have been much more whole, so there would be no ball rolling with this bread.  Middle Eastern views on the blessing of food, brings along with it a respect for it.  They would never engage in food fights, or play with their food.

“As the son of a Syrian family I was brought up to think of bread as possessing a mystic sacred significance.  I never would step on a piece of bread fallen in the road, but would pick it up, press it to my lips for reverence, and place it in a wall or on some other place where it would not be trodden upon.  What always seemed to me to be one of the noblest traditions of my people was their reverence to the “aish” (bread; literally “the life-giver”).  While breaking bread together we would not rise to salute an arriving guest, whatever the social rank.  Whether spoken or not, our excuse for not rising and engaging in the cordial (Near East) salutation before the meal was ended, was our reverence for the food (hir-metal-‘aish).  We could, however, and always did, invite the newcomer most urgently to partake of the repast…The ‘aish was something more than mere matter.  Inasmuch as it sustained life, it was God’s own life made tangible for his child, man, to feed upon.  The Most High Himself fed our hunger.  Does not the psalmist say, “Thou openest thine hand, and satisfieth the desire of every living thing.”? (From The Syrian Christ by Abraham Rihbany, published 1916.)

Bread means literally “the life-giver”, so when Jesus proclaimed that He was the Bread of Life, He is saying that He is the life giver.  Even aside from the respect given to the bread used as one of the elements in the Eucharist, in some parts of the world, bread is respected as a life-giver and treated with dignity as something to be truly grateful for.

Give us this day, our daily bread.  Give us today life from heaven.  Just the right portion.  Not too much, or too little.  We are to be given the right amount of life so that we are able to accomplish His will today, reminding one of the Scripture that reads, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.  Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6:34

The children of Israel were given bread.  They were given only what they needed for that day.  When they were greedy, the bread became wormy.  The word for that bread, or manna as it was called,  is correctly translated, “What is it?”  When Jesus came, He became the true bread from Heaven.  And we still argue amongst ourselves.  What is it?  Does the bread of Holy Communion become the actual body of Christ? Or is it only a symbol?

One thing is certain.  Long before the Last Supper, bread was a symbol.  A common subject of an object lesson to the people of its time, symbolizing life, fulfillment and provision.

Jesus has given us His life in exchange for our own poor excuse of a life.  He gave us beauty for ashes, and a hope for a good future because of His supreme sacrifice.  He nourishes our soul, just as bread nourishes our bodies.  He brings the necessary nutrients and health to us, but He also satisfies our spirits.  I don’t know any food substance that satisfies hunger quite like bread.  Believe me, in not eating bread for a month now, I can’t tell you how much I miss it.  It satisfies.  Jesus satisfies the soul in a way only He can.  When we hunger and thirst for Him He fills us with food that we may never hunger again.

One reason there was once so much respect for bread is because it was recognized as provision.  It was a major staple in a well stocked home.  If you had bread, life was good.  We have the Bread of Life, and therefore Life is very good.