Musings on an old wooden fork

This post was inspired by and in response to a post by my friend Jan (I could not have said it better :•) Click here to see Jan's post: Musings on an old wooden spoon

The fork pictured here is at least 40  years old. Almost as old as my relationship with Gregory. I purchased it when I moved into my first apartment in Chicago. It is the utensil of choice when I am baking. 

The tines used to be straight, but because I am right-handed, the pressure from mixing cookie dough has gently curved the center tine toward a soft "crooked man with a crooked house" shape.

Just this Christmas season, as I was using it to mix dough for over 25 dozen cookies of six different types, I found myself admiring this forks heft, stains, history, and shifting grain.

This fork is, of course, a warm reminder of my life’s nurturing and baking — for friends, for family, for self. It is aging like I am and I am quite sure it will outlast me. 

One day it may find itself in an old cardboard box at a garage sale and when not purchased, which it certainly will not be, will be tossed into a garbage can where it will become part of a landfill somewhere.

If lucky, it will slowly decompose into the earth, still with so much function left to stir, blend, and agitate. I am sure that everyone can describe a spoon or fork of their own. 

Thanks Jan.