This is our 3rd gingerbread creation for the parade and the 4th to be displayed in businesses downtown. The downtown Gingerbread parade has been a special part of our family’s holiday traditions, both as spectators and participants, since moving to Cache Valley 13 years ago.
After we finished our house last week, my daughter and I sat in the still, quiet darkness of our kitchen staring at what we created, taken in by the wonder of the scene. I could feel the hushed peace of the Jardine Juniper trail on a snowy moonlit winter’s evening, and just maybe, it almost seemed possible, had I looked carefully the last time I went hiking, I may have glimpsed a gnome peeking from behind the aspen trees.
I thought about each of the scenes we made over the years, how we chose our theme and design, the friends who helped. I realized each one centered around a book dear to us. We made “Winter in Wonderland” inspired by Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, “Willy Wonka’s Christmas Factory” based on Charlie and the Chocolate factory, “Where’s Yoda?” a spoof on “Where’s Waldo?” (maybe not a family classic but we needed a way to combine a wrecked pirate ship full of treasure for the boys and mermaids and a tropical island for the girls in our homeschool cooperative), and this year, “Gnome for Christmas” inspired by a long lost book from my childhood, Gnomes, by Will Huygen. Stories.
I thought about the people we brought together over the years to create these spectaculars. The rambunctious kids from school, the neighbors and all their girls, my kids and their friends, friends of friends, old roommates, our adopted grandma down the street, students, coworkers, strays, family. “Tell me what you want to make and we will figure out how to do it.” I would tell them. “Can we actually do that with gingerbread?” they would reply in disbelief. “I think there’s only one way to find out.” “But I’ve never done that,” someone would worry. “It’s okay,” I would reassure them. “You can’t mess it up!” Two story house with a balcony. Done. A chocolate river. You bet. A glass elevator made from sugar. Easy. A lagoon with sharks and mermaids. Totally. A wrecked pirate ship. Yes. It became a running joke that it wasn’t a real gingerbread house unless we had to use power tools- yes; the drill, the jig saw, the dremel, and a lot of imagination. But these are more than power tools and grand ideas, flour and fragrant spices.
We gather around our worn pine dining table to dream and create. Each dent and scratch etches a living history; grooves in the chair from teething babies and teething puppies, embedded glitter from countless Valentine’s, the slip of a drill, or knife, or nail polish, sharpie stains from a school project and sun filled berries from the garden stains, forgotten frosting from someone’s birthday, pen grooves from frustrated homework. This space has witnessed canning and baking, science lab and art studio, games, birthdays and holidays, make-shift chicken triage and beauty shop, arguments and understanding; playing and learning and talking and dreaming long into the days and nights. Laughter. Mourning. Celebration. Kitchen dance parties. Countless meals and ways that nourish bodies and nourish spirits.
“I have always loved storytelling,” my daughter announced.
We breathe in the stillness.
“I know. Me too. It’s a good story this year.”
“Yeah.”
We linger a few moments longer. Both my kids have now graduated from high school. One last gingerbread before… next year, the years after that? I close my eyes and linger over the years a bit longer too.
“You created magic out of gingerbread,” she exclaimed. “How did you do that?”
15 pounds of flour, 9 pounds of sugar, 5 pounds of butter, 12 pounds of powdered sugar, 3 dozen eggs…
“Magic,” I wink at her. “It’s what we do.”
In the daily communion of gratitude, with the simple act of making bread, we gather, and these memories become the stories that create our lives.
We are have had so much fun participating in this event and are grateful for the traditions and memories we have created from it. Thank you for being part of our stories!
Jennifer and Michaela Dettore
2019 Winning Entry
After we finished our house last week, my daughter and I sat in the still, quiet darkness of our kitchen staring at what we created, taken in by the wonder of the scene. I could feel the hushed peace of the Jardine Juniper trail on a snowy moonlit winter’s evening, and just maybe, it almost seemed possible, had I looked carefully the last time I went hiking, I may have glimpsed a gnome peeking from behind the aspen trees.
I thought about each of the scenes we made over the years, how we chose our theme and design, the friends who helped. I realized each one centered around a book dear to us. We made “Winter in Wonderland” inspired by Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, “Willy Wonka’s Christmas Factory” based on Charlie and the Chocolate factory, “Where’s Yoda?” a spoof on “Where’s Waldo?” (maybe not a family classic but we needed a way to combine a wrecked pirate ship full of treasure for the boys and mermaids and a tropical island for the girls in our homeschool cooperative), and this year, “Gnome for Christmas” inspired by a long lost book from my childhood, Gnomes, by Will Huygen. Stories.
I thought about the people we brought together over the years to create these spectaculars. The rambunctious kids from school, the neighbors and all their girls, my kids and their friends, friends of friends, old roommates, our adopted grandma down the street, students, coworkers, strays, family. “Tell me what you want to make and we will figure out how to do it.” I would tell them. “Can we actually do that with gingerbread?” they would reply in disbelief. “I think there’s only one way to find out.” “But I’ve never done that,” someone would worry. “It’s okay,” I would reassure them. “You can’t mess it up!” Two story house with a balcony. Done. A chocolate river. You bet. A glass elevator made from sugar. Easy. A lagoon with sharks and mermaids. Totally. A wrecked pirate ship. Yes. It became a running joke that it wasn’t a real gingerbread house unless we had to use power tools- yes; the drill, the jig saw, the dremel, and a lot of imagination. But these are more than power tools and grand ideas, flour and fragrant spices.
We gather around our worn pine dining table to dream and create. Each dent and scratch etches a living history; grooves in the chair from teething babies and teething puppies, embedded glitter from countless Valentine’s, the slip of a drill, or knife, or nail polish, sharpie stains from a school project and sun filled berries from the garden stains, forgotten frosting from someone’s birthday, pen grooves from frustrated homework. This space has witnessed canning and baking, science lab and art studio, games, birthdays and holidays, make-shift chicken triage and beauty shop, arguments and understanding; playing and learning and talking and dreaming long into the days and nights. Laughter. Mourning. Celebration. Kitchen dance parties. Countless meals and ways that nourish bodies and nourish spirits.
“I have always loved storytelling,” my daughter announced.
We breathe in the stillness.
“I know. Me too. It’s a good story this year.”
“Yeah.”
We linger a few moments longer. Both my kids have now graduated from high school. One last gingerbread before… next year, the years after that? I close my eyes and linger over the years a bit longer too.
“You created magic out of gingerbread,” she exclaimed. “How did you do that?”
15 pounds of flour, 9 pounds of sugar, 5 pounds of butter, 12 pounds of powdered sugar, 3 dozen eggs…
“Magic,” I wink at her. “It’s what we do.”
In the daily communion of gratitude, with the simple act of making bread, we gather, and these memories become the stories that create our lives.
We are have had so much fun participating in this event and are grateful for the traditions and memories we have created from it. Thank you for being part of our stories!
Jennifer and Michaela Dettore
2019 Winning Entry