It was enormous.
The lid stuck every time you opened it, and the motor hummed so loudly you could sometimes hear it from upstairs.
Dad had originally bought it for venison.
After he died, Mom filled it with soup instead.
That Sunday, she glanced at me and said,
“I’m filling it before winter. That way everybody will have enough.”
I laughed.
“Mom, I live two hours away. I’m not driving all the way to Altoona for frozen soup.”
“You’ll come,” she said.
Then she stirred the pot again.
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