Aunt Sara Catherine

AUNT SARA CATHERINE Each Southern breakfast in your kitchen smelled of fried apples, cornbread, and country biscuits with all the fixings. Your grown sons came over every day to eat at your table come what may. Nobody could cook as good as you. I like to imagine you started cooking when you were two. You were warm, loving and very giving; nothing too difficult for you, working or sitting. But you wrote none of your recipes down. When you died, God took your cooking far away from everyone in Harlan town. Now your recipes are hidden somewhere beyond the sky, but in order to receive them I too will one day have to die. Janet Marie Bingham