Grandma Slater, Mom’s mom, Marie Minnie Cote Slater. She was born in America, but she was French to the bone; her speech quaintly punctuated with French phrases — Si bon. Mon Dieu! Que será, será. C’est la vie.

A contented woman, I never heard her complain or say an unkind word about anything or anyone. Her life centered around her gardens, chicken coop and kitchen. She delighted in seeing us and we were always at her side picking apricots and cherries, cracking black walnuts, and shelling peas during those once-a-year visits, soaking up as much as we could to hold on to until the following summer.

Salt came out of a dish in the cupboard. Pinched between her fingers, she scattered it into whatever was cooking (now they all do that on all the Food Network shows — emulating what little French cooks always did). One of my favorite things she fixed was wilted lettuce, with greens we’d help her pick.

Chicken was usually on the menu, but only after we watched it flap around the yard a couple times without its head. I think in this picture, I’m checking out one of those chickens! As I got older, I couldn’t watch the chopping part, but the flapping was fascinating!

Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. I Corinthians 13:4-7