When I was growing up, Grandmother would always make sure Granddaddy and I had sandwiches, cookies, coffee, and other such snacks when we went hunting or fishing. In fact, it was such a thing I remember members of our hunting club, which was outside of White Plains, coming by the truck after turkey hunting to drink coffee with us because her coffee was always so good. This is one of the reasons I believe food is such an important part of our lives. It cements these memories through multiple senses — taste, touch, smell, and our emotions. 

Before she passed away, for my birthday she would make me an angel food cake. Now that might not sound like much … but that cake was always awesome, with strawberries and whipped cream! 

Oh man… 

For my father’s birthday (which is Christmas Day) she always made a coconut cake. I can still smell the toasted coconut and taste the icing on this cake! However, what has been on my mind lately is her chocolate peanut butter chip cookies. 

It’s hard to really think about springtime without thinking about how those cookies tasted with a cup of coffee from an old Stanley thermos and a slice of apple eaten while sitting on the tailgate of the truck. Those cookies were always this delicious hug from her. When you bit into them or cracked them open you had this soft inner surrounded by a crunchy outside that then had these peanut butter chips floating like little clouds through the middle. This treat made getting up at 4 a.m. to be in the woods a good hour before daylight a little easier. Usually, she had these packed in those little plastic sandwich bags that folded over, not the fancy Ziploc bags. There was always the chance that Grandaddy and I might eat all of them before we even got back to the truck. There’s no telling how many of those cookies were eaten sitting against a big oak, looking out into a field, waiting for a turkey to gobble or one to come in. 

My grandmother, Catherine Aderhold Pressley, passed away more than 11 years ago. Now my wife and my daughters will sometimes use her recipe to make these cookies for me and my friends and son. To be honest, a lot of times when those cookies are made the rush of memories is almost too much to handle. You see, it is not only the memory of how those cookies or her coffee tasted, it’s the memory of how much love I experienced growing up surrounded by all my grandparents, my parents, and family. 

Thursday, Feb. 16would have been her birthday. Very few fishing trips, hunts, or birthdays don’t go by when I don’t remember her and the love she poured into all those cookies and cakes. She saw a husband serve for four years in the Pacific theatre as a SeaBee and a son do a tour in Vietnam as a combat engineer. She had a brother who landed at Normandy and liberated concentration camps in Europe. She was a den mother for the Boy Scouts and a room mother for her two sons’ schools. From serving as the team mom for baseball and football teams in Atlanta with my Dad and uncle to coming to all my plays and baseball games as well. It was just time to, once again, tell her we love her, miss her, and will always remember her.

—Outdoors columnist James Pressley can be reached at pressleyoutdoors@gmail.com