An unfussy, make-it-by-feel recipe for chilly evenings, sniffly noses, and sharing with someone who could use a warm meal.

Everyone tells you they won't remember their first birthday.

And they're right, of course.

But I will.

Her dad will.

Maybe that's part of what first birthdays are really for.

For me, salads were the first gentle introduction to eating seasonally.

It's something I'm still learning.

I don't have a garden overflowing with vegetables, and I certainly don't have every season memorized. More often than not, you'll find me wandering the produce aisle or stopping at a little roadside stand, filling my basket with whatever looks beautiful that week.

After my second daughter was born, my Aunt Sarah shared this family cobbler recipe with me. It arrived at a time when I was learning, once again, how to care for a newborn while also finding my footing as a mother of two. Looking back, I realize she wasn't simply passing along a dessert—she was offering comfort, encouragement, and a reminder that love is so often shared around the table.