This Thanksgiving, I was assigned sweet potato duty — candied, baked, pies… you name it, I’m your girl. And somewhere between the mixing, stirring, double-checking the spices, and prepping and freezing everything, I found myself thinking back to past Thanksgiving kitchens.
And if I’m honest, those kitchens were never quiet.
They were loud.
Lively.
Full of people talking over one another. Doggies underfoot hoping to catch anything that falls. Folks running from the kitchen to the living room to see if their team scored a touchdown. Someone always asking where the nutmeg went. And everybody insisting their dish was the one the holiday couldn’t survive without.
Those kitchens were crowded, warm, and full of personality — the kind of noise that somehow feels like home.
🪽 Some Memories Are Hard
And this year, everything feels a little different.
My mom passed in June, and there’s a space in the kitchen that only she could fill. She became known for her sweet potato pies — every year, it became a thing. For years she baked them not just for us, but also for friends, neighbors, and anyone who was smart enough to ask for one. Her pies carried a kind of love language… soft, sweet, and always seasoned just right.
She added to the noise, the rhythm, and the sweetness. Even though she won’t be in the kitchen this time, the memory of her warmth still feels like one more ingredient — one that settles the heart the way only love can.
Sweet potatoes always found their way into the middle of all that commotion: on the counter, in the oven, on someone’s plate before they should be… somehow still representing comfort in the center of the swirl. They bring their own kind of sweetness — not delicate, but steady. The kind that holds its place even when life gets a little chaotic. Those little sweet potato holiday traditions still bring a warm kind of comfort.
⚕️Sweet Potatoes Are Sweet & Healthy
And the beautiful part? Sweet potatoes don’t just belong to good memories; they genuinely support you. They’re rich, grounding, full of nutrients and warmth — a reminder that nourishment can be emotional and physical. A bit of sweetness for the heart and the body.
Because of that, a spoonful of sweetness can be many things:
• a loud kitchen full of people you love
• a flavor that feels familiar
• a moment that brings you back to yourself
• a reminder that goodness doesn’t have to be perfect or peaceful to matter
• and the presence of someone whose love still reaches you, even from memory
As Thanksgiving approaches, I’m leaning into the comforts that are a little messy, a little noisy, and completely real — the ones that show up just as they are and still manage to settle the spirit.
So here’s to warm plates, lively kitchens, and the sweetness of memory.
And thanks to sweet potatoes… thanks for the sweet memories.
dragonflies & honey – simple goods for the spirit
