Jessica
My husband comes from a big family, on his mom’s side. All of his mother’s family, the Livingoods, are from Postville, IA and have lived there since time immemorial. His mother has six siblings and all of her siblings have over two (and often over three) children. Many of those children, though younger than Aaron, have already started large families of their own.
This is far outside of my experience. My family is smaller and less concentrated in one area. When I first met his family, back in our (relatively) early days of dating, he tried to prepare me for how the large size of his family and the small size of their community. I couldn’t have been more underprepared. On our first trip back, we got a little lost, so we pulled over and ask a passerby for directions. She took one look at my husband and said, “Oh, you’re a Livingood, aren’t you?” He replied yes and they briefly traced their family interactions, before she gave us directions. Let me tell you, this has never happened to me or my family, at least not for a generation or two.
When Aaron and I went to Lincoln, NE (his parents’ adopted city) for Thanksgiving, I learned a little bit more of the Livingood history. In the living room, I found a small booklet entitled “The Livingood Family Cookbook.” It was professionally published in 1987 by a local historian. At the beginning of the cookbook, it detailed the Livingood family history, from my husband’s great-great-grandfather, Edwin R. Livingood and Mathilda Livingood. They were a typical Iowa farm family, in that they had 10 children and each of those children married young and had between four and thirteen children of their own. By 1942, Edwin and his wife had 105 (!) children and grandchildren. My husband’s branch of the Livingoods descended from the fourth son of Edwin, Cecil. It looks as if Aaron’s grandfather was the second son of Cecil.
Following the family history, there are a series of pictures of Aaron’s extended family. I can see great-aunts and uncles, with their families, as well as his grandfather when they were younger. I can see the resemblance of Cecil (the great-grandfather) to Gilbert (the grandfather). In person, I’ve seen the resemblance of Aaron to his grandfather. Looking at the pictures is like seeing the slow distillation of my husband’s physical qualities, over time. The only experience that I have had close to this for my own family was when, at age 19, I helped to sort my grandmother’s pictures after she passed away. I found a picture of her when she was about 19, away from home for the first time. We were identical, down to a similar haircut and a similar way we held our bodies.
My mother-in-law was so pleased that I was interested in the cookbook that she let me take it home. I’m interested to review the recipes, just to see how the family marks their culinary history. The food is simple and basic, a remnant of times when you cooked with what you have. (After reading the amazing United States of Arugula by David Kamp, I can place this type of food into the some of the same American foodways that James beard was intent on preserving.) I don’t know if I’ll ever cook any of these recipes. I am more thankful for the photographic evidence of at least a part of my husband’s family.
