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My Father’s Hands by Lucy M. Young

Gnarled and twisted with arthritis, Scarred and roughened by hard labor on the farm, Gentle hands God meant for healing broken bodies, Steady, careful hands for surgery.

Circumstances forced my father to renounce his calling And the talent in those hands was sacrificed; But they never lost their magic. They could calm a fevered, restless child with their soothing touch.

They could heal a horse’s harness gall Or a little child’s stubbed toe. They could carve and whittle clever toys, Build sturdy furniture for our home, Or a dainty doll’s bed for a little girl.

My memories of my father are wrapped up in his hands, Inarticulate and shy, he let his hands speak for him – Those gentle, patient, work-worn hands, Showing all the love he was unable to express in any other way.

Why “woodsmoke and cardamom?”

I read that “scent memory” is one of the strongest senses we have – even considered the “5th sense.” (Google scent memory for an interesting read) According to my own experience, yeah! And the scents of woodsmoke and cardamom have been, for me, particularly evocative of feelings of peace, contentment, security, and so much of the joy of my childhood – the time in my life when I was a true child, though I have never really grown up.

We had a fireplace in the livingroom of my childhood home – the home and fireplace lovingly built by my dad. Besides the obvious benefit of heat, a wood fire provides the very loveliest of fragrances that invariably seep into cushions, curtains and clothing – bonus!!! Tell me you don’t know someone who has a wood-burning stove or fireplace; the scent of smoke they carry with them is, to me, an additional element of their ID, their personality, persona. And that’s a good thing, IMHO (which opinion is, of course, part of this page)

My maternal grandmother and grandfather had a woodstove in their kitchen, both for cooking and for heat. (They also had a smaller oil stove in the kitchen for cooking in the warmer seasons). One of my dearest memories is the way Grandma would hang my wet mittens on the doors of the warming oven on top of her woodstove.

Cardamom is the spice used in the Swedish Coffee Bread (pictured above) my mom made for us every year for Christmas breakfast. As I recall, she made it only at Christmastime, so it has always been referred to in my family as “Christmas Bread” (yes, I’ll post the recipe soon!) For many years, since Mama passed away, I have continued the tradition of baking Christmas Bread for family and friends, and Oh! how wonderful the house smells during the baking days! I can’t imagine Christmas without it.

It is my intention to share poems, thoughts and observations that I hope will conjure in you, my Readers, similar feelings and happy memories. Your comments are welcome!