Ma’s Rolling Pin

I love to bake. And I love to write. So what’s better than writing about baking?

I inherited this rolling pin from my maternal grandmother. We called her Ma.

Ma and Pa lived in a rural hollow in eastern Kentucky, deep in the Appalachian Mountains. They married very young. My Pa worked in the coal mines and my Ma stayed home with the children, eleven of them to be exact! When he wasn’t in the mines, Pa loved to sit on the front porch in his rocker and pick his banjo. He could really play! And Ma was always cooking or baking something scrumptious. She was known for her homemade biscuits and gravy.

That knack for cooking and baking was passed down to my Mom, and to an extent, to me. But, while I love to bake, I’ve usually avoided anything that required a rolling pin and cookie cutters. It feels arduous and tries my patience, I guess. And I’ve never cared much about perfect presentation. Homemade and rustic suits me just fine.

However, this Christmas season, I got out my Ma’s old rolling pin and made gingerbread cookies with my family. I rolled the dough again and again, and carefully cut out cookies in various holiday themed shapes. And I didn’t hate it. I thought about Ma as my forearms ached from rolling, and how many times she must’ve felt the same way. I remembered family trips to that old hollow in Kentucky, and the good times spent with extended family there.

My son loved the fruits of our labor – his first tastes of gingerbread cookies. And, you know what? I think I’ll use the rolling pin a little more often now.