My Kitchen is Alive

Pristine is not a word I would use to describe my kitchen.

Jars of my many projects set on the countertop. Sourdough starter. Apple cider vinegar in the making. Wheat berries ready to be freshly ground. Kefir. Kombucha. Fermented vegetables.

Homemade bread is cooling. Homemade pasta is drying.

Some dishes are clean, and some are dirty. And when all of them are clean, we clear the table from another meal.

The floor is swept and swept and swept again. And mopped...sometimes.

Aprons hang from a cast iron hook on the wall. A pot holder peeks from a cabinet drawer.

The black stand collects mail that may be important, nails from my man's pockets, and fruit to be nabbed by a little girl looking for a snack.

Alive. Now that's a better description.

The kitchen breathes with the many activities of the day. If you listen closely, you can hear it's vital functions-- a monotonous hum. (Listen closely in your own kitchen, and I'm sure you'll hear, too.) You can see its changing expressions throughout the day. From its dark, coffee stained complexion in the morning to its energetic orange peel smiles at noon and wearisome pale floured face with the final roll of cookies. Smell its various labors. Then taste with delight.

My kitchen is alive. It's the heart of our home. My favorite place, where I have spent today.

God bless you and keep you,
Raquel