Preparing the Ingredients
When
I was a little girl, I remember one of my fondest memories was being outside
with merely a few pots and pans mixing up concoctions such as mud pies, my brother’s infamous “doup,” or my personal
specialty, leaves covered with dirt, which I tediously “baked” on a plywood
board until the mud crusted and dried. My Granny would watch my brother and me
from her kitchen window as she cooked dinner or supper. Most of my childhood
summers were spent either outside or by my Granny’s side in the kitchen. I
loved to be her helper or just gaze eagerly and curiously as I watched her
cook. I remember always having floured elbows from standing on a chair and
leaning over the wooden kitchen table, while I intently watched Granny make
cinnamon rolls, donuts, or pie crusts. She made everything from scratch; I
would watch her as she carefully kneaded the dough into a malleable ball and
then used a nicked handle-less roller, sprinkled with flour, to diligently roll
the dough out flat. I felt at ease and
content alongside my Granny in the kitchen and her food was always homemade and
comforting. Her old wooden house had no central air-conditioning, and her stove
was gas lit. Therefore, once she began cooking, the kitchen would
instantaneously heat up making it feel like an inferno in the summer time.
However, even though my forehead would bead with sweat droplets that would then
run down my nose, it was not enough to chase me from the kitchen. I fondly
remember the grease-stained walls behind the stove, and the cast iron skillet
she used everyday smelled like bacon grease. Her kitchen was a nostalgic place
for me, a place with a “genus loci,”[1] a
place which always roused strong feelings of comfort and safety.
As
I grew up, Granny began to teach me her cooking methods. She never measured
anything; instead, she felt her way through the preparation process, and she
knew exactly how to season everything perfectly with spices that complemented
each other. Her work was always meticulous, and her passion for cooking was
relentless. Each day she prepared dinner for my Uncles and Grandpa, often
including a baked dessert as well. I observed her bony wrinkled hands, caked
with sticky egg and flour, bread steaks, or her powerful arms whip the batter
until it was smooth and creamy. I was always eager to learn from her because
she was passionate and dedicated to cooking for her family. In fact, she would
cook an enormous amount of food for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners and
invite the family over for a feast. It was her passion for preparing food that
brought the family together.
When
I was a freshman in high school, Granny taught me how to prepare her homemade
recipe for cinnamon rolls and I received Grand Champion in the pastry-yeast
division of the 4-H club. However, she taught me much more than how to be a
great chef; she has instilled passion in me. I saw the dedication she had for
cooking, and it inspired me. It was her
comfort zone, and she welcomed me to experience culinary art and the
satisfaction of sharing what she prepared with loved ones. She has given me the
chance to experience what it is like to be truly passionate about something in
life, and to use your passion to connect to something greater than self.
John
Henry Newman’s words helped connect my true passions when I read,
I had been
searching and looking ahead to the future, when I should have been looking at
my past childhood desires to discover myself. Now I know my two strongest
passions in life are cooking and nature. I especially like to prepare
everything homemade, from scratch, just like Granny, using down home country
recipes. 
I
love to entertain my friends, and the food always brings us together. For
instance, last Thanksgiving was the first time I attempted to cook a
Thanksgiving dinner for my friends in Austin.
[3]
My dream is to
attend culinary school in Italy
and learn their basic methods of cooking while absorbing the rich Italian
culture. I would like to eventually design and manage a restaurant. For
instance, every time I walk out of a restaurant my mind is flowing with ideas
of how I could improve the dining experience, whether it’s the quality of the
food, the atmosphere, or the service. My restaurant will be a bonding
experience that will bring families, friends, and even strangers together in a
comfortable, cozy, and friendly atmosphere with entrées made from meticulous
hands. I believe food can fill the appetite and warm the soul if it is made
passionately.
At
times I have had doubts and have wondered if my passion for cooking would truly
satisfy me. However, I remind myself that cooking and sharing the experience
with others invigorates my spirit with intense feelings of fulfillment. I feel
at ease when I’m working and creating in the kitchen. My mind floods with ideas
and new exciting recipes or combinations to test. It’s a creative and inventive
process for me. Additionally, when I am overwhelmed with feelings of doubt or
anxiety, I turn to nature in order to clear my thoughts and renew my energy.
For instance, one
of my favorite places is my Grandparent’s huge garden where they plant just
about everything: onions, tomatoes, bell peppers, squash, cabbage, corn, okra,
potatoes, peas, cauliflower, and more.
First, the tractor would plow and till the dirt making uniform rows. Then,
it was my brother and my job to drop seeds. My favorite task was digging up
potatoes while the moist dirt collected under my fingernails with a cooling
sensation. When I looked down at my fingers, I no longer recognized them as
only belonging to me, now I saw them connected to nature too; they had become
integrated. I saw myself as a part of nature and felt a deeper connection to
the space I inhabited. After the food was harvested from the garden, usually
Granny would can tomatoes, or make pickles and jelly. Again, I would peek over
the stove top and watch her as she cooked and canned the vegetables. Therefore,
the garden linked my passions for food and cooking with being outdoors where I
could experience the beauty of nature.
As I grew up,
especially at my Grandparent’s farm, being outdoors was a second home for me.
However, after I graduated from high school, I moved to Austin
in order to attend the University of Texas.
Moving to a huge, populated city like Austin
was a drastic step because I grew up in the small rural town called New
Waverly. I was accustomed to large, open fields; our horses and cows would
graze and meander through the tall billowing grass, and the numerous,
statuesque pine trees dusted the air with pollen and the smell of pine. Norman
Crowe thought identifying with a place could ground a person, “A sense of place
concerns that need to find a familiar landscape as refuge from the unknown,
perhaps from the terrifying prospect of being set adrift in what would
otherwise be a dimensionless, timeless, and chaotic world.” [4] I
still have a strong nostalgia for home because it is a place that allows me to
escape from calamity and the daily stresses of life. For example, when I go
fishing at my Granny’s pond I am able to calm my restless thoughts so I can
just enjoy and absorb the moment. I begin to become aware of my surroundings:
the stillness of the air, the smell of fishy water, the mud oozing between my toes
as I step into the water to reel in a bass, the slimy wet algae I pick off my
fishing lure, the rustling of the shady trees, and the swaying of the long
grass tickling the back of my knees. The tranquility of the atmosphere allows
me to forget all my worries and stress. William Wordsworth passionately
described the affects of nature on his soul:
In nature and the language of sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.[5]
It is in nature
that I can truly absorb the rich, calm atmosphere, embrace the moment, and
observe its beauty, power, and perfection. The nature aspect John Stuart Mill
found in Wordsworth’s poems helped him discover what he had been looking for,
“I needed to be made to feel that there was real, permanent happiness in
tranquil contemplation.”[6]
Oftentimes I have
felt far removed from nature because I became too wrapped up in deadlines, or
too absorbed in the work-driven, materialistic lifestyle of America.
At these times, I could I relate to Caryle’s frustration: “To me the universe
was all void of Life, of Purpose, of Volition, even of Hostility: it was one
huge, dead, immeasurable steam-engine, rolling on, in its dead indifference, to
grind me limb from limb…[7] However,
I always have found renewed energy and strength to deal with life challenges
when I returned to my Grandparent’s farmland and rediscovered nature. For
example, Barry Lopez thought places could provoke a greater connection with the
world, “The key, I think, is to become vulnerable to a place. If you open
yourself up you can build intimacy. Out of such intimacy will come a sense of
belonging, a sense of not being isolated in the universe.”[8] I have felt the vulnerability he described as
I let loose my emotions and just experience the moment by absorbing the energy
around me.
I know exactly how
John Stuart Mill felt when he described “the power of rural beauty”[9]
because I have felt this absolute power when I was standing in the middle of
the pasture. Here, I could grasp the greatness of nature and be a minute,
momentous, and integral part. Too often when I became wrapped up in my daily
life I forgot about the rest of the world. However, nature humbled me and forced
me to realize that my time on earth was transient and unimportant. Realizing
the minuteness of my existence compelled me to make an impact on the lives of
others. It urged me to make a difference and an impact on society, even if it
was to merely help others witness and enjoy the peaceful and healing power of
nature. 
Nature
has helped me to discover the meaning of my life and has given me a feeling of
completeness and content. For instance, throughout most of my college
experience I have been searching for what would make me happy. However, little
did I realize that I was already actively doing what made me happy; in fact, I
have been doing it since I was a little girl outside creating and pretending to
be a chef. When John Stuart Mill was searching for happiness he came to the
conclusion: “Ask yourself whether you are happy, and you cease to be so.” [10] I
was searching for something that would make me happy; unknowingly I was already
developing my passion for cooking, and was sharing that experience with my
friends. Through nature my rambling thoughts were cleared; I could embrace the
moment and see the paved path that already existed for me.
My transformation
began this summer when I started doing things I enjoyed instead of just the
things I had to do for school or for a grade.
In complete honesty, I am still at the point of discovery, learning what
my true passions are and making a greater connection to extend towards others.
My journey has just begun, but my goal is clear: I want to become a passionate
person that will inspire others to find a deeper meaning in life as well. I
believe the meaning of life is individualistically answered by whoever asks the
question.