Meine Kochlöffel – My Wooden Spoons
What would I do without my collection of old wooden spoons? “Cooking spoons,” as we say in German – Kochlöffel. These old spoons are smooth, some perhaps cracked. Smoothed by time, touch, and countless stirring. The older the better. They were used by my mother, grandma. Or were made by old Pepe, the wood worker, friend of my parents. Touching them, soothes, comforts, reassures me. There is hardly anything more sensual and elating. Feeling the limpid loyalty of a daily tool, willingness to serve and endure. Wood easily and gladly takes on the temperament of its user or owner. I am fiercely attached to my wooden utensils from Germany, Brazil, Italy, and Asia, lovingly made of wood originating from trees. When preparing my to-go-bag, I add my favorite wooden spoon and bowl. Basic necessities. Gathering survival tools, war and post-war times alight in my being. A comb, a small piece of soap, a bowl and spoon, a pocket knife, passport, money bills, a can of sardines, a Lärabar, perhaps a few tea leaves – luxury.
Where will my wooden spoons travel? This question comes up often these days. Will I be forced to emigrate back to the old country? Who will care for them when I disappear. Die. Their smooth and humble beauty keeps warming my fingers, palms, lips – consoling me. Meine Kochlöffel have ingested the feel and touch of other people’s and my own hands. I keep oiling them. Their purpose is nourishment. The motion of stirring, curiosity, waiting what will happen, mystery of transformation. The desire to invent, create and care. Caring for self and others, friends and strangers. The hungry and needy. What would I do without my wooden spoons?
Some days I am not inspired to cook for myself. Then, looking at the spoons in the old ceramic vase made by a friend, suddenly I am propelled to touch them. And let them guide me into action, promising nourishment. The gesture becomes an arc that is aimed towards being alive. Stirring soups, oatmeal, jook, broths, pudding. Sharing. Being stirred by our times – stirred-up – I reach for a spoon to move the onions and wild mushrooms, browning with butter in my ancient iron pan. Heat and movement. Simplicity of life. Alive.
all originated from trees....
May we nourish others and be nourished
Comments
"Wie schön diese Alltagsgegenstände zu würdigen, liebe Karina."
How wonderful to honor these everyday objects, dear Karina.
Good Morning, Karina, what would we do without cooking spoons? So many memories – the small cooking spoon which my mother used, I use that one for special dishes in memoriam of her. Thank you for writing about spoons, wood, trees, about nature. A gift, thanks. We will talk soon. I embrace you warmly.
guten Morgen Karina was wuerden wir ohne Kochloefel tun wie viele Erinnerungen mein kleiner Kochloefel mit dem meine Mutter kochte den nehme ich her fuer besondere Gerichte und denke immer an sie.Ich danke Dir ueber Loefel Holz Baeme ueber unsere Natur zu schreiben ein Geschenk danke wir werden bald reden ich umarme Dich herzlich