Grandma Barrett was most often found in the kitchen wearing an apron, humming to herself, making something delicious. As soon as we planned a visit she’d start baking our favourite treats and stocking the freezer, even if it was months in advance. The baking frenzy wouldn’t stop once we arrived. No matter how much she had already prepared, there was always an excuse to make more. I sometimes felt like a door-to-door salesman as we would deliver goodies to all the neighbours in the complex, and often drive further so as not to miss anyone who might need the encouragement of an edible hug. Grandma undoubtedly had the gift of hospitality, rarely making a meal for her and grandpa alone. Her family was never limited to those related by blood, but included anyone who needed a family. She expressed her affection and deep care for those around her through the tangible gift of cinnamon rolls, popcorn gumdrop cake, and jam jams, but it was clear to anyone who knew her for any amount of time, that her unwavering support was much stronger, her uncompromising generosity of spirit was much greater, and her love ran much deeper than any amount of time in the kitchen could ever express.
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