The last half of April ended up slipping by in a blur of airplane travel and hot barbecue: I spent a good portion of the end of the month in South Dakota, where my family gathered to mourn the loss of both my Grandma and Grandpa within six days of each other. It was an exceedingly difficult time for all of us, but it was tempered by the joy we found in being together. Having grown up in California, far away from my mother’s side of the family, this was the first time I’d seen some of my cousins in many, many years, and being together, remembering our childhoods visiting Grandma’s house and laughing about our parents’ stories of their wayward youths made the sadness we all felt a little lighter.
One thing that didn’t make anyone feel a little lighter, however, were the dozens and dozens of hot dishes, meat platters, dips and chips and beans and cookies and bars that I think every single person in my Grandparents’ small town brought to the house. It was amazing to see the outpouring of care that came from neighbors, church members, and old high school friends, and they all came with comfort in the form of food. And what was a little challenging for me was that almost all of that food had meat in it! The pinnacle of meat-laden hilarity came when I opened up a tray of raw vegetables with a dish of vegetable dip in the center, after a week of craving something green, and discovered that the dip was full of bacon. I mean, it was delicious, don’t get me wrong, but I would not want to attempt to be vegan in Madison, South Dakota.
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