It’s hard to leave behind a place that holds so many memories, but as I had for most of my life, I turned to baking in the midst of the change.
Since I was 6 years old, I’ve spent countless hours learning about the world that lies within butter and sugar. Baking had been my comfort and constant through the stresses of high school, and it was the way I showed people that I cared – apple pie for dad’s birthday and chocolate cream cake for Mother’s Day. For a long time, I thought it was the actual making of food that I was drawn to, but it’s much more than that. For my family, the kitchen is where we come together to make a meal, and the table is where friendships and family bonds pick up right where they left off, even if we’ve spent weeks or months apart. Food brings people together and creates memories, and to me, that’s magic.
As I packed my belongings, I looked around me, realizing the emptiness of the place that just weeks before had been home. This house was where I had lived all my life, and before that, it was where my mom grew up and where we celebrated every birthday and holiday for as long as I can remember. This home was the place that held memories at every stage of my life – from childhood to young adulthood.
When I baked these scones, it felt right for the first time since I learned we were moving. The sunset streamed in through the kitchen window as it often did when I pulled the tray of strawberry-swirled scones out of the oven. As my mom and I packed away the last of our things, leafing through old photo albums while eating fresh scones, I felt a sense of closure. I came to terms with saying goodbye to the home that had carried me through so many chapters of my life. These scones were the last thing I baked before moving – they represented closure then, and today, when I make these scones, I think back to that moment.
Note: Recipe adapted from the Smitten Kitchen.
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