My Aunt Ingrid had a justifiable reputation of being a great cook.  She was the best kind of cook, one who cooked for the pure love of food and the rituals that surround the preparation.  Most inevitably these rituals of food revolved around family and family gatherings.

For many years the Oetter family and the Rosberg family would participate in a one to two week shared vacation each summer.  When I say vacation, I am describing a motor caravan of a journey, through the highways and byways of British Columbia and Washington state.

As an aside, these are my childhood memories, so they are full of joy, excitement, and carefree.  As for the adults involved; my parents, and Aunt Ingrid and Uncle Joe, I can only imagine how much effort it was to drag a gaggle of blonde ragamuffins, hither and yonder, camping in a pair of tent trailers, cooking over gas stoves, showering when available, periodic laundry at some small town laundromat, all boxed into a big red pickup, or the infamous powder blue Volkswagen van.  As a grown adult now, I can safely say that I would be not up to the task.

We travelled together as one group, but cooking was split into two camps (in this case this metaphor is in fact a reality).  The Oetters ate their meals over there, and the Rosbergs ate their meals over here.  The food was typical camping fare – easy prep, and don’t dirty too many dishes.  Chili, hamburgers, spaghetti, stews, all variety of fried meat, and of course fish when we were lucky enough to catch it.  But I tell you, the Oetter’s food seemed just a little more special.  Their pancakes were fluffier, their stews were chunkier, and their spaghetti and meatballs were gourmet (to this eight year old, at least).

A few times during the trips, a group meal was prepared and the families ate together. One of these meals is the setting that I remember the cooking experiment that has become legendary – at least to me.

I don’t know whose idea it was, but because Aunt Ingrid was completely in charge of the preparation, I think she was the initiator (instigator?) of this.  So, out in the semi-wilds of B.C., I believe the exact site was Eagan Lake, although I could be mistaken, for many campsites look the same, this particular family meal was going to be a roast turkey dinner.

Turkey is not the easiest thing to roast on a camp stove with a frying pan, but there was a plan.  It was to be cooked in a large covered roast pan over the camp fire.  This project would be a doomed failure if one merely placed it over the fire, for the bottom of the bird would be fried to a burnt crisp, leaving the rest of the carcass to stew into varying degrees of rawness. 

For Aunt Ingrid, this was not a possible outcome. Being the youngest daughter of Swedish immigrants, raised in the wilds of the Monashee mountains, taught from the earliest age to not only be self sufficient, but to be inventive when the tools available were limited.  The plan was hatched in this environment and would be a test for the most seasoned of cooks.  This was epic!  …Okay, I may be overstating a bit, but it was a pretty impressive idea to my childhood self.

This really was an all day campaign.  First the rocks had to be heated.  A selection of round river stones were chosen - not too big and not too small.  The fire was started in the morning, and judiciously monitored all day to ensure a roaring hot fire continued unabated.  I believe my cousin Kris took command of this operation, but Andy, Britt, and I took our turns poking the flames with sticks.  I think Heidi, being the oldest cousin, was above all this, and didn’t spend too much time fanning the flames, and was likely delegated to other duties – peeling potatoes?

When it was all ready, the dusty looking hot rocks were wrapped in tinfoil and placed in and around the bird, and put aside to roast.  I think this period lasted many hours, but I am not too sure, for I went back to poking the fire the rest of the afternoon.

When dinner came, there it was, a roasted turkey, with vegetables, and all the fixings.  I think there was even gravy.  It was possibly the best turkey dinner that I ever had.

These are the happy recollections of a childhood.  Who knows, there is likely more to the story.  Was the fowl truly cooked?  Was it a turkey, or was it a chicken?  Was there gravy?  Did we have hamburgers for dinner?

All that I know is that my Aunt Ingrid was an incredibly interesting and imaginative person, who didn’t shy away from a challenge, and was possibly one of the most intelligent and creative persons I have known and may ever know.  She was for me, and will always be, an inspiration how to do things, through perseverance, determination, preparation, and the kindness and caring of family.

Thank you Aunt Ingrid.  And thank you to the Oetter family for all the wonderful memories.

My deepest sympathies,

Wayne Olaf Rosberg