Cousin Kim,
Perhaps no physical object goes further back into my childhood memory than my grandmother’s cookie jar. The one I remember was the same shape and lid style as the one shown here.
It didn’t take a 3 or 4 year old long to realize every trip to grandma’s found fresh baked cookies waiting, all the way to the top of the jar.
My mother sometimes took us 4 young children by train from Schenectady to visit my grandmother in her childhood home in Port Henry. Normally my father would load us on the train, drive up a week or so later, then drive us all back. I had taken that train ride often enough to know every stop. I would call them out, along with the conductor, as he came through, “Ticonderoga, Crown Point, Port Henry…”. He always gave me a big smile.
This time was different. While my father was at work, my Aunt Barbara brought us to the station. We never returned south again. My grandmother’s house became our home.
In Port Henry, my grandmother awaited us. Arriving in her driveway, I immediately ran into the house to the pantry. A 7 year old, just tall enough to reach up, lift the lid, my favorite oatmeal, walnut, raisin cookie soon in hand.
Daughter Hilary hosts a monthly “baking day”. Open invitations to friends are extended to stop by. Fresh baked cookies continue to appear and disappear throughout the afternoon. When Hilary began looking for a cookie jar, she did so with great care. A special container for any leftovers.
Fresh baked cookies continue to take on a special significance to me, a food that serves not only the palate, but the soul. Some might not see a connection between grandmother’s cookie jar and Hilary’s. I feel an ethereal connection.
I’m curious to know if any physical objects you recall from your early childhood stand out in a way that might be similar to what I feel about an old cookie jar.
