When we moved into our Rhode Island home over two years ago, it was emotional for many. For us, we approached the home buying process backwards as we bought a second home before buying our primary residence. After the most eventful bidding war, we somehow (shockingly) landed our “starter home” where we began our journey as new parents in the midst of Covid, in a new neighborhood, having just tragically lost one of our beloved Labrador retrievers. It was a heavy time, full of ups and downs, though somehow through the sleepless newborn fog, working full time and renovating our home, we knew those moments were precious memories we would later savor and reflect on.
The home needed a lot of work as it was owned by an elderly woman for over 40 years, who sadly, we learned has since passed. Before we moved in, we embarked on a few exterior projects and would visit the home while the work was being done. Our newborn son would be in tow, and we’d bring him out on the screened in porch to nap in his car seat while we’d setup folding tables in the “dining room” with pizza delivery and celebratory champagne, plotting away all of the changes we wanted to make indoors. Neighbors trickled over to introduce themselves, and many remarked about the woman who had lived in the house, “Kitty”. It turns out, Kitty was very much celebrated. Even the public works gentlemen would later cruise by the house and roll down their windows to remark about how much they adored her and how lovely she was. She sounded sweet, like a pillar of the community, and a class act. Increasingly, we felt a desire to honor her home and act as true stewards of this house that comforted her for all of her years and now marked a special chapter for our family. In fact, there is even an odd looking angel statue in the corner of our back yard that I would have ordinarily done away with, but I have always felt that it was Kitty looking after our family and it remains in its place.
When we finally moved in, there were bits and bobs left in drawers and cabinets primarily in the kitchen — items we were told we could just keep or throw out. One of which was a cook book. I thumbed through it and decided to keep it in its place whilst adding my personal collection of cookbooks. In the sea of unboxing our belongings, I didn’t think much of it.
While enjoying a remarkable cooking school experience in France last summer, which was in many ways, a moment to reconnect with myself after the fast and furious period of time I previously described, I had recalled that I had the cook book in our kitchen cabinet. When I returned home, I revisited the cook book and suddenly, my jaw dropped. I realized that it was a first edition cook book by none other than, Julia Child. Not only that, but it had been signed with a note addressed to Kitty: “To Kitty — I’ll never forget that blueberry tart you made. Julia Child”.
I couldn’t believe it. I cried. There was something about this discovery, and especially just having this fulfilling experience abroad, that felt full circle and sacred. Did Kitty know Julia? Did she participate in a cooking class just as I had? Had Julia been in our home? It felt kismet.
I will forever cherish this book, our home and despite not meeting her, Kitty will always have a place in my heart. Now on to master my blueberry tart…
