The Recipe Book Found at the Auction House
Here's something I keep coming back to. What does a woman leave behind when she doesn't think she's leaving anything behind?
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The Recipe Book Found at the Auction House
Somewhere in a donation pile at a county auction house, someone left a Better Homes and Gardens binder cookbook — red and white plaid cover, five wire rings, two of them still holding. Inside the printed pages, tucked between Jell-O mold illustrations and cheerful casserole recipes, there are index cards, folded school-tablet sheets, and margin notes written in ballpoint pen that have nothing to do with cooking.
This episode opens that cookbook and reads five of those notes aloud. They were written by a farmwife in Redwood County, Minnesota, between 1961 and 1969 — a woman I call Vernell, a name that was real in that part of the country at that time. The farm is a fabrication, as all the notebooks on this show are: a historically grounded archetype assembled from the documentary record of rural Midwestern domestic life in that decade. The names, the farm, the family — invented. The texture of what she wrote, and why, and in the margins of what — that I've tried to get right.
The five entries move across eight years: a neighbor who brings rhubarb starts in May 1961 and the knowledge that you can taste how old a plant is; a folded sheet from late 1963 about a supper conversation that ended without resolution; the back of a doughnut recipe card from around 1965 where she records a conversation with her priest after a community meeting; an undated margin note about a young woman who started at the creamery and whether she has staying power; and a final entry written in March 1969 on the inside back cover of the binder, in a thin strip along the bottom edge, about a field that was sold.
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