by Leanne Smoliak
We were deeply rooted in our home for three decades. Now, we’re simplifying life. We sold our darling bungalow.
The kitchen was very much the heart of our home. We all love to cook and the double Miele ovens, the six-burner Thermidor cooktop and an island big enough for Nicholas, Brad and I to cook side by side were ideal. We’d plan the menu, sharpen our favourite knives, and begin the mis en place. The two ovens worked hard, sometimes with a pork roast and potatoes in one, and veg and dessert in the other. We passed spoons to taste and adjust seasoning; Nicholas always suggested a squeeze of lemon.
Any random Tuesday could be a feast. Over the years, Nick became the better cook of the three of us; he had developed an amazing palate cooking at St. John in London. Now, he takes over the kitchen when he visits from Scotland.
If these walls could talk. There’s nothing like family and friends around the table. The best were the casual dinners when we would make a braise in the big ol’ orange Le Creuset. Nothing fancy—the kind of dinner where all you need is a group of friends, a few bottles of wine and perhaps some good ice cream—Italian Sunday gravy with sausage, meatballs and ribs in a hearty tomato sauce. Brad would make fresh pasta and we would have a simple salad to go with.
Our house saw its share of shenanigans. Like the Christmas party when sister-in-law Michelle decorated our tree with prosciutto, salami and cheese. In the middle of the night, Cosmo, our dog, went mad sniffing out the various charcuterie decorations and almost toppled the tree.
Cooking spilled into the backyard. Antonio (our pizza oven) took centre stage. Brad became a master at throwing pies. When Antonio cooled down from the blistering temps required for great pizza, in would go a perfectly-seasoned spatchcocked chicken surrounded by fresh veggies from Gido’s Farm (Brad’s garden). While we indulged on the juicy bird and a simple salad of greens, a fruit cobbler baked in Antonio. Many bottles of wine would be enjoyed, the sun would begin its descent and, just like that, the garden lights would come on. Brad said we had so many lights a plane was destined to land in our backyard.
Brad’s pride was Gido’s Farm, the side yard bursting with grapes, tomatoes, roses and herbs. The grapes were magnificent. (He swears it was because he sang to them.) We planted trees and shrubs in memory of loved ones, and we will miss them. We’ll have to drive by now and then to say hello.
Our house was the community drop-in centre for Nick’s friends. Chocolate chip cookies ready for the young tykes, then a well-stocked fridge when they got older. Brad’s motto then (and now): lots of silliness, no stupidity. Watching these kids grow up and start families of their own has been a true gift.
So many memories, so much happiness.
Will we miss our magical kitchen and yard? Yes, but we’ll be fine. We can cook in another kitchen—although one oven might take some getting used to—and we do have a small yard to plant this spring.
A house is just a shell—the people make it a home. We take the memories—of raising our son, of the dogs, and of the good times with friends—with us.
Our next chapter promises dog walks in the river valley and lots of travel. Brad lives with an artificial heart, a daily reminder to live consciously and fully. Each day, Brad wakes up grateful and that attitude is infectious. Together, we’re ready to embrace life’s adventures, wherever they may lead us.
