The Sandpoint Eater Sweet Baby James

ish. My mother was completely unharmed.

Though Irma survived and lived well into her 80s, she never overcame losing her firstborn.

My mother repeated the story of the fire and Uncle Jimmy so often that, as a child, I knew it by heart. Gram often shared her sorrow in leaving Baby James behind in the cemetery in Twin Falls. Aside from her memory, there was but one physical reminder of Jimmy: a blurry image, enlarged and colorized, which was always present in Gram’s bedroom until she passed (it now hangs in mine).

About 20 years ago, I flew to Boise and rented a car to continue to Twin Falls for a tourism conference. I settled into the car and fiddled long enough with the radio to find a mediocre station. I continued south, admiring herds of black-and-white milk cows grazing placidly in fields of tall, green grass, and all but missed a highway sign announcing the exit for Jerome. I barely had time to make the turn off the highway.

Jerome — the original headquarters of Tupperware — was a sleepy, timeless little town. I wandered the streets, ate great Mexican food and found the small local museum. With the help of a dedicated volunteer who searched the archives, I could read the actual articles about the fire. Newspapers were filled with sensationalism in those days, and the stories were horrific.

That evening, I missed the conference’s welcome reception in Twin Falls and barely made it to any of the following sessions. But I found the grave of our sweet little Jimmy. That day, I promised both of us that I would reunite him with his mother and three siblings — all buried at Resurrection Cemetery in Helena, Mont. And, 20 years later, he’s resting alongside them.

It took longer than I anticipated. There was a lot of legal paperwork, expense, and coordination to have him disinterred and reinterred. I had a few false starts, but with the help of a cousin and my sisters, we got it done. My grandson Alden and I made it to Twin Falls in June to finalize the disinterment.

Last week, we gathered to reunite Jimmy with his waiting mother. Grandchildren-now-par- ents, siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews were there to celebrate Jimmy’s homecoming. We were reminded how much family matters.

During our week in Helena, my baking partner — granddaughter Miley — was presented with her great-great-grandmother Irma’s favorite cookbook. Irma loved to cook (like me), and she loved any excuse for a good party and celebration.

She would have been exceptionally pleased with the gathering of her clan, and the chocolate torte I often bake for special occasions. I hope it will be worthy of your celebrations, too.