The Pebble: A Love Story

I invited myself over to Liz’s house the day our podcast episode came out. She was excited and nervous and so was I, so we thought we’d be excited and nervous together. 

I found her at the Aga, stirring Irish oatmeal. It was my request. I loved the way Liz had described serving it her guests in the episode - steel cut oats stirred for a long time before the guests came down, then sprinkled with brown sugar and brûléed under the grill in the top left corner of the Aga just before it was time to serve. The Pebble is closed right now, so it would just be the two of us in the kitchen, with lots of time to stir and chat. 

We ate at the end of the kitchen table with a hot bowl of oatmeal between the two of us, still bubbling from the grill. Liz placed a bowl of stewed prunes beside the oatmeal, a jug of cream and a dish of apple chips. I had never been served oatmeal family style before - from a big bowl left on the table, there when you’d like another scoop. My oatmeal experiences are usually the dregs from the pot after boys have worked their way through. This was special, nurturing and plentiful.

I had to cut many stories in the making of the episode with Liz. The time that Liz ran the New York Marathon as a tribute to her parents who had once lived in Manhattan, and in the midst of the race she looked up and realized she was running past the apartment where they had lived. There they were, she said, cheering her on. Or the fact that Liz didn’t start running until she was in her forties. This was around the same time she got her driver's license. Or the beauty of her laundry room with the rotary steam roller that presses her pillow cases and flat sheets into perfect folds, or the ceramics made by our friend Heather Waugh Pitts that are displayed throughout the house, telling the story of craft in this place where we live. And, the friendship Liz has with my parents. They’re the reason I know Liz in the first place. In the interest of time, these stories were left on the cutting room floor - the killed darlings, as Willian Faulkner once said. 

We made up for it by recounting stories in person, over oatmeal. Liz is straightforward. She leans over to touch my arm when she’s talking, as if touch is a comma or an explanation point. I am so comfortable here, at this table, eating this warming food topped with the sweet softness of prunes. 

Below is a darling that can’t be killed - the story of how The Pebble got its name. Click to listen, or read on below.

“David was my first boyfriend. He asked me to go down the river on this one occasion. We had just started dating, and I was very nervous around this fella, 'cause he was the most handsome boy in Listowel. We went down the river, the river Fearle, and he went in swimming and he asked me to go in and I said, oh, no, I'm too tired.

Where the truth of the matter is, I was terrified of water and I still am, but I didn't want to tell him. I still remember him coming out of the water and he bent down and he picked up this pebble and he brought it over to me and explained rock formation, right? And I'm thinking to myself, this fellow is not going to be going out with me for very long because I can't talk about rock formation, right? So, but I brought the pebble home and I put it in my drawer, and we went out together for a few years and we got engaged. And then I actually started to panic because there was no divorce in Ireland. And I always remember my mother saying that whatever trouble was was falling around you, nothing was worse than a bad marriage. So that was nothing worse than a, so you could get over everything, but it was this bad marriage you were done for if you had it.

And I thought, oh, Jesus, knowing my luck, this is, this is what's gonna happen, right? So I can't go there. So, so we actually became disengaged and that's when within about six months I'd say David came to Canada. He immigrated and I carried on running the pub. And, um, about two years later, he came home and, uh, he came home on holiday and I was running the bar. And I, my sister was doing bed and breakfast for me upstairs in the bar because I was doing both. And, um, the next thing, I was upstairs with my sister and Justine, who was helping me, called up. She said, Liz, David O’Carrol is in the bar, he wants to see you. So down I come, and he says, will you come for a walk? He says, I'm home on holiday. I arrived last night. So we went down the river feel, and he said to me, are you ready now? He said, you don't have to answer me, but are you ready now?

And so I came to Canada this day, 38 years ago, December 15th, 38 years ago, I arrived in Canada into Calgary. I was wearing a winter white dress. I'll never forget it. And I still remember my first impressions of Canada. But anyway, that first year, so I brought all my things with me. And in those intervening years, I would sometimes look at that pebble and I would think, you should, I need to get rid of that. But I never put my hand in to get rid of it. So when I was coming, I brought the pebble and I said to David, that first year, do you ever remember giving me that pebble? And he said, I remember it clearly. So that Christmas, I opened up my Christmas gift the next Christmas, and there was my pebble. He had taken it to a jeweller called the Goldsmith in Calgary. And in goes this Irish fella, to see a jeweller who was used to dealing with diamonds and emeralds. What do you think you can do with that? So they turned it into this beautiful pendant.

And where I come from in Ireland, Lindsay, there's a proliferation of writers. And 52 years ago, there was a group of these writers and they got together and they started this literary festival called Listowel Writer's Week. And it's international, and it's a great weekend, long weekend in Listowel of Mirth and merriment. But Brian McMahon, who came from Church Street also, and he was a mentor of mine, he heard about this incident and he took that incident and he wrote a short story called The Pebble. And when I was looking for a name for my bed and breakfast, actually the house was called Shore Acres at the time. And kind of Shore Acres conjured up images of verandas and rocking chairs to me. And I thought, Jesus, this is not the impression I'm wanna give. And it was your dad who said to me, but Liz, there's only the one name. And I said, what is it? And he said, well, Liz, he says, it's gotta be the pebble. That's your story. And you know what? I took it. I didn't love it at the time, but I, but I respected your dad enough to think it's gotta be okay. But as the years have gone by, I have grown to love that name so much. And I'm so grateful to your dad for that moment of genius. And I also have felt this last 25 years, Brian McMahon from Church Street, Listowel, who was, who was hugely regarded novelist and playwright. And, um, a short story writer has blessed me and is in this house with me. So that's why it's called the Pebble.”

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The Pebble’s Brûléed Irish Oatmeal with Apple Chips and Stewed Prunes

Serves 6 people

In a large pot combine 3 cups whole milk and 3.5 cups cold water and bring to a simmer. Stir in 1.5 cups steel cut oats (oats from a tin are the freshest) and stir slowly while visiting with a friend in the kitchen or listening to a really good podcast or audio book (BTW, I finished Demon Copperhead and LOVED IT - press on if you were on the fence like I was). In 40-50 minutes¹, when the grains are chewy and creamy, add a good splash of cream while you’re stirring. Liz says she “might add more than someone else.” At this point, mash 1-2 bananas really well with a fork and add them to the oatmeal to sweeten the mix.

Preheat the grill (I call it the broiler) to medium.

Spoon the finished oatmeal into an ovenproof casserole, sprinkle with brown sugar and slide under the heat until the sugar begins to bubble. Serve oatmeal with apple chips, stewed prunes and more cream.

1. Liz does the bulk of this stirring early in the morning before the guests come down, then finishes the oatmeal when ready to serve.