On Saturday, we celebrated the one-year wedding anniversary of our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike. My, what a frenzy it was last year at this time, with getting wedding favors ready, picking up flowers, hosting a bridesmaids’ luncheon, and the myriad of things that seem to go along with having a wedding. But a lovely wedding it was on a perfect August day, sunny and hot but dry.

In our family, we like to celebrate almost any occasion by cooking a special meal. Since it is August, and we were hoping the weather would cooperate so that we could grill food and eat on the patio, we planned our menu accordingly. We decided to go light on the appetizers, having learned that too many appetizers spoil the appetite for the main meal. We had tortilla chips and salsa, always a favorite with Mike, and our favorite retro clam dip along with regular chips.

Luckily, the weather did cooperate, and this Saturday was as fine as the wedding day itself. This meant we could have grilled bread, a course unto itself. Over the years, my husband, Clif, has developed quite the knack with grilled bread, and he stretches and pulls the uncooked dough like a pro. In fact, he has become so good at it that grilled bread is now the expected summer treat when family and friends come over, and if for some reason we don’t have it, then they are disappointed. All you need is good olive oil for dipping.

For the main meal, we all agreed that steak, corn on the cob, and garlic, basil mashed potatoes would be just the thing. Not only was it the main meal, but it was also a Maine meal. The steak came from Wholesome Holmstead in Winthrop, the corn from Jillson’s Farm in Sabattus, and the potatoes were Farmer Kev’s, also in Winthrop. Even the butter—Kate’s Butter—came from Maine.

Although my gardens are little frowsy this time of year, there is no sweeter place to be in the summer on a fine day than on our patio. The crickets sang their end-of-summer song as we toasted Shannon and Mike and worked our way through appetizers, grilled bread, and steak, potatoes, and corn. By the time we had finished, dusk had settled over the backyard, and with it the evening dew.

Inside we went, for cake, ice cream, and tea. The cake, as is the tradition, was the very top of the wedding cake, bagged and frozen for the past year. I did wonder what that cake would taste like, but truly it was pretty good. Not as fresh and as nice as it was on the wedding day but nonetheless still enjoyable a year later.

Naturally, a gift was in order, and we decided to get a food processor for two of our favorite foodies. I use mine a lot, and I know Shannon and Mike will use theirs a lot, too.

Happy anniversary, Shannon and Mike. May you have many, many more!

Addendum: Ali, of the blog Henbogle, asked for the clam dip recipe. Here it is, copied from one of my previous posts about clam dip and nostalgia.

Clam Dip
Adapted from the recipe on the can of Snow’s minced clams

1 (6.5 oz) minced clams, drained. Reserve the liquid.
¼ cup of sour cream
1 (8 oz) package of cream cheese, softened
1 clove garlic, dry roasted and finely chopped
¼ teaspoon of Worcestershire sauce

Note about the garlic: Raw garlic has a bite that often leads to indigestion. To mitigate this, heat a fry pan (do not add oil) and place the unpeeled garlic in the hot pan. Flip, stir, or toss the clove from time to time. What you want are a few brown spots on the skin, but not too many. In other words, don’t burn it. Let the garlic cool a bit. Peel and chop. You will have a lovely, mellow clove of garlic, still flavorful but without the overwhelming presence so often found in raw garlic.

Beat the cream cheese, sour cream, and enough of the clam liquid so that the mixture has a smoothness and texture that you like. I use 3 Tablespoons, but this is a matter of taste. If you like a thinner dip, just add more of the clam liquid. After you have a consistency that you like, blend the clams, garlic, and Worcestershire sauce into the cream cheese and sour cream mixture. Chill.Then, get a bag of ruffled chips. If you have orange or yellow bowls for the chips and dip, then use them. Put on Carole King or James Taylor or any other of the great singer/songwriters from the 1970s. Invite some old—I mean this literally—friends over.

Then, as you listen to King and Taylor, dip those ruffled chips. And wax nostalgic.

Last week, Helen McGowan Michaud died. She was the mother of my friend Debbie Maddi, and Helen had been sick for several years. Naturally, I wanted to cook something for Debbie and her husband, Dennis, and from personal experience, I know that during such times, one’s stomach can be very queasy. Unless someone in the family has diabetes, carb-heavy meals, soothing and a little bland, are just the thing, and accordingly I decided to make macaroni and cheese for Debbie and Dennis. I would also make them some bread and bring cucumbers from my little garden.

Helen was born in 1916 in Ashland, Maine. (In time and location, she was not far apart from my grandmother, who was born in 1911 in Caribou, Maine.) An outgoing, energetic woman, Helen raised five children, worked in the grocery store she and her husband co-owned, was a library trustee, a member of the Historical Society, and the Music Booster Club. And Helen played the piano. According to the obituary in the Bangor Daily News, when Helen was younger, “for many years, along with her brothers, she played in the McGowan Family band throughout ‘The County.'” Aroostook county, that is, for readers unfamiliar with Maine.

I had the good luck of not only meeting Helen but also of going on an outing with her, Debbie, Debbie’s daughter, Andrea, and my own children, Dee and Shannon. We went to a place called Coos Canyon, in Byron, Maine. Coos Canyon is a 1,500-foot long gorge where the water sometimes rushes and sometimes is very calm. It is a perfect place for picnics and swimming, if the water isn’t too rough.

I remember how ready Helen was to have fun with us and the children, and even though she was not a young woman then—this must have been twenty years ago—how spry she was, nimbly stepping over rocks and roots. Yet despite her zest and energy, Helen was easy to be around, and this is not always the case with energetic women (or men!).

In Battles at Thrush Green by Miss Read, I came across this line about a friend of one of the main characters, someone who “loved life” and had “a great capacity for enjoyment.” That to me, captures Helen. A wonderful thing!

When I delivered the macaroni and cheese, the bread, and the cucumbers, Debbie asked me, “Do you remember the trip we took with my mother to Coos Canyon?”

Yes, I certainly do.

I love farmers’ markets—the fresh produce and the baked goods as well as the meat and the dairy, almost always hormone free. I love strolling from stand to stand, talking with the vendors, who are often the farmers who grew or produced what is being sold. I love buying a box of raspberries here, some garlic sausage there, and whoopie pies at yet another table. I have noticed that other customers seem to enjoy doing these things, too, and there is a relaxed feeling at farmers’ markets that just isn’t found in most grocery stores.

In Winthrop, we have a small but nifty farmers’ market, and my goal during this season is to write a profile of each vendor. Last week, I chatted with Marinna Smith, of Snafu Acres in Monmouth, Maine. Marinna is 15, and she tends the stand at the Winthrop Farmers’ Market while her father, R. Ivan Smith, goes to the Wayne Farmers’ Market, the next town over. Nancy Smith, Marinna’s mother, does the marketing for the farm.

Marinna is bright, articulate, and very much able to handle the business that comes her way at the Farmers’ Market. She told me how Snafu Acres is a five-generation farm that specializes in eggs, poultry, beef, and pork. (Snafu Acres also used to be a dairy farm, but her father felt it was too much work milking the cows.) All the animals are raised on grains that are hormone and antibiotic free. Marinna also told me that her father is a full-time farmer who nevertheless finds time to help his brothers with their haying.

“My father comes from a big family,” Marinna said. “He’s one of 7 kids—6 boys and 1 girl.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you interested in farming?”

Marinna answered that although she enjoys coming to the Farmers’ Market, she probably wouldn’t be involved with the physical labor of running the farm. She likes to write, and she finds the market a good place to get material. “I see people walking by, and I get a good idea of their traits.”

“What do you plan to study in college?” I asked, even though at 15, Marinna still has a few years left in high school.

Her answer surprised me. “Biomedical Engineering.”

Truly, a well-rounded young woman.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add about the farm?” I asked.

“The farm teaches you not to procrastinate,” she replied. “When the eggs need to be washed, they need to be washed.”

Anything else?

She grinned. “The Snafu in our farm’s name is the acronym of what you’d expect.”

Of course it is.

Thanking Marinna for taking the time to talk to me, I bought a pound of breakfast sausage, and that evening my husband, Clif, and I had a Maine feast. We fried the sausage, and we boiled some new potatoes and green beans from Farmer Kev. Even the butter—Kate’s Butter—came from Maine. We took this simple but oh-so-good meal out to the patio, and we stayed there until it got dark, listening to the night noises and enjoying the damp feeling of dew as it settled around us. Clif light the citronella torches, which did a fine job of keeping the mosquitoes at bay. In the flickering light, the animals—the dog, the orange cat, and the black and white cat—settled around us as Clif and I toasted Maine and its summer bounty.