The President's Letter - January 2026

By: Ryan Bowman, HAHS President

January 3, 2026

Utensil (noun)

uten·​sil yu̇-ˈten(t)-səl  

1: an implement, instrument, or vessel used in a household and especially in a kitchen

2: a useful tool or implement

From the president:

I am curious. How old are your utensils?

That may seem too personal an inquiry, but in my overactive (and in what I am certain very few consider normal) mind, therein lies a nugget of historical intrigue. And last week, as 2025 rolled over to this new year, the year in which I will see my own 50^th revolution ‘round the sun, and our great nation will in turn become 250, I was thinking a lot about age. And, in an absurdly correlating way as it were, about the flatware and slowly staining plates and bowls that grace the cabinets here in our humble, yet lovely home.

Let me explain.

When I was young, I vaguely recall being somewhat appalled by the stained and very worn cookware found in the home of my grandparents. Why was it so dirty? Could they not clean it better? Did they not care? In those days, little did I understand the meaning and significance of life and the small things that hold major importance and mean so much in the end. And yes, even the significance of the old kitchen accoutrements we use along the way. I’m sure you know the type I mean…

Cook pots discolored and scorched from water mark and flame. Coffee and teacups stained with their avid use. Chips rusting their way through the supposed perennial enamelware. Fry pans and crockpots with grease spots, cooked-on and hardened over time. Discolored Tupperware. Cracked, yet still dependable earthenware vessels of all shapes, sizes and uses. And of course, the scratched and dull flatware in the top drawer - handled repeatedly, in the daily grind of life.

These items, no matter how worn, stay with us. Seem even to become part of us. But why? Rarely, if ever do we see such a commitment to our clothing, automobiles, or even the structure of our houses. All these items we are quick to replace or repair. But for the tools that grace our time in the kitchen, I believe we see more. There are memories in those imperfections. There is history in the stains. I think that I could easily make the argument that if the kitchen is indeed the heart of the home, as I believe it to be, then these very items are essentially the arteries and veins that carry the love and memories throughout the body of our families, hearths, and homes.

It seems silly that a stoneware loaf pan, stained and cracked over the years warms my heart. It clearly though reminds me of the first times Traci made home-made bread, and the delectable smell it produced wafting throughout our tiny two-bedroom apartment when we first began our life together. That memory has stayed with me to this day. It may seem like a bold assertion to claim the same nostalgia for the likes of a dirty cast-iron pan. But when I see it, I recall a brisk spring morning around our home campfire as I fried bacon with two excited and watchful youngsters experiencing fireside cooking for their first time right there by my side.

And many times, when I place a bite of food to my lips, I cannot help but remember sitting with Traci as we meticulously discussed, debated the attributes for and against, and eventually together chose the Oneida flatware set that we still have to this day, “purchased” as it were, with envelopes full of Betty Crocker catalog points.

These and so many more are the conduit for memories we will never forget. And I am sure you have your own. I suppose the average person rarely thinks about their dishes in this way, but as the president of your historical society, as you while away the rest of the cold and dreary winter days inside your home with family and friends, I challenge you to look at things a little differently. Take note of your own history in the small things and bask in the warmth of the memories.

But when you’re done, don’t forget to wash the dishes.

Ryan Bowman

January 3, 2026