When night fell

5 | dough with memories

Amelie

It had been a little over a year and a half, but the memories were vivid whenever they appeared in my mind. It was on a Saturday when I heard the news.

A few days a week, I worked at a community garden, where I helped people who had difficulty participating in society. Some had mild intellectual disabilities, there was autism, people who suffered burn-outs, children with special needs and sometimes people with physical disabilities or even grandmothers who didn't have much going on in their lives.

Needless to say, I adored it. I liked listening to the people who needed a little more care, trying to help them with the things they needed help for. I liked the feeling of getting my hands dirty in the soil, admiring the way vegetables and fruit would grow, or how the flowers would bloom in many different ways and colors. But the smiles upon the faces at the end of the day was something I really couldn't get enough of.

The garden was quite big, we grew a lot of vegetables, small fruits and we even had a flower garden where outsiders could pick their own bouquet. We used the vegetables to provide a fresh, healthy meal for all the attendees and besides that we liked to cook for the refugee house, which stood a few houses away. With the fruits, we liked to make smoothies, process them into the cakes or cookies, or simply eat them as a snack. And of course the people who worked in the garden were allowed to take home their own bouquet every week.

The dahlia's were my favourite. I couldn't comprehend how many different kinds there were, how many different colours popped up each time. It was always a long-awaited surprise, each time we buried the bulbs into the ground, the flowers growing slowly in summer. I loved picking them for my mother, the church, or the refugee house.

That Saturday, we had picked a nice bouquet for the refugee house, with apricot and soft pink and yellow colours and we decided to bring them a warm meal, too.

I held up a willow basket, watching how Levi, a fifteen year old boy with Down Syndrome, picked the tomatoes, carefully placing them in my basket. "Levi, what do you want to make with the tomatoes?" It was a calm day today, Levi and Rosemary, a girl bounded to her wheelchair, were the only ones present, the others liked to come throughout the week.

Levi stood still for a moment, his fingers moving quickly whilst he stared up at the sky. "Tomato cookies." He started giggling, looking at me.

"Tomato cookies?" I raised my eyebrows, gasping lightly. "What now. Next we will make cookies out of brussel sprouts?"

"Amelie! That's not.. ehm, delicious!" Levi giggled louder, placing his hands upon his tummy. He stamped upon the ground with his feet, not being able to control his laughter. "Or.. garlic cookies, or.. ehm, eggplant cookies!"

I turned to Rosemary, who's gaze was somewhere far away. "Do you hear that, Rosemary?" Stroking her cheek, I turned closer to her ear. "I have an excellent idea, if Levi is going to be the one to taste them first, we will make them. Don't you agree, Rosemary?" I winked at Levi, helping him pick the tomatoes.

"Amelie, ew!" Levi covered his eyes with his hands. "No, no. Tomato soup! With, ehm.. your Italian bread!"

My own laughter turned into a soft chuckle. "Hmm, I think that is a wonderful idea." With the younger people, I liked to do the meals they chose. Sometimes, the simpler meals were as delicious and easier for them to cook. When we had picked the tomatoes, we went to the community house, where we held our breaks, ate the food and played games when the weather would be too bad.

With the fresh garlic, tomatoes, onions and basil, we prepared the vegetables for the soup. Levi added mascarpone, while I started mixing the ingredients together for the focaccia dough. Rosemary watched us silently.