As a young girl, my spring vacations meant going to visit my grandmother at her home just outside of Boston. For the four-hour drive, Mom and I would pack the car in the early morning hours. It always felt like a grand vacation!

Residing inside, my mother was a free spirit that came alive as she donned her perfectly fitted leather driving gloves and slid into place behind the car’s steering wheel. As we sailed down the I-95 corridor, I would read the travel signs, marking how much farther we needed to go and honing my reading skills as I learned that just because letters looked like they read a certain way, it did not mean that was true.

Anyone who is new to New England and has encountered “Marlborough” or “Worcester” will know what I mean.

My grandmother was a marvelous cook! About mid-morning, I would climb up on the black enamel kitchen stool and perch there as I regaled her with the stories I had preserved since my previous visit. Patiently, she listened, nodded, and advised as she peeled onions, scrubbed potatoes, scraped carrots, and sliced cabbage into wedges for the beginnings of my favorite springtime meal – the boiled dinner!

Into the pot would first go a whole bone-in ham shank, and then the onions. Next, she filled the pot with water, placed the cover, and then carried it across the black and white tiles to set it on the stove. There it would come to a boil before she turned the heat back to let it simmer all afternoon.

About a half-hour, before it finished, into the pot, she tucked the potatoes and carrots, and lastly, the wedges of white cabbage. Oh, how the aroma filled my afternoon hours as they wafted through her home and out into the backyard! My mouth watered as I imagined that first bite.

About six o’clock, dinnertime finally arrived. From my place at the end of the linen-covered table, I watched Gramma carve thick, juicy slices of the ham before arranging them on her ironstone platter, which now resides in my cupboard. Next, the onions, carrots, and potatoes joined the ham slices. With each bite, dinner was a feast of melded flavors that set my eyes to rolling heavenward.

Gramma passed away 40 years ago and yet, my heart still sets off each spring on a journey to her cozy kitchen with a big heart.