Waiting for Peach Cake

You know me, I appreciate a good recipe when I see one. If I find something new and intriguing, it will have to meet several criteria to make it into my favorites box where I will work it into my repertoire:

• manageable, reasonable instructions
• easily obtained ingredients
• crowd favorite
• doesn't create a disaster in my kitchen

I have also found that some foods feel right in summer, while others feel right in cold weather. I never want to eat salad in the winter. Soup in August is out of the question. 

Summer = watermelon, ribs, salads, peaches, blueberries, tomatoes, anything grilled

Winter = soup, stew, warm bread, roasts, casseroles (We visited Krakow, Poland a few times and were once served bread with a crock full of lard as an appetizer. I guess they understand the concept of fattening oneself up before a bitterly cold winter.)

I've always wanted to be great at ribs. Pork ribs. The rack you find in the meat department that is just begging for an audience of hungry men. I knew there was some mystery about slow cooking, but I was unsure of myself, and unwilling to make the investment. But then one day, I had an email pop up from Smitten Kitchen (one of my favorites) with the perfect directions. I tried it, and they were amazing. The hungry men in my life were full and happy and there were even leftovers. I discovered the secret to a great brisket when I lived in TX as a newlywed, and the plentiful meat from a slab of beef like that is also a big crowd-pleaser. Summer meats. Summer yummy. Ribs will definitely find their way into my recipe box!

Another summer treat is peaches. It almost seems sinful to do anything with a perfectly ripe peach other than just eat it in its natural form. But I have super-fond memories of being in the kitchen with my Grandma on a hot summer afternoon, peeling peaches for her Peach Cake. It wasn't really a cake; more of a flatbread with peaches on top. But we called it cake and we only got this treat once in a great while, and definitely only in summer. Now that I'm a grownup with broader culinary experience, I know that what she made is probably more like a danish that can be obtained from a bakery, but I want to remember it fondly like it is in my memory - a sweet summer treat that we rarely got to enjoy. 

Millie's Peach Cake

Peel 4 lbs. of ripe peaches and dice into a bowl. Sprinkle 1/3 c. sugar on top and let sit for an hour. 

Meanwhile, prepare a sweet bread dough (I always use this recipe from my old Better Homes and Gardens cookbook) and let it rise through the first rising. After it rises for one hour, divide in half and press each half onto a large, greased jelly-roll pan or large cookie sheet. It should be quite thin. Poke with a fork all over. Drain peaches and reserve the juice. Spread peaches over dough. 

Make a syrup with the peach juice. Add 1 T cornstarch, 1 t. cinnamon and 1/2 c. sugar to 1 c. water and combine with peach juice in a sauce pan. Cook down on medium heat, whisking constantly to form a thickened syrup. Pour over peaches. Sprinkle edges of dough with cinnamon sugar. 

Bake at 350 for 20 minutes. Serve warm. 

Here's a little commentary on delayed gratification, like waiting for those rare moments in summer when my grandmother made a Peach Cake. For those of you over about 35, remember waiting for those favorite Disney movies to come on TV only once per year? Remember when we waited for Christmas time to watch The Sound of Music? Or until Halloween when It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown came on? I can remember seeing the announcement for Swiss Family Robinson, marking it on the calendar and making it a family event to watch it when it came on TV. Such a treat. I feel nostalgic and sad when I think about that, because my grandchildren will never know what it is like to wait weeks or months in anticipation of a favorite movie. It seems everything is 'on-demand' and we don't usually have to wait for anything. Maybe part of being an excellent homemaker is to create such anticipation for special things. Save turkey for Thanksgiving and the gingerbread house for Christmas. Only serve a really good smoked ham with scalloped potatoes for Easter dinner (and for Pete's sake - have an Easter dinner!). Save cake for birthdays. Make pancakes only on Saturday mornings and pizza on Friday nights. 

We recently hosted an outdoor movie for our neighbors and we watched...yep, Swiss Family Robinson, one of my childhood favorites. Here are some pictures from that night! So much fun!

Bart

We knew it was coming. Three of our kids have gotten married since December 2011, so it was just a matter of time, and apparently now is the time...the next generation is on its way! We are going to be grandparents!

Our daughter, Abby and her husband Dave are expecting a girl in early December and we are so excited. She suffered a miscarriage back in the fall of last year, and she wrote about her experience here. So with each month that passed, we were hopeful with her and Dave that there would be new life. She happened to be visiting us here when she took the pregnancy test in late March that revealed a little magic + sign, and we were cautiously optimistic. That was a really special moment for Abby and me, and then because her sister and dad were home then, too, she shared it with them. They kept it under wraps from most until she made it through the first 12 weeks. She's had a pretty easy time of it so far, so there wasn't any morning sickness to have to explain away to her friends.

My husband immediately started referring to the baby as "Bart" for no apparent reason, and continued for months to insist it was a boy (boy, was he ever wrong). And we've had lots of fun with the name game, since it won't be us naming the baby. Back when Bart was in fashion, we thought they could name him Bart Orca Samson Stalsbroten and then his initials would be BOSS. Abby has a fascination with orcas, so we thought that might work. Maybe Baby #2.

"Woman with a baby"

Our family went to the beach together for a few days at the end of May, and Abby decided to share the news with her brothers and their wives then. We took clandestine photos of the belly. And Abby's, too. Somehow Dave can poke his belly out so far, even though he sports a healthy six-pack most of the time!

I'll be Nana, I think, but Kirk is still pondering what he wants to be called. For years, he thought it would be cool to be called The Gov'nah. I keep thinking he should be Pops. Or Poppy. Now he's got it in his head to be The Boss. We'll see.

I know people have babies all the time, but I am just so amazed at the prospect of another generation. Of our people. Adding more people to the family. Multiplying the love. To think that your baby is having a baby...it's a wonder. I've prayed for this little girl as she is growing and changing everyday, and it's so fun to hear about all of Abby's experiences. She and I are sharing a unique experience. Jessie will come in time, surely. But for now, Abby is feeling all that stuff I felt 28+ years ago with her. She's been great about sending photos and telling me about feeling Baby Girl move and kick.

Can't wait to dress that little darlin' up!

We've been feeling for a while that we were "ready" for grandkids. These are the hopes we've shared as we look forward to this phase of life:

• Little ones running around our house, getting into our pantry and making messes
• Making bread and pasta and cookies together
• Carting the kids around in our yard trailer on the back of our mower
• Babies, toddlers, preschoolers and children curled up on our laps, reading all our incredible children's books again and again
• Early morning snuggles and bedtime prayers
• Camping in the backyard
• Nana Camp, and giving Mom and Dad a break for a week or so each summer
• Hearing the kids ask "tell me the story of when..." and then watching my husband spin some exaggerated version of the truth
• Building a tree house
• Introducing them to all the things we love... the beach, sewing, nature hikes, thunderstorms, the workshop, riding bikes, and fall in the mountains
• And, sharing faith with another generation!

Separation Anxiety

Son, Nathan and Mary's wedding in May

Separation anxiety is a term we hear often when we are talking about babies and toddlers. Or maybe even our dogs. But have you ever heard a mature fifty-something mom say that SHE suffers from it?

Well, that would be me. I am admitting it. I struggle with being separated from my kids. I have been trying to cope with these feelings for years. Gosh, I even cried when we dropped our first-born off at her dorm in 2005, which was only 15 miles away. There have been numerous times since then that I've hugged them goodbye and wished them well. And then gotten in the car and sobbed. 

I loved being a mom. Still do, but I loved raising kids. Having babies, then toddlers, then children, then teens. Introducing them to the world bit by bit - roses, hummingbirds, sandcastles, the solar system. Teaching them to read and ride a bicycle and cook. Taking them camping and introducing them to new cultures.  I loved making pancakes and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and mac and cheese. I loved snuggling with them, and being adored by them. I remember telling my little boys after smothering them with kisses, that one day their faces would be covered with prickly whiskers and they wouldn't want to kiss me anymore. They couldn't imagine that. 

 

Easter 1993

But little by little they gain distance from their mama. First they crawl into another room, then play at the neighbor's. Before you know it, they are staying overnight at a friend's house, going away to camp for a week, and working their first job. Then dorm life and their first apartment. Thankfully, it happens gradually! And although growth is natural and healthy, and you know in the back of your mind that their separation from you is coming, it is not easy. I always cringe a little when I hear moms wishing for the day when their kids are gone and they can get "their life" back. Or wishing for some new stage of development, ostensibly saying they don't like the one they're in. But that stage is fleeting and they will never be a newborn, 4 or 16 years old again. My encouragement is always to remind them how quickly it passes, and like some old sage tell them to relish the moments.

                 

Home school, need I say more?

Living abroad in Italy

Spring 2007

Ebey's Landing, WA

With Abby in Seattle, 2010

I will talk about my eldest, Abby, because this one has been the most challenging in terms of my separation anxiety. Like many oldest girls, she was a compliant and easy child, eager to please and easy to get along with. She was like another mom to the other kids at times, and incredibly responsible. As she grew into young adulthood we became friends. We wanted her to express her desire to travel and use the gifts she had to affect the world, and I knew in the back of my mind she would live far away from me one day. She spent a semester in New York City after high school, and that was a tough moment of separation for both of us. And then she moved into a dorm in the college town nearby. Although I knew I could see her often if I wanted to, I thought it was the healthy thing to give her lots of space, and come to me when she wanted to. She became a beautiful and confident young woman, and developed skill in her chosen profession, photography. Upon graduation she ventured out to the west coast to accept a newspaper internship with The Oregonian.  Little did I know that day she drove away in her Honda, that she was vanishing from my everyday (or at least every-week) life. No longer was she nearby and available for an impromptu dinner invite or a coffee date. She wasn't even in a similar time zone, so that even phone dates were difficult to schedule. But I "endured" (I'm really sounding melodramatic now) those three months, secretly hoping she would make her way back to the east coast.

But it wasn't to be. She took a job with a non-profit in Seattle. And she fell in love with Seattle. And then she fell in love IN Seattle. At times, I almost couldn't believe she was falling in love and I couldn't be witness to their budding romance. She was so great about sharing much of it over the phone, but it still wasn't the same as being there. Here she was, one of my closest friends, and I  had only met her boy once! They married and settled into a new apartment with all their wedding gifts. And it was dawning on me that she wasn't coming back. 

There were many tearful conversations about this. Sometimes she hadn't felt included about some family information. More often, I was the one feeling badly that she was far away from me. We had many heart-to-hearts, and shared a lot of emotion over it. I still tear up sometimes when I think about this life change. When we are visiting each other, I feel pressure to make every minute count, and I'm sure I am passing that stress on to her. 

Abby and Dave

But I've recently had an epiphany (or two). I took a step back and saw that Abby's first 18 years were only preparation for her life to come. As her mom, I had the privilege of being the one to shape her and contribute a huge amount of influence. But that was not her life. Her mature life was to come after, what it was all building up to. I had sunk so much emotion into those formative years, that I lost sight of the goal. And instead of rejoicing in a great outcome to all those years of preparation and prayer, I was loathing the very thing I had hoped for her. 

The other thing I realized was that she has been called to Seattle. She loves everything about that city and the Pacific Northwest. Not everyone does. I love living here in North Carolina. Not everyone does. So she has planted there, and is flourishing. Not to say that God may move them elsewhere in the future, but for now, this is where she is best fulfilling the call of God on her life. What more could a parent want? 

And so, I feel like I am beginning to heal from my separation anxiety, and release her into her destiny. She may never have felt fully released, and then never have been able to realize her full potential in that place, if I don't actually let her go.

I do have three other kids, also young adults in different phases of life and distances from home. Both my sons are now married, and my youngest daughter is still in college. This has helped make this little season of change easier, but there have been many tears associated with the cutting of those apron strings, too. 

I am so thankful that while my kids were growing up I cultivated a life independent from them. I have so many other relationships, interests and pursuits that keep me occupied. I would exhort all young moms out there to be careful not to make your children your only pursuit. It should be a priority, but not the only thing you do. You will be a virtual basket case when they leave home! Invest in your marriage, a career, hobbies, friendships, philanthropy, and/or your education. 

And my husband has played a huge role in my 'healing.' If we didn't have such a fun, vibrant relationship, I'm sure this would all be a million times more difficult. I'm so glad we took the time to invest in our marriage, because that's how all this child-rearing came to be in the first place! We knew someday it would be back to just the two of us, and that time is upon us. I remember listening to this song as a young mom, and thinking it was so far off: "...but Baby, what will we do, when it comes back to me and you? They look a little less like little boys everyday. And the pleasure of watching the children growing, is mixed with a bitter cup, of knowing the water-colored ponies will one day ride away." - Wayne Watson, Water-Colored Ponies  

I'm glad we know what to do - we're riding motorcycles, taking long walks, dancing in the kitchen, sharing a glass of wine and cooking to French Cafe Radio on Pandora. 

ANOTHER engagement!

I know! It is absolutely crazy! I guess this is what our parents were thinking when all of our kids were born - bam-bam-bam. Three of them in just 3 years or so, the first of which was a "honeymoon baby." :)

So I guess I shouldn't be surprised that my three oldest, stair-step children are all getting married within 18 months of each other. It's just head-spinning, mind-boggling, wallet splitting fun! I'm so excited for each of them...let me brag on them and their significant others for a few minutes...


I'll introduce you to Nathan and Mary first, since their big engagement news is the headline of this post and the most recent development. Nate (as apparently he is only called at home) is Metty #3, born in Rome, Italy in 1989 while we were on assignment with Texas Instruments. (My husband had the privilege of working on a team of talented engineers who designed and built a $400 million "wafer fab" (computer chips) in the mountains of central Italy. That assignment plays into the story later on...) Nate is a senior Industrial Design major at Appalachian State University, where he met dear Mary years ago. She is also graduating soon with a degree in Early Childhood Development. She's a tall, blonde beauty with a kind and thoughtful heart. She's from here in North Carolina, and we just love her to bits. Nate is simultaneously two years into his 8 year commitment with the Army National Guard, and is presently missing the first 6 weeks of his senior year for training! He's blowing stuff up and loving it, though he misses his sweet Mary. They are planning an outdoor wedding in May.

Twenty-three years ago, when Nate was born, the Italian chemists that were assisting TI with their project in Avezzano gave us a gift for "il piccolo bambino." It was a beautiful gold ladies' bracelet with a place for engraving. My husband told them, "but the baby is a boy." They promptly replied that it was for his wife someday. So I've had this gorgeous piece in my jewelry box for all these years. Each time I saw it over the years, I thought about who would wear it one day, wondered when that would be and said a little prayer for her. So a few weeks ago when Nate ordered a stunning diamond ring, I began making plans to give this bracelet to Mary as well. I had the word Paziente (patience in Italian) engraved on the front, and their wedding date on the back. Patience marks their relationship in many ways, but I thought it was a significant word for me, too, as I've waited for my son to blossom into maturity and take on a family of his own. He as well has practiced a great deal of patience waiting for Mary to love him as he has loved her for so, so long. He's loved her since he met her, but they both dated others throughout college. He told me that he had always subconsciously measured the others with Mary as his standard. Love IS patient. 

I took a little road trip last Wednesday, and took Mary out to lunch. After we ordered our drinks, Mary thanked me for taking her to lunch, "Well, this is really nice. Thank you for taking me out today!" I promptly told her that I had a reason why I traveled three hours to take her to lunch, and I began to tell her the story of the bracelet. I told her that I had been praying for her for 23 years, and it's been so amazing to see what God has brought to us! It was such a rewarding time to be able to finally give that bracelet to the woman God had been preparing for our son. He had been preparing both of them for this moment with each other, both mature young adults, ready to take on the responsibilities of committing their lives to each other.

I wish that I had a story like that for each of my kids, but Nate was the only one given a gift like that at birth. But it sure makes me want to do it for my grandkids.

However, the idea of legacy has resonated with me for a long time, perhaps because of the gold bracelet. I've been collecting little things for my daughters and saving things for them passed on to me from my mother. And I've paid attention to the crazy family stories of generations past, and repeated them to my kids. And I've put aside things for my sons wives, and saved the sentimental things for them, because I know men don't appreciate things like that.

Jon, our oldest son and second-born, married lovely Stacey last December. I wrote all about that here. He was the first to get married, and there was a wide range and flood of emotions tied to that happy event. Stacey is a wonderful young woman, tender hearted yet strong, absolutely perfectly suited to Jon. They're both adventurous, energetic, and wildly interested in the world around them. Both are still in school full time (dental school for her, engineering school for him). She is strong where he is weak and vice versa. They serve God together and have great vision for their future together. I love the woman God brought to Jon.

I had been keeping something for Stacey as well for many years, though not as dramatic a story as Nate's bracelet. I wanted to give something to Jon's wife someday, too, so I kept my eyes and ears open when he was a small boy to try and find the thing that was special to him. Little boys adore their mothers for a few years, and I treasured the times my sons told me I was pretty. (Oh man, I'm tearing up thinking about those snuggly moments with those cherub-faced little three year olds...) I remember Jon telling me he liked a particular necklace I would wear often, a silver chain with a sapphire cross that my uncle had given me as a girl. After Jon put a diamond on Stacey's finger, I took her to lunch as well, and gave her the beginnings of a charm bracelet, with the cross attached, and welcomed her into our ever-growing family. We had spent a week together on a missions trip a few months before, and were beginning to bond. I'm so happy to have more sons and daughters!

Our oldest, Abby, became Mrs. Dave Stalsbroten in a backyard ceremony under a canopy of trees on a beautiful spring day. I didn't have a special bracelet for Dave, but I'm sure he doesn't mind. I did give him a really cool Piggly Wiggly t-shirt that he says has been a ticket to fame in Seattle! But again, what an awesome guy, just a huge expression of love from our wonderful God. Abby was enjoying a great job, a great new city with all the new adventures related to both, and God just absolutely surprised her with a fast-paced romance. I think it was only a date or two before they both realized this is what they had been waiting so patiently for. Such a beautiful thing to see your kids come together like that. One of the most special times I remember with Dave was when he called (from Nicaragua - he spent 15 months there serving a non-profit) to talk to us about marrying Abby. We talked small talk for an hour before he got down to business. He said that he loved Abby very much and she was what he had been waiting for and could he have our blessing on popping the big question? Dave works in the health insurance industry, for a company with some innovative concepts. They are both creative people and dream of having a business together someday. They take full advantage of their beautiful surroundings in Seattle and spend lots of time outdoors.

We have our youngest, Jessie (who has made an pact with a friend that if they are both single at 35 they'll marry each other, but I don't anticipate that really happening. And anyway, 35 is a really long way off and he wants a bracelet, but we're fresh out), who is contentedly enjoying her life as a college sophomore. All this family change has been tough sometimes emotionally. The biggest thing she and I have discussed is the huge shift in loyalties. The big brothers that you hang out with and get so close to, and feel like YOU are their special girl, suddenly find another special girl, and it's tough! But she is getting to enjoy only child status for a while, which she's never gotten to experience, and we're making the most of this unique time in our lives. It won't be long before I'll be writing about the man who stole our baby's heart...

So...Wedding Number Three - here we come!

Is there a seamstress in the house?

I learned to sew at a young age. I have fond memories of sitting on my grandma's lap while she pieced together tiny bits of fabric to make Barbie clothes for me. She bounced me along while she pumped the treadle with her feet on that old Singer, and I watched as the stitches magically appeared. My mother also sewed, and supervised and advised as I experimented with my own designs. Sewing, as well as child care and cooking, were required courses for girls the three years I was at Arbutus Junior High School (the boys were busy in welding, carpentry and auto mechanics). And then one of my first jobs was in a commercial drapery shop, where I learned even more practical wisdom about working with large pieces of fabric, using the presser foot to sew a straight line, how to use buckram to make pleats, and putting my math skills to work to measure accurately. So, by the time I was 16, I was a fairly experienced seamstress. I took all this for granted, until I was about 30 and noticed how difficult it was to find a fabric store. I realized that not many people sew anymore. I've been asked repeatedly to teach sewing. What I usually say is that I'll show them how to use their machine, and a few basics, but the best way to learn is to just start doing it. Gaining confidence around the terminology, a pattern, your machine, a pair of good shears...cannot be taught. You must just dive in.

I feel a little melancholy when I think about this skill that has been so useful for centuries, just slowly dying out. I feel it must be one of those tragic collateral damage losses from the women's liberation movement...you know, throwing the baby out with the bathwater and all. How did we ever buy into the lie that homemaking skills were an insult to our intelligence? It's an art form that has suffered greatly in the last 30 years. I am on a mission to bring it all back. I am not alone...Martha Stewart has become a wealthy lady by inspiring excellent homemakers. And what are the hottest topics on Pinterest? Cooking, home interiors, DIY projects.

It's just so much fun to take a plain bolt of fabric, cut it and transform it into something beautiful and custom. When my children were babies, I loved making darling little outfits for them. I've altered much of my wardrobe and those pieces end up being the ones I wear most because they fit properly. I have adjusted waistlines (in and out!) on my husband's dress pants over and over again, altered my sons' suits and repeatedly repaired their blue jeans. Most recently, I've worked on my daughter's wedding gown. I don't know what I would do if I had to pay someone to make custom window treatments...I know how much I get paid to do this! And it's such a great way to make a house your home. What would I do without my ability to sew?

Here are some examples of window treatments (and general interior design) I have done recently...

So this post is dedicated to the generations of women in my family that carried the tradition of sewing...Grandma, Aunt Sue, Aunt Annie, Mom...I have taught my daughters the basics (and sons actually...although I try to keep one of them away from my sewing machine as he broke it once trying to make a costume with seat belt webbing!) and 

I hope that they fill their homes with 

beautiful handmade things.

CRABS!

I grew up in Baltimore, hon, and when you do that, you eat a lot of crabs in the summer. I remember with fondness, picnic tables spread with newspaper in my Aunt Elizabeth's backyard in Ellicott City, Maryland. All the grandparents, aunts, uncles and distant cousins would pile their cars in the yard, unload their bring-your-own-beer, while Uncle Earl dumped bushels of steamed blue crabs on the tables. As a child, I never questioned how or where these crabs were prepared, nor did I appreciate the effort put into all the side items that went with: corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes, gallons of beverages, desserts. I just remember running around her house and yard, away from our city row-house life, and feeling special. Eating crab is such a monumental effort; I don't know how the adults in our midst had the time or patience to teach us youngsters how to dissect one for consumption. Maybe we were born with the ability to do so, like an instinct. But it seems to me that I was able to find the meat inside a crab, and spend hours on many a hot Independence Day and have enough.

Other memories of eating crabs: I was TERRIFIED of eating the "dead man." No, there was not a rotting corpse or his body parts in the bushel basket with the crustaceans. "Dead man" is the term that was used to describe the feathery gills/lungs that the crabs use to extract oxygen from the sea water. I was warned every time I ate crab, not to eat it, or I would DIE. Literally. Now, I'm dubious that it was quite that serious of a culinary infraction. I really started questioning this when I realized that people (in Baltimore) eat soft-shell crab sandwiches - which is the whole crab, eyes, legs, guts, etc. - all the time and don't perish. Surely the dead man is in there still, right?

And "mustard" is really crab poop. Some people love it, but I think it is disgusting. So I would gingerly scrape it out of every cavity and crevice in the body and be quite careful not to let it touch anything that went in my mouth.

When I first moved to North Carolina, I was appalled by a "pig-pickin'," a Barbaric sort of summer ritual where a complete pig is slow roasted all day, and then you go and pull the meat off the carcass. Yuck. (The meat IS tasty, but I prefer fetching it from a serving dish.) But then I considered the summer feasts we enjoyed tearing the legs off of bottom-dwelling garbage collectors of the sea, and didn't judge so harshly. I guess every culture has its nasty culinary delights.

So, along with my two trusty Virginia Beach natives, we steamed some live crabs (males only, please) early this summer and introduced our friends to our favorite summertime treat. Steaming crabs is not for the faint of heart - there is the sad detail of putting those lovely bright blue and gray critters, so desperate to live, reaching out with their vice-grip claws for your hands as you squeeze them with the tongs, in a pot of steaming water and vinegar, sprinkling them with a generous portion of Old Bay seasoning, and putting the lid on their sad lives. They claw away, trying to escape, until after about 30 minutes, they turn a lovely shade of bright red-orange and stop moving.

Then you must dump them unceremoniously on the newspaper strewn picnic table, pass out a knife and a crab mallet to each person, along with a stack of napkins and dive in. The verbal instructions go something like this: "First, you tear off the claws. Then the legs, but be careful to pull firmly from the joint between leg and body; then you can get the backfin meat from the body cavity." Sounds awful when I put it that way.

The requisite corn on the cob and sliced tomatoes go around the table. Beer, lemonade and sweet tea is enjoyed. Since we did this at dinner time, we are still sitting around the table outside at 10 pm, pounds of crabs left untouched. Apparently, a bushel of crabs feeds 10 Baltimore and Virginia Beach natives, but is way too much for novices. We had a ton leftover. So Grandma came the next day and picked all those leftover crabs and made crab cakes for lunch. So delish.

There wasn't much 'refinement' (at least by Southern cotillion and debutant standards) in my mid-Atlantic urban upbringing. But I am so grateful for the rich experience of this one Chesapeake Bay summertime tradition.