Rhubarb stirs up memories of my grandparents.

Whether it’s just seeing it on a shelf at the market or used in a recipe like strawberry rhubarb jam, pies, or syrups. I think of running around playing tag with my siblings or my cousins at my grandma and grandpa’s house. 

They had a large rhubarb plant on the backside of their house and I can remember as little kids me and my sister plucking a stalk and making fun of each other as we would make sour faces from the tartness of it as we ate it.

I also remember watching my grandma make strawberry rhubarb pie..she would stand over the stove stirring a pot with the most pleasant sweet and sour smells wafting from it. I recall following her around and watching her techniques and mannerisms when she would cook. The way her hands moved as she used a paring knife to cut the berries…the way her brow furrowed when she would concentrate…how she would tilt the lid on a pan to vent it, or just the way she handled a spoon the way that only grandma did while stirring. The smell of the pie coming from the oven and the long wait of it cooling afterward always seemed so long… When grandpa would finally get his slice of pie he would get the biggest grin on his face and make his eyes bulge in an accentuated manner that would make us kids laugh. I would always sneak a peek at grandpa enjoying his slice of pie while I ate my own, after all, if grandpa liked something it had to be good!

Almost every childhood memory starts with grandma and grandpa because we lived right next door.

To this day I still sit with my grandma and go over recipes, sharing ideas back and forth and recommending good cookbooks to each other.

Just looking at rhubarb, tasting it, or smelling it brings back those precious memories from the past.

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