Thank you for the patience you have graciously afforded me the last two years as I navigated the world of living and dying. I have welcomed so many people into the kitchen, many of you have become valued and dear friends, I feel comfortable sharing my thoughts today.
Today marks the anniversary of my wife surrendering to a long journey with breast cancer.
This year has had a tremendous impact on me, my views of life, living, dying, loving and being alive. I have reflected this morning on life.
Sitting in my farmhouse, looking down over the Champlain Valley and across the drive to the Carriage House, I had been reflecting on the motivation for building the school; a simple desire to share my knowledge of food and cooking where it had greater meaning. I wanted people to cook more at home, to make the table a place of importance again for their families, and to discover the joys of cooking from the items grown in a community.
For me I feel this vision has been realized. I feel blessed that you shared my table and hospitality. I hope there is reciprocity in sentiment here. If so I would enjoy learning how a class or recipe has impacted your life.
For the most part, aside from Culinary Weekends at the Mirror Lake Inn, I have not had classes. I hope you trust me when I share that I probably have missed them more than anyone else. I enjoyed opening my kitchen and sharing what truly makes me happy and joyful.
In January I sat and mapped out all of my visions of what would be in 2026. The reality is that my healing journey did not line up with any of what I thought I could do. I thought I could "push" to normalcy. In the end, 2026 is nothing like the 2026 I had planned.
For me it was better. I became better. Better at living and better at understanding what life is. I read a lot of poetry. Books on loss, love, life. I threaded connections to my life as a chef from this. I realize that the simplest pleasure is to share food and beverage with another human and to listen to their stories and experiences. This is the core of what I wish the Carriage House to be.
I write this today as better human being.
I allowed vulnerability and compassion to root in me differently. I gained an understanding of what it is to love someone, even when they no longer can be touched. In the end I feel this makes me a better chef, teacher and friend. I know better the reasons why my class sizes need to be small and intimate.
I hope to share this with you when we meet for new classes.
I said I felt like cooking. Here is a delicious fall recipe that makes the best of our farm community.
Pumpkin Parmesan Risotto … click here for the recipe
I also said I feel like writing, which got you to this point. Writing allows a place for emotions to rest while we try to understand them.
Below is something I wrote about my reflections of this past year and the loss of Bridget. Liek my cooking, I am authentic and honest. I think this resonates with many.
Grief is Love
Where does one go when they are gone.
They go to within us, where their love has touched.
They fill us with love.
A love so immense it hurts.
It's painful.
It is a schism of reality.
A new weight sits on your chest, pounding through nights and days.
You find no rest.
Yet you want for more.
You seek pain.
You wound yourself.
It removes the numbness of living.
It stabs that you're still alive.
You’re comfortable with this.
Time passes.
The pain eases.
You’re still blind to life.
Without warning.
The sun kisses your face.
You are lighter.
You are not in pain.
A transformation has occurred.
A caterpillar has become a butterfly
You don't ache at the thought of who you've lost.
Remembrance is accompanied by a smile.
A smirk takes root.
Your chest lightens.
A gentle embrace wraps your body.
An embrace unlike physical touch.
It's spiritual.
It is feels new but familiar.
It is feels like the gentle hand that has touched yours before.
I love this embrace.
Kisses of kindness.
Blankets of warmth.
Love and loss coexist.
Love has found a home.
This is infinite space.
For love still grows and needs a home.
This space is without weight.
It is not burdensome.
It is calming.
It allows tears to taste sweet
It lets you spend days lingering in memory.
It lets you see loss and love as the same
It is etherial and eternally mine
I am in this place now.
I am happy.
I don't wish to leave.
I never have to.
That is the beauty of this world.
Grief is love.
-Curtiss Scott Hemm
I don’t profess to be some wise sage (excuse the culinary humor here), I am authentic and open about all things, hopefully this is a bridge to sharing common life experiences. Perhaps these thoughts and words could help someone healing or struggling with loss. Please free to share as you like.
The same with the recipe. Share it.
Thank you for being in my life and thank you for your shared love of food, cooking, friendship and community.
See you soon ... I promise.