Nuts in the Pantry

My grandmama was slow to love my father.  After all, he took her only child away from her to live far away in exotic lands.  I imagine that she had other reasons to resist loving him.  However, at some point her heart warmed to him.  He could tell because she began a tradition of baking him a fruitcake for Christmas each year.  Some might think that is no prize.  But to my father, it was a slice of heaven.  For not only did he get a fruitcake, which he loved, but he also had the satisfaction of knowing he had won her over.


For those of us who have baked fruitcake know, it is no easy task.  The ingredients are expensive and the making of a fruitcake is time consuming.  But to my grandmother, it was an act of love.  I remember her standing in the kitchen with fruitcake goo up to her elbow philosophizing about the merits of fruitcake.  In her own nutty way she illuminated for me the finer points of fruitcake philosophy.


She did not even care for the taste of fruitcake, and certainly had no use for the hassle of fruitcake.  But she knew my dad loved it.  So it became a sacrificial offering of love.  Though some years her Cherokee heritage sprang forth as she offered it as a sort of modern day “peace pipe.”  She seemed to believe that the truest gifts were those that were home made and cherished by the recipient not the giver.


Each year my grandmama went to great pains to decorate my father’s fruitcake with pecans, honey and candied cherries.  The tops of those cakes became elaborate mandalas, each nut and candied cherry shimmering with glazed honey.  I remember her grinning as she decorated.  She talked of the shining people in her life, the shining moments of the past year.  She regaled me with stories of the various nuts and fruits in our family tree.  She insisted that just like each family is not complete without the eccentricities of its various members, a truly delicious fruitcake is not possible without  each nut and fruit. “Even when there are nuts that we would rather not come to the party and be part of the fruitcake, they are still your family.”


I used to think that my grandmama was the biggest nut in the family.  Now, I am not so sure.  Perhaps she was one of the more amusing experts on unconditional love.  Grandmama passed on some time ago.  She also passed on the tradition to my sister and I who bake our father a fruitcake each year.  Each year I learn a little more about fruitcake philosophy, generosity and unconditional love from my nutty grandmother.


I have to go now as it is my turn this year and fruitcake goo beckons me from the kitchen.  Happy Holidays!



  1. (c)2000  Melanie McGhee                                                                                                             Originally published in THE DAILY TIMES, Maryville, TN