Starting at the beginning always seems the best place to start.

I am a small-town girl who was raised on the prairies of Canada. Food, family and community are something I know well. I grew up surrounded by agriculture and community and through this, I came to understand the power of food and how it brings us together.

Some of my fondest memories are of dinners at my childhood home on the farm. Family and friends would gather, and laughter and conversation would cascade throughout the house. Extending the dining table was a norm in our home, the piano bench always doubled as a seat for kids to squish onto to make more room at the table.

Our parents taught us to celebrate and to gather.

Growing up on a farm you are put to work at an early age. Some of my earliest tasks involved jobs like butchering day. Yes, although it sounds rough, it’s real. Each year, we would butcher our chickens and get them cleaned up and ready to freeze to eat throughout our cold winters. I also remember hours spent in the garden, weeding, and gathering. Shelling peas on our back verandah and sitting in the garden eating carrots straight from the ground washed down with a drink from the hose. Then there was picking our famous Saskatoon berries with my aunts and cousins. Oh, the memories and the deep respect and love of food - where it comes from, how it’s grown and how to respect it all.

As I look back at my life, I am amazed at the incredible people who taught me about the gentle art of gathering and serving. My maternal grandmother was an extraordinary baker and holidays were always filled with her treats. Cakes, cookies, puddings, she made them all with ease and love. How I miss her warm cuddles, late-night conversations and custard pudding. My maternal grandmother (Nana) perfected gravy - a recipe that use with every roast. Her lemon squares hardly saw the light of day as they were scoffed down, usually before she had finished cutting them. And, they were always sprinkled with the exact number of coconut shavings.

My mother has always pushed boundaries in the kitchen. She always had the table set; we always ate together. From baking her famous bread to her gifts of food at Christmas to our farm-raised lamb, goat, rabbit or beef. My mother lovingly prepared meals that would dazzle any palate.

I think it’s the culmination of all of these things that have lead me to find peace when bellies are filled and hearts connect over a dining table.