It’s easy for my sister Jenny to ignore me. She is 5 hours ahead of me in London, and has a 10 month-old boy and a 3 year-old boy (who calls me Auntie Mimi in a British accent – tugs at my heart). She has two scruffy sheepdogs that track dirt everywhere. She makes kick-ass Shepherd’s Pie from her own recipe, and she’s overseeing another major house renovation. You get the picture. Jenny is in the center of a giant whirl of activity. 

So, I often resort to drama to get her attention. 

Text from Amy: ER. Recipe needed. Stat! 

Text from Jenny: I am at the park. 

Dang! That didn’t work. I’m in a frenzy trying to pull together an impromptu soup + wine gathering. Deep breath. 

Text from Amy: I need an Autumnal, one bowl meal. 

Text from Jenny: Just make my pork and cider. It’s good. In my cookbook. 

Did I mention she wrote a cookbook? To raise money for a week-long dog sledding charity trek she did across Sweden. I am not kidding. Our lives and personalities couldn’t be more different. Jenny is big town – I am small town. Jenny is a mother – I am an Aunt. Jenny is practical – I am dramatic. Jenny mushes dogs – I do not. 

But with Jenny, I have had a revelation. 

Through the mysteries of DNA, family culture and birth order, we do share a sensibility for authentic, down-to-earth goodness. Jenny makes no-nonsense food that tastes divine. I make no-nonsense botanical oil that smells divine. We connect around things we make – these things that leave us feeling content, nostalgic and nourished. 

And I realize that is exactly how I feel when I connect with my sister.