Straight To Broccoli Soup Recipe

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We moved into our beautiful new home at a terrible time of the year. David was one and a half years old and his baby sister, Janette, was three months old. Just handling those two babies was enough work for me without having to unpack box after box and, to top everything off, it was two weeks before Christmas.

I remember nothing about that Christmas. It was so hectic that everything was a blur. I do remember, however, early in January looking out the kitchen window and seeing an older lady playing in the snow with a little boy on our quiet cul-de-sac.

"Great!" I thought. "A friend for David!"

After bundling up David and Janette in their snowsuits, we went outside. I introduced myself and the lady told me, in a thick British accent, that her name was Elizabeth Rowe.

"And this is the young lad I babysit; Ben," she added.

I introduced my children and David began shoveling snow alongside his new friend while I held Janette and chatted with my new neighbor. I was thrilled to discover that she had four teenage girls of her own. It would prove to be a good thing to have a few babysitters nearby and even better to have Mrs. Rowe's invaluable experience of raising a large family.

Over the next three years, my husband and I added two more babies to that house on the cul-de-sac. Each time I returned from the hospital with my new bundle of joy, Mrs. Rowe would show up on my doorstep with baked goods and a darling baby outfit. She was always there for me, in particular when Craig, baby number 3, was old enough to be running in the backyard and suffered an allergic reaction to a bee-sting. There was no time to wait for my husband to rush home from work so I had to ask Mrs. Rowe to bring Ben over to my house and watch the rest of my kids so I could rush Craig to the hospital. We were there for a few hours before Craig's swollen face returned to normal, but Mrs. Rowe didn't complain. She was glad to help out.

I often thought everyone should have a neighbor like Mrs. Rowe. She always had a smile and never lost her patience. We would often take the kids to the park together or visit with each other on our back decks.

After walking back from the park one sunny afternoon, Mrs. Rowe said she was going home to make broccoli soup. Knowing Ben's mom worked late and didn't pick him up until after dinner, I asked what Ben was going to eat.

"He'll eat broccoli soup with the rest of us," she answered with her beautiful smile. "Actually, he loves it and often asks me to make it."

Intrigued that a six-year-old boy would have anything to do with a broccoli product, I asked for her recipe. Mrs. Rowe's Broccoli Soup was simple, quick and, most importantly, David the Vegetable-Hater loved it. He's now thirteen and I still make it quite often. And even though we've moved one thousand miles away from that house on the cul-de-sac, every time I peel the broccoli stalks I think of my dear neighbor who helped me through the terrible twos, threes, fours, of my four children as well as many other life events.

Mrs. Rowe's Broccoli Soup Recipe:

2 potatoes

2 large heads of broccoli

1 can 1% evaporated milk

2 beef bouillon cubes

dash of Worcestershire sauce

garlic powder, salt, pepper to taste