Ice cream has a unique power—the ability to capture the essence of childhood summers, spontaneous celebrations, and the simple joy of sharing something special. For our family, it’s more than just a treat; it’s a way to connect with the past, create new traditions, and savor the present.

When my family moved to the Kent neighborhood in August 2021, our first mission wasn’t unpacking boxes—it was finding the best ice cream shop. It was hot and humid, and with my youngest daughter, Cami, on the way, stocking our freezer with ice cream felt as essential as buying furniture.

A neighbor introduced us to Sarah’s Handmade Ice Cream, a charming, unpretentious shop that immediately felt like home. Sarah’s flavors were familiar yet nostalgic, rich with the kind of warmth that only handmade recipes can provide. One morning, my older daughter, Evie, and I arrived just as Sarah was opening. As we chatted, I mentioned that we were cautiously trying to for make ice cream at home. To my surprise, she shared that she and her daughter, Annie, had started the same way—with a simple Cuisinart mixer. Her encouragement gave me the nudge I needed to finally take my own ice cream maker out of the box and start experimenting.

What began as a fun weekend project quickly turned into a beloved family ritual. We started with the basics—vanilla and chocolate—before venturing into new flavors inspired by our memories. Our kitchen became a hub of creativity, where my daughters, Evie and Cami, helped dream up and mix flavors that told a story.

The soft hum of our mixer, the clatter of measuring cups, and the excited chatter as we debated ingredients became part of our weekly rhythm. Evie, ever precise, carefully measured each addition, while Cami, full of flair, suggested unexpected combinations—cinnamon and cherries, honey and salt, strawberries and soy sauce (we didn’t follow ALL her suggestions). Even when a batch didn’t turn out as expected, we celebrated the attempt, knowing that every scoop was a memory in the making.

And of course, my husband Chris, the official taste tester, played a vital role. Married for 15 years, he’s past the stage of flattery and gives his honest critique—but he never turns down a spoonful.

For me, ice cream is more than a dessert—it’s a portal to the past. I want my daughters to know my childhood, not just through stories, but through flavors that transport them to summers spent at my grandparents’ cabin, the scent of my mom’s blueberry pies, and the first taste of a melting push-pop from the ice cream truck.

Before we mix a new batch, I tell them the stories behind each flavor. “This one,” I say, “tastes like summer nights around the campfire.” Or, “This is what a birthday party felt like when I was your age.”

Then, we bring those stories to life. We reimagine my grandmother’s peach cobbler into a cinnamon-spiced ice cream with streusel peach chunks. We capture the sticky joy of s’mores in a marshmallow-laced frozen delight. And in doing so, we create new flavors that one day, I hope, my daughters will share with their own children.

Mangoes are my favorite fruit – one taste - and I’m transported back to a roadside smoothie stand on the Big Island, sipping my first fresh mango smoothie under the Hawaiian sun - pure, golden sweetness, just like the memories that mangoes will always hold for me.

One Christmas morning, my brother and I woke up to a beautifully arranged gift basket from Santa, brimming with mangoes, papayas, and macadamia nuts, with a note revealing that we’d be taking a family trip to Hawaii. It was that morning that I tasted my first mango, and from that moment, it became my favorite fruit. Over the years, Hawaii remained a special place for my family, from childhood vacations to the moment I found out I was expecting Evie. Now, every time I taste “Golden Glow” ice cream, I’m transported back to those island memories.

Every year on St. Patrick’s Day (as long as we wear green), a mischievous leprechaun visits us, leaving behind tricks and surprises—sometimes including a mysteriously churning ice cream maker! Now, St. Patrick’s Day wouldn’t be complete without this minty, chocolatey delight. This is also a nod to Chris’ favorite flavor – and how I always tell him we are “meant to be”.

We take annual trips to Montana in August and turn fresh huckleberries into treats. Their deep, jammy flavor is unlike anything else, and making this ice cream is our way of preserving those sweet summer moments.

Sarah and Annie’s story sparked something in me, just as I hope our story will one day inspire my daughters. Ice cream, for us, isn’t just about indulgence—it’s about connection, creativity, and love. It’s about taking the past, blending it with the present, and shaping the future—one scoop at a time.

One day, when my daughters have kitchens of their own, I hope they’ll stand with their children, measuring, mixing, and tasting. I hope they’ll tell stories of the flavors we made together. And I hope that, in that moment, they’ll realize that ice cream isn’t just something you eat—it’s something you remember, something you share, and something you pass down.