Here are the winners of our first ever story writing contest!

We were bowled over by your creativity!

First Prize Winner: A Bowl of Love by Gilles Chiasson

To attempt to describe what is beyond words,
Is to share in what I keep all to myself.
She is firm, round, sturdy, comforting, and waits for me alone.
Delicate, subtle, textured, colourful, I come back for her alone.
A smooth rim, well balanced, so essential to my daily life, and makes my house a home
She is my Mother and the earth my Father roams.
For everything that is gathered she will deliver all that can be done.
From the sum of my provisions on the table of my heart and soul,
Will be dosed portions of flavour and delight simmered lovingly together.
Until the repast is ready I will set her aside in a place of honour.
While rations are nurtured, waiting patiently, a spoon longingly wishes to dip into the savoury dish.
Scooping up the fodder of my everyday essence, nourishing me profoundly.
Like an eternal cornucopia of the whole that is warm, safe, and tasty.
I rub her gently, feeling the tepid curves of her delicious form.
Radiating a love for my spirit to be filled with.
Only gently surrendering her to be properly purified.
Together we can do no wrong.
The moments we dole out are like dollops of whipped cream over pumpkin soup.
Sloppy mouthfuls of Pasta Poculum or homemade recipes from the Hearth of Ages!
We dance, spiralling into the culinary bliss of our innate harmony.
However tomorrow, she will wait around until I hunger for her again.
Can this describe love? If not, what else can it be?

Second Prize Winner: The Tale of a Woman, a Bowl and a Dream by Susan Delia Carpenter

I have always been fascinated with all manner of bowls. I also have been baking bread since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Whenever people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd say without hesitation, 'A professional bread baker.’

Life continued apace and I grew up. I followed many paths in life, but none which led me to my childhood destination. Yet, no matter what endeavour I pursued, I still baked bread.

Five years ago, I saw it: The Bowl. I fell in love. Alas, it was a designer bowl, completely out of my budget. But, that didn't stop me from dreaming, and saying, 'Someday...'

Six months later, after going back time and again to look at it, I purchased the bowl.

For a long time, I didn't use it. It was too beautiful. I wanted to save it ' for a special occasion.' Then, it struck me - everyday is a special occasion. Dreams are wondrous all in themselves; but time to make bread artistry was at that moment, NOW.

I am now a passionate professional baker of artisan breads, to my great joy. I use my favourite egg-shaped turquoise bowl every day. It's everything I had hoped for…and more. In my enjoyment, I have learned a valuable life lesson:

Loving something (or someone) means frequent, meaningful interaction. Putting it on a shelf, admiring it from afar is like not having it at all.

Third Prize Winner: Pretty in Pink by Stephanie Zinner

My Mom bought me a bowl when I was eleven. It was pink. I hated pink when I was eleven. We had a Lazy Suzy on the bottom shelf of the cupboard, so every time it was my turn to set the table, I would see it go around when I fished out the plates we needed for dinner. I never used it.

Years later, when I was mo ving out on my own and packing up my things, my Mom put the pink bowl on the kitchen table. It sat there all afternoon. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I wrapped it up in paper and put in a box.

It made its way onto the cupboard shelf in my new home. And yet, I still didn’t use it.

My moving out was tough on Mom. We fell into the habit of speaking on the phone every day, right after dinner. We’d catch up… on all the ordinary things of the day. She missed me. And despite being completely in love with my newfound freedom, I missed her. One day, I used the bowl for my morning cereal. Turned out it was the perfect size. And, for soup. And for salad. And for ice cream.

The first time my parents came over to my home for dinner, I served my mom dessert, strawberries and cantaloupe…in the pink bowl. We cried. It was a ‘moment’ and I guess you had to be there.

I’m still not a fan of the colour pink… but I now and will forever love my pink bowl.