As a young girl, I loved walking down my street to the little "épicerie" where we could buy almost any food item we needed. Jeanne and Jules ran it. Jules was a short man with an elongated face, teeth that reminded me of a mouse, and watery blue eyes. He often had a kerchief wrapped around his neck and a beret on his head along with the gray apron that meant he was at work. Jeanne was more rounded with glasses and a mole on the chin. They worked side by side, using grabbers to reach the highest cans on the shelves, or a step stool as needed.

Along with the dry goods, they had a large refrigerated case which also served as their counter. That's where the cheeses were kept. My favorite was and still is Gruyère. My mother would often send me to get some if she was making a white sauce for macaronis or glorified cauliflower. I would walk home with it, hoping that I would be able to sneak a little piece when it got grated. Some day, I thought, I will have to try making cheese.

Over the years I checked cheesemaking books out of the library, visited cheese shops, asked my husband if he would be willing, when the time came, to make cheese molds. I gathered information but never had the time...until now. So today, I am trying my hand at making Camembert, that typical French cheese that so many rave about.

If you can't tell, I am excited. I can now use some of the language of cheesemakers like curds and whey, cultures, molds, and more. I know that a first attempt might not be successful. But that is the beauty of life: trying again and again so I can get it right someday.

The milk has turned to curds and whey. And now the real cheese making begins. Patience and hope, also good things to have living this life. Faith that it might happen. Enough passion to keep going if it doesn't. I will let you know in a couple of months what more I have learned about making cheese and living life.