Mrs. Whittlesey’s Dough Balls

Mrs. Whittlesey lived by herself at Sunset Beach
She was white-haired and wiry, with a bounce
to her step, full of life and always had a warm
smile for us kids
There were pieces of intricate driftwood and shells
on her window sills and roped, colored glass balls
hanging by her grey weathered door
She must have spent a lot of time
walking the long beach collecting
treasures which she offered to us
as gifts; sea shells, sand dollars
and once even a dried star fish!
But her greatest gift was created in
her little kitchen…
Oh how we young children loved
Mrs. Whittlesey‘s dough balls!
Whenever our family stayed at our
beach house, she would invite us
to come up the hill for tea…and to
come back later for dough balls-
For us a rare treat!
Bread dough rolled into balls,
covered to rise, then deep fried
and served with honey, jam & whipped butter
Now that I’m grown, I realize
Mrs. Whittlesey was not a woman of means
The dough balls were her heartfelt gift
to a farm family who embraced her generosity
with gratitude and enthusiasm
Mrs. Whittlesey, alone, probably welcomed the bursts of
youthful energy and my parents’ friendship
woven into her declining years of peaceful solitude
Among my fond memories of our
Beach pilgrimages will reside in prominence
Dough balls, crunchy on the outside, soft &
chewy on the inside, slathered with butter & jam
at Mrs. Whittlesey’s extended-leaf wood table,
conviviality filling the room…