Pizana April - Celebrations at the Country House

Celebrations
At The Country House

Carolyn Westbrook

Photographs by April Pizana

Celebrations At The Country House

Digital Edition 1.0

Text 2017 Carolyn Wesbrook

Photographs 2016 photographer

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except brief portions quoted for purpose of review.

Gibbs Smith

P.O. Box 667

Layton, Utah 84041

Orders: 1.800.835.4993

www.gibbs-smith.com

ISBN: 978-1-4236-4578-8

L ife has a way of turning out the way it should, I think. Its funny how the things that influence us growing up make for the melting pot of our personalities. I was born into the world of design; with my mama being a designer and artist, she would drag me around the city to every antique market and would spend endless hours choosing fabrics. I didnt have a playhouse, but I would decorate my friends playhouse and then redecorate it. I remember cooking on her toy stove and getting in trouble for filling the play sink with water to wash the dishes. I am fortunate that my childhood was filled with memories of not only decorating but cooking, entertaining, growing, gardening, and gathering around the supper table.

I spent summers, holidays, and many weekends at my grandparents farm. I was born and raised in Texas, and they lived in a tiny Texas town where the white rock dust swirled at least once or twice a day as a car would pass down their back-country road. That was back when everyone waved at each other as they passed, and you never met a strangerif you did, by the time they stopped for a Coke at the local store, everyone in town would know their business. Some of my favorite memories are of the gatherings that we had there because of the homegrown and homemade food that my grandmother, Mutty, would make. I am reminded of our Carolyn Westbrook Home mantra that says it perfectly: Creating a Home that Reflects the Spirit of You. Everyones home is as different as their personality and history, and our homes are a reflection of who we are. That includes the food we serve and the smells that drift through the house from the pot on the stove.

Twenty something years ago when my husband, Joe, and I started our family, I wanted our children to know the country life that I had known. I saw an ad in the Dallas paper one day for a historic home on twenty-five acres that included a pear and apricot orchard. Never mind that I was not quite finished with a renovation on a ranch-style home in the city. The ad was only in the paper that one day and we were not even looking for a home, but off we went. Some might say it was fate, my husband might have thought differently at the time. We pulled up to a dilapidated, old rambling house, and Joe thought that I had lost my mind as I walked through it talking of restoring the enormous falling-down structure with peeling paint, no air-conditioning, and a bowing roof. The apricot and pear orchard turned out to be a few scrawny trees in desperate need of water. This was at a time before renovating was popular, and our big ol contractor said it best when he told me that it would be cheaper to tear it down and start over. I was determined to raise my children in the country. I could see past all of the rotted wood and what were then desert-like surroundings to a beautiful country house surrounded by gardens that were overflowing with squash, fresh tomatoes, and okra that I would serve for supper. So a few weeks later, we drove off with the big city in our rearview mirror to begin the romance with our country house.

Moving to the country, you begin to slow down. You leave the whine of the asphalt for the sound of a gravel road that crunches beneath your tires as you pull onto the farm market road. You cannot help but be captivated by the changing of the seasons here at our country house. Not only does the decor change with the season, but so do our menus. This is a place where in the summer you can kick off your shoes and feel the coolness of the green grass between your toes. It is a place where you cannot wait to plow the earth as soon as the last frost is over so that you can get the garden started. I remember my grandfather, Papa, who would always rise before dawn and wore overalls every day of his life except on Sundays, when he went to church. He would have coffee at the table every morning while Mutty cooked up biscuits, sausage gravy, and fresh eggs that had been gathered from the chicken house.

We now have a country house and beautiful gardens that deliver a bountiful harvest. Here recipes are passed down and passed around the table through the generations, written down on scraps of paper or old recipe cards in handwriting that is sometimes a bit hard to read for the smudging and smears of vanilla extract or tomato sauce over the years. This book is a collection of those tried-and-true recipes that hold food memories of the beloved people who made them and the delicious meals we shared.

Our country house has come a long way, but it is always a work in progress. The house and grounds are never really done, for each season brings about change. In spring, the trees start to bud out in all of their glorious greenery, the hydrangeas begin to bloom, and the greens and onions start coming in. Summer offers everything under the sun, including big, juicy homegrown tomatoes that I adore for breakfast on a slice of wheat toast, sprinkled with a bit of salteven better with a fried egg that has just been plucked from the chicken house on top. Then after you think you are tired of the heat, the first cool breeze of autumn blows in and soon the pumpkins are ready to be carvedit is time for the annual Halloween party and hayride. The cooler weather brings on hearty meals like beef stew, and everyone knows my love of soupalmost any kind.

Before we know it, Christmas is coming with our Night Before Christmas dinner. Just after the Christmas Eve service has ended, and we go out into the cold night air and back down the farm market road to the country house, we are excited about what awaits. As we open the back door, we feel the warmth coming from within, and the smells wafting from the oven suddenly become more important than the presents under the tree. As I pop rolls into the oven and we light the candles on the Christmas Eve table, everyone gathers around and can hardly wait until the food is on the table and thanks is given for all of the blessings of the season.

Moving to this small Texas town was like going back in time, with Family Night at the community center and the Pot Luck Sunday Dinner that happens once a month after church; you see, here in the South, dinner is lunch and supper is dinner. Sort of confusing if youre not used to the southern small-town way of life, and lets not forget the Annual Fish Fry or the Ice Cream Social. Any excuse for everyone to gather, eat, and visit, thats what we do. I hope that my recipes and ways of cooking will inspire those of you who have not experienced growing your own vegetables or cooking a whole meal from scratch. There is really nothing to it. I am a cook, not a chef; I do it out of necessity, just as generations before me have done, and you can too. It is essential to feel comfortable and confident in the kitchen and not be afraid to try something new. Cooking is kind of like decorating: you keep adding and mixing until the taste is just right. There is pleasure in serving a home-cooked meal with real plates and utensils.