“You can help me with the ladle,” I said, handing her a shiny silver spoon from the drawer.

I wrapped my hand around her little fingers and guided the ladle deep into the sweet blueberry batter.

Together we lifted a full scoop and poured it carefully into the warm cast-iron skillet sitting over the low flame.

The batter sizzled gently as it spread into a smooth, round circle on the dark iron.

“Look at the tiny bubbles coming up in the middle,” Emma whispered, watching the top rise.

“That means the bottom’s brown and ready to flip,” I told her, setting the wooden spoon down on a dish.