by Lisa Wingate
This morning, she’d have to work on her own for a few minutes longer than usual. I had a special mission, and it was for no one but Poppy and Jake.
Poppy’s house was silent and dark when I drove up. It seemed strange to see it in yellow, but it wasn’t as painful as I’d anticipated. Just as all of us were moving on, it was fitting that Poppy’s house move on, as well. Perhaps it was someone else’s time to find the secret places now.
A breeze stirred the roses Teddy had groomed so carefully as I tiptoed to the house and slipped Jake’s letter underneath the loose piece of clapboard by the front window, where it could remain part of the house, part of Jake and Poppy.
A bit of each of us, a bit of the whole of us, would always be here.
But there was room for something new, as well, space to grow in directions that had once been beyond our imagining. My mind filled with the possibilities, with a sense of power and potential, as I crossed the yard and slipped into my car, feeling that, in some way, the work here wasn’t finished, but what would come next wasn’t for me. It was time for the little girl who hid beneath the oleander bush to leave the safe places behind, spread her wings, and fly out into the world.
When I reached the old white church, Cass was helping Teddy in front of the fellowship hall. They smiled and waved as I drove up, then they stood very deliberately shoulder to shoulder, hiding something.
“What are you guys up to?” I asked, climbing out of my car.
Cass rolled her gaze upward in feigned innocence, her eyes reflecting the clear summer sky. “Something.”
“Som’tin’ Rusty done,” Teddy added. “He done it las’ night. Rusty did.”
“Guess,” Cass teased. “Guess what it is.”
“I haven’t a clue,” I admitted, trying to see behind them, where something was covered haphazardly with a tablecloth. Cass nodded at Teddy, and he grabbed the corners of the fabric and pulled it away.
“Ta-da!” she cheered, presenting the big reveal like a game show model. “It’s a present from Rusty and me.” Her blue eyes were so vibrant, it took me a moment to focus on the gift. When I did, I was filled with the purest joy, the sort that is rare and precious.
Who could imagine that such joy could come from a simple wooden sign, from three words carved into the polished grain, then neatly painted in the bright pink of Poppy’s house? The gift encompassed so much more than a building, or a group of workers, or shelves stacked with food ready to be prepared, or a sense of purpose found, or empty stomachs filled, or lives changed.
“It’s perfect.” I stepped forward, traced the words with my fingers, then whispered them aloud. “The Summer Kitchen.”
Letting the name settle over me, I considered the wonders that a simple coat of paint on cabinets had led to.
Who could have predicted such possibilities, but then again, nothing really happens by accident. There is a plan, even when we don’t see it, even when it’s nothing we would have guessed. There is a purpose for broken houses and broken people.
Perhaps the wandering men knew that long ago. Perhaps they sensed it, and so they left behind the symbol of blessing.
Or perhaps the blessing was the beginning of it all.
CONVERSATION GUIDE
the summer kitchen
Lisa Wingate
This Conversation Guide is intended to enrich the
individual reading experience, as well as encourage us
to explore these topics together—because books,
and life, are meant for sharing.
CONVERSATION GUIDE
A CONVERSATION WITH LISA WINGATE
Q. As with many of your books, The Summer Kitchen conveys a strong sense of community. Has your own life inspired this interest?
A. As a writer, you eventually realize that no matter how out of the blue you think your ideas are, most of them can be traced back to your own life experiences. One of the experiences that greatly influenced my way of looking at the world, and therefore my writing, was growing up in a family that moved repeatedly. My father had a busy career, and it seemed that his opportunities always took us far from friends and family. Even though we visited the old family home places in the summers and kept in touch long-distance by sending reel-to-reel tapes, I remember always feeling the lack of regular, close contact with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and other home folks. Because we were transplants, those empty spaces in our lives were often filled by neighbors and friends, and the neighborhoods we lived in became very important in giving us a sense of belonging.
When we moved from a neighborhood, we missed the people we’d left behind. When we came into a new neighborhood, we did exactly what Cass does—we went out and canvassed the new territory, looking for the creeks where the tadpoles hid, interesting places to visit like the Book Basket, and new people to get to know. Always, in us, there was the need to replace our lost connections with new ones. In the story, Cass is still canvassing the neighborhood, but her efforts to build connections are complicated by the fact that she has a secret to keep. Even though she recognizes the dangers of letting people “get in her business,” she feels the need to replace her lost sense of family with something new.
In a way, Cass’s struggle is a microcosm of the larger struggles inherent in the neighborhood. As human beings, we are tribal animals, and we instinctively recognize our need to belong, yet when life experience has taught us that contact with other people can sometimes be complicated or risky, the instinct for self-preservation causes friction. Like Cass, the neighborhood is engaged in a struggle between fear and trust, between going it alone and becoming part of a group. In the end, the summer kitchen becomes a place that brings people together.
Q. In The Summer Kitchen, reading, storytelling, and books play an important role, particularly in Cass’s life, as she uses her books to travel to “mind places.” Was reading important to you as a child, and what is your fondest memory related to reading?
A. As a child, I read many of the books Cass enjoys in the story. Being a horse-crazy girl, like her, I devoured Black Beauty, The Black Stallion, and almost everything written by Marguerite Henry. In my mind I was often galloping across the prairie when I should have been paying attention in math class, which is probably why I’m a writer and not a rocket scientist today.
My fondest memory related to reading is a more recent one. When my second novel, Good Hope Road, came out, three advanced copies arrived in an envelope my sons carried to the house as they came in from the school bus. When we opened the envelope, the boys asked if they could look at the book, so I gave each of them a copy. We settled in on the sofa, one on either side of me, and the boys began reading. My then fifth-grade son read silently, and the younger one whispered aloud as he struggled with the words. Sharing that moment of story together was something I’ll never forget.
Q. Writers sometimes begin a project and find that the story works out differently than they thought it would. The characters take on lives of their own, or the concept of the book changes during the writing process. How did The Summer Kitchen begin, and what was the most difficult and/or unexpected part of writing it?
A. For me, each story is an adventure, and quite often an unplanned one. As with much of my work these days, The Summer Kitchen began with an idea that initially came from a reader, who told me about a group of friends who’d started a free lunch café in nearby Waco, Texas. Always game for a good tale, I took Judy up on her offer to visit The Gospel Cafe, and the idea for The Summer Kitchen developed from that visit and from another story about a woman who had started a peanut butter and jelly sandwich ministry after learning that children in her apartment complex were going hungry. As with most of my books, once the idea was in place, the process became a journey of discovering the characters from the outside in. Each story is a quest to understand the hearts and minds of several individuals—the ways in which each is a product of a specific set of experiences. As the plot develops, the needs of the characters begin to mesh
, and the potential for connection becomes more evident.
In terms of the actual writing, some days were easier than others, and some parts of the book were easier to write than others. I didn’t know at the beginning exactly how the story would end, and in particular what would happen to Rusty and Cass, or Kiki and Opal. I wanted Cass and Rusty to retain their identity as a family. Their difficulties mirror the challenges of many sibling groups struggling to retain family connections within the foster care system. Early in the story, I was hoping that Kiki would redeem herself as a parent, but the more the story developed, the clearer it became that Opal needed a stable environment immediately and couldn’t wait while her mother straightened out her life. In the end, even Kiki seems to recognize that fact as she gives away her shoes so that Cass and Opal can escape from Uncle Len.
Q. The characters in The Summer Kitchen seem very true to life. Are some of them based on real people?
A. It’s sometimes hard for me to remember that the people and events in the stories aren’t real. They’re real to me, which sometimes makes me sound a little nuts. I find myself talking about the characters as if they’re friends or relatives living their lives somewhere. In a way, I guess they are, though. To create a story, you have to live in it and believe it. In every story, there are some bits of imagination and some bits of reality, and eventually it’s hard to separate the two. In The Summer Kitchen, for instance, not just the café story is based on reality. The apartment complex, Sandra’s first contact with it, and Cass’s character were real, as well. I discovered the apartment complex after giving a handicapped woman a ride home from Wal-Mart one day. As I was pulling out of the complex, an adolescent girl with long blond hair crossed the road with a laundry basket on her hip. She was dressed too maturely for her years, and there was a haughty confidence about her that caught my attention. Just as Sandra does in the book, as I watched her disappear around the corner, I thought, I wonder what her story is? I never saw her again, but I continued to think about her. When I started working on The Summer Kitchen, she became Cass, and I was finally able to answer the question of why she was standing on the curb, in green high-heeled shoes, with a basket full of laundry under her arm. The great thing about being a writer is that if you wait long enough, you’ll eventually answer your own questions.
Q. Where do you write and what does your typical writing day look like?
A. I can (and do) write anywhere, anytime, with any amount of ongoing commotion around me. I write on a laptop, so I’m portable. I don’t require quiet, or soft colors on the walls, or calm surroundings. I write from life, and about life, and pretty much while life is going on around me.
My typical day begins with getting my two sons off to school—which is a change since the writing of my first novel, Tending Roses. Back then, my typical day involved entertaining a preschooler and a baby while hurrying to write during nap times. Now, as the parent of two teenagers, I write when I’m not transporting someone to activities, or taking pieces of forgotten sports equipment to football and baseball fields.
On a typical day, I sit down to write while drinking my tea first thing in the morning. I hear the cadence of the words like music, and when I’m really into a story, everything else fades away. How easily the words come depends on the story, and even more so on the part of the story I happen to be writing that day. Some scenes are easier to write than others, and some parts of the story are more fun to experience. Generally, I try to write ten double-spaced pages per day, which allows me to finish a draft in two or three months, depending on how busy I am elsewhere, traveling and speaking. After the first draft is finished, I usually spend a month or so rereading and revising before the book moves on to the editor’s desk.
Q. Can you tell us one interesting thing about yourself that is not related to reading or writing?
A. Other than reading, writing, and raising kids, one of my passions has always been horses, which is undoubtedly why, in the book, Cass has a long-term horse affliction, even though she recognizes that she wasn’t born into the pony-getting crowd.
Like Cass, I can remember being horse crazy from the age of three or four. I’m not sure why, because we lived in coastal Florida at the time, and horses were rare there, but still I yearned for one. Just like Cass, I rode the school bus home day after day, fully believing that there would be a pony in the yard when we turned the corner. I’m not sure where I thought the pony would come from, but I never gave up hoping that today would be the day. A pony was the only request on my Christmas list for years, but apparently Santa couldn’t figure out how to attach the horse trailer to his sleigh, because there was never anything nibbling our tree on Christmas morning. When I was around ten years old, my parents finally told me I could have a horse if I saved my own money and bought it. Horses being expensive, I think they felt safe making this commitment. I was determined, however, and eventually I bought a “rescue” horse who was pathetic in reality, but beautiful in my eyes. Like Cass, I loved the song “Wildfire.” In my version, just as in Cass’s, both the pony and the girl are spared death in the blizzard.
Q. Your work was recently honored by the Americans for More Civility for promoting greater kindness and civility in American life. Can you talk about that?
A. I can’t think of an award I’d rather be given. My ultimate goal in writing has always been to build understanding by allowing one person to walk in another’s shoes. Stories provide a rare chance to temporarily suspend being in your own body, in your own life, and to slip into the very existence of another person. When we know how it feels to live within the mind, and heart, and body of someone else, we realize that everyone hurts, everyone struggles, everyone breaks down and gets up, then tries to put the pieces back together. We’re all products of our own experiences. When we feel the suffering and the triumphs of others, we’re better able to look at each other with a sense of grace.
CONVERSATION GUIDE
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1. In The Summer Kitchen, Sandra seems to regret having given up some of the dreams she held as a young woman. At forty-nine, she feels that she hasn’t achieved all she wanted to. Do you think we all feel this, in some sense? What is your greatest achievement? Your greatest regret?
2. Even though, at first, Cass resents Kiki and Opal being in the apartment, she takes Opal under her wing and becomes a parental figure, to the best of her ability. Why do you think she does this?
3. When Sandra sees the children in the Dumpster, she initially fails to recognize their needs, and when she does recognize them she tries to convince herself to leave them to social agencies. Why does she react this way? What barriers prevent us from recognizing the needs of the people around us, or from doing something bold to address them? Do you think one person can make a difference?
4. In a family riddled with substance abuse, Poppy and Aunt Ruth provided an island of safety and security for Sandra. If not for them, what sort of life might Sandra have led? Do you think people are shaped more by inborn personality or by environment? How has your history shaped you as a person?
5. As the relationship between Cass and Sandra develops, Cass recognizes that she was fortunate to have had a mother who “loved her more than anything.” Even though her upbringing lacked the financial comforts of Sandra’s, what gifts has Cass been given that Sandra lacks? How do these gifts help Cass survive in a difficult situation?
6. Cass repeatedly struggles with whether to share the sandwiches and other food with Angel, Ronnie, and Boo. Why does she hesitate? Why does she eventually decide to hand over the food?
7. Sandra recognizes some of her own insecurities in Christopher. Do you think parents inadvertently pass their insecurities and hang-ups down to their children? In what ways? Have you experienced that in your own life?
8. After only a week of working in the café, Holly is ready to take on the project, yet Sandra is still hesitant. Why do you think it’s so much harder for her to make the commitment than it is for Holl
y?
9. In thinking about the family she has created with Rob, Sandra eventually wonders if she might have “fixed the moon” too many times. Do you think it’s possible to cripple the ones we love by making life too perfect, too easy? What benefits do we derive from struggle and hardship as we’re growing up?
10. In some ways, Poppy’s unexpected death serves as a catalyst for change in Sandra’s family and in the neighborhood around Poppy’s house. If not for Poppy’s death, do you think Jake would have ever been honest with his parents about his desire to teach? Would Sandra have branched out in life to do something totally unexpected? Would Christopher have admitted his true feelings about their perfection-centered household?
11. Sandra and Rob’s household is in many ways typical of modern households in which families deal with busy schedules, high expectations, and performance pressure. Does a drive to succeed in life and to raise successful children always lead to undue pressure, resentment, or disconnection between reality and expectation? Is it possible to balance “keeping up with the Joneses” with being real with each other? If so, how can we go about doing this?
12. Rusty and Cass are in some ways heroic and in some ways tragic characters. What do you think Rusty’s future should hold? What should Cass’s future hold? In a perfect world, where would the two of them end up?
13. Cass wishes she were older and Sandra wishes she were younger. Why do we often have such a hard time living in the moment and being happy where we are? Was there ever a time in your life when you felt you were in just the right place?
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page