These Are My People: Leaving a Legacy

Leaving a legacy seems like such a weighted phrase. But really, it's a part of you, created by you, that you leave behind for those you love. It's acknowledging your past and saving something for the future. In my case, my legacy to my family happens to be a cookbook.

I don't have a lot to leave my family, my relations near and far. I have no children, no money, no real estate or jewels. And I have quite a lot of relatives. Dozens and dozens of them. They go back a long way; as many as five or six generations right here in Arkansas. I realize without them, I would not be here. The person I am with my characteristics, personality and abilities, would not exist if Francis Marion Cross had not married Francis Evangeline Fincher (Frank and Fannie) and raised a family in a tiny dot on the map called Rosston, AR. If they had not had a son (among 10 children) named Jethro Cross who married Jewel Moore in the tiny town of Kervin, TX in a barbershop because that's where they found the preacher getting a haircut–then I would not exist. And if Madelyn Cross (eldest among 10 children) hadn't been talked into a blind date with a sailor boy named Richard Knott, then there would be no Mendy Knott to tell this tale. I felt I owed something to that history, to the miracles that made my life happen. I don't want it to be forgotten.

So two years ago, I started working on a family cookbook. In some families, people pass down musical ability, art, or carpentry skills. In my family, the women pass down recipes. The men enjoy the results of the recipes. From great grandmother to grandmother, to mother to daughter, to sister, to cousin, to best friends or neighbors, recipes travel hand to hand, by telephone, and now through the internet. They are shared, tried, and tasted. Once hand written on note cards or legal pads, now they are emailed, tweeted and twittered. The ones I got from my mother through the mail always said, "Love, Mom" at the end; like a letter. Only better. Because I would think of her every time I cooked from those cards. The dishes from those recipes were so good they became famous among my friends as the "Love, Mom" recipes.

It was harder and took longer than I thought it would. There turned out to be more than 200 recipes and 40 contributors. There were pictures to collect and narratives to write. The process involved research, which is not my strong point. But finally, one year past deadline, the manuscript is complete. I am proud of the work that went into making this little legacy. I'm happy to have something that preserves a bit of my family's history, and so are they. I feel I have used my talents in service to both my ancestral past and the future. One day a third, fourth, fifth cousin will pick up this cookbook, look through it and think, "These are my people. This is where I come from. I can make 'Mother's Squash Casserole' from the yellow squash in our garden and eat what my great, great grandmother ate."

Working on a legacy strengthens the ties that bind us to those who came before us. Memories were my constant companions as I worked. I felt my MaMaw standing in the kitchen making the biscuits she made every day and smiling at me, nodding her approval as I wrote, copied, cut and pasted. If we all created our own legacy to leave behind for those who came after us, no matter how small or large, it might help us appreciate and care for what we have now as the treasure we will be handing our children and theirs.

—Mendy Knott is a writer, poet and author of the collection A Little Lazarus (Half Acre Press, 2010). To order your copy of A Little Lazarus directly from the author, please click here.