As it turned out, Maria’s borsch soup was terrific, as good or better than my grandmother’s. The new recipe she found was perfect, and she stuck with it.

She added boiled potatoes and a spot of sour cream to the simple Jewish borscht recipe she found, and it was delicious, it brought me right back to my grandmother and the borscht she always made for me when I was sick.

I felt her spirit in the house, and so did Maria, but that’s a different piece. Somehow, this was a big deal for Maria; I’m not sure how all of that worked. But it worked.

The first version Maria made didn’t work, and she was going to give up on it. She said my grandmother visited her and said, “this saved us,” and nothing more. She took it as a sign that she should continue trying to make borsch soup.

I wrote about this yesterday; borsche suddenly entered the life of the farm. I hadn’t thought about it in decades.

I wonder why my grandmother didn’t try to talk to me. I think she had a message for Maria; she was hoping to encourage her to make something that was a part of our relationship when I was young.

Something was going on beyond soup, and I’ll have to do some thinking about it.

This was a perfect meal for me, healthy, nourishing, delicious.  I loved the smell and taste of the beet, and Maria flavored it beautifully with some lemon juice and honey.

Maria is back at work now; I don’t see her cooking much down the road. She’s not that interested in food.

This soup happened for a reason, and my grandmother was in it somehow. I’ll try to think about it.