CCFB News» January 2026

Field meals deliver their own form of heroism, and Mom saves the day. She dishes out the seasonal suppers spring and fall with guidance from her sidekicks – women past and present who submitted their kitchen’s best recipes to a church cookbook. Leah’s fiesta bake, Marie’s orange salad, Debra’s pizza casserole and Ann’s marble squares have fueled our field crew for years.

Out here in farm country, the names of past landowners often carry forward, becoming part of the land’s identity long after ownership has changed. For instance, the “Lievens Back Bottom,” which my parents have owned half my life, was previously tended by the late Mr. and Mrs. Lievens. I’ll spare you 50 more examples. My point: the same goes for good, home-cooked food.

Thanks to small-town recipe books, home cooks earned their own version of legacy status without needing acreage on a balance sheet. Instead, they claimed a kitchen, embraced a passion and created recipes or refined family ones in 9×13 batches that fed and delighted the local masses.

Long before Google became a verb, churches published cookbooks filled with personal recipe submissions, each tied to a name. No digital versions exist of these limited-edition paper relics. There are no pictures. No reviews. Each recipe stands solely on the credibility of the cook who submitted it as a time-tested family favorite – and that alone serves as a built-in 5-star rating.

I have proof with Lorraine’s broccoli soup, Pam’s pizza crust, Lou’s cool cucumber pasta and Mary’s Thanksgiving dressing. Mom and I made 12 batches of Kathy’s hash brown au gratin for a farm wedding. I adore Susan’s corn casserole and chuck wagon baked beans. And Grandma’s published recipe for frosted banana bars is better than bread. It freezes well, too.

The book entries tell stories. Ingredients like strawberries, zucchini, rhubarb and blackberries signal home gardeners and wild blackberry pickers who love to cook. The salad section proves that Jell-O and Cool Whip absolutely qualify as salads by Midwestern standards.

I own hundreds of pages of local recipes in five cookbooks. Mom has a dozen. Grandma’s stash fills a cabinet, and my aunt collects them. The recipes are worth repeating, the novelty worth preserving and the pages a testament to the women who – in their quiet heroism – fed a community. And still do.

About the author: Joanie Stiers farms with her parents and brother in Knox County, where they grow corn, soybeans and hay, raise beef cattle and operate side businesses related to the family operation.