Nana Baking Pan my memories

My Grandmother’s Baking Pans I remember peering through Nana’s broken window countless times on my way to St. Augustine’s Girls’ School in St. George. But that day felt different. As I watched the black birds pecking at her ripe golden apples in those tall, windy trees above her wooden shack, I sensed a shift. Nana would harvest those apples for the summer. The soil-covered ones were reserved for making June plum juice—a sweet treat for us. Those apple trees and mango trees were her livelihood. When times were good, I’d assist her in packing the fruit for the market. They were always moist and incredibly delicious. And now, here I stand, about to open a new chapter of Nana’s memories. I carefully unwrapped a faded box labeled “Nana’s Things.” Inside, an old newspaper from 1983 greeted me. But it was the Nana bread pan that caught my attention—the one with two handles and an old burnt crumb lodged in the corner. As it fell into my hands, I couldn’t help but smile and shed a tear. Softly, I whispered, “Hello to you too, Nana.” my heartfelt recollections evoke a sense of nostalgia and connection to family traditions. Keep those memories close—they’re a testament to the love and warmth what Nana’s baking pans held. ??