We lived out in the country, on a small family farm. The nearest grocery store was 10-15 miles away and nearly every house had a garden. My nearest friends lived over a mile away and although I didn't know how far a mile was, nor ten miles, I knew it was too far to walk. Being alone most of my days, I learned how to entertain himself being outside playing in the dirt.
I have gotten too old to play in the dirt like I used to, but even adults find ways to relieve stress playing in dirt. I live a mile away from two fine grocery stores and have not really needed a garden a few steps away to put foord on the table. As a matter of fact, since I became citified and based on the cost of city water, I haven't wanted to mess with a garden. Our neighbor's kids did raise some tomato plants one year to sell, and Keith bought all of them just to humor them. Turned out every plant survived and produced lots of tomatoes. Bad thing was it was a dry year and we dumped a lot of city water on them. It did prove the dirt in the yard could sustain growing things besides weeds, but we never pursued it any further.
Last year, as I sat on the porch all summer between chemo and radiation treatments, I actually thought a lot of those "good ole days" when we planted the family gardens. Not that we cook at home much with our crazy schedules, but I seemed to remember the good things about seeing things grow and the satisfaction that you made it yourself. I watched the garden across the street bloom and grow, and I became a bit nostalgic seeing them pick crops from the vines. Not to mention they posted pictures of fresh dishes they made with ingredients from the yard on Facebook.
Green Acres video
In the Springtime, Dad would plow and disc the little area next to the house in preparation for planting the garden to grow vegetables for the family to eat. Dad would also prepare the land next door at my Grandparent's house where even more vegetables would be grown. After the tractor had prepared the land, I found it was easy to build roads for my toy trucks to travel on. I built many roads and soon learned how to build bridges and overpasses, just like the one's he had seen on family vacations to the mountains and the ocean.
Each day I added to my road system and began building a small town with boards and bricks I found around the farm. You could always find me playing in the dirt. Even when it was raining, I was adding dranage canals and kept the water from flooding my city.
As I got a little older, I was expected to help plant seeds, instead of playing in the dirt. I began to question why we needed so many rows of vegetables when there are stores with these things in cans, you can open up, heat and serve. Mom and my Grandparents always replied because homegrown is better. I now believe that to be true with so many genetically modified this and that, and I sure can't argue that cancer rates were lower or non-existent in my Grand parents time. Even when using real fat meat to season them, they didn't have the same medical issues we have today. Not to mention, their homecooking was the real deal. Fresh is best!
Poles!
Some items around the farm were used once a year and carefully stored for the next season. Things like tobacco sticks were not toys and were carefully counted and stored. But, pea poles, or poles made from small trees about 2-3"in diameter used to harvest peanuts in the fall got double duty in the summer garden. Before mechanical harvesters, peanut vines were dug up by hand and stacked around a pea pole to allow them to dry a little before the peanuts were picked off the vines and looked a little like haystacks in the fields.
About every 10 feet, a hole was dug with a special augur and the pole set in place. A nail was driven about a foot above the row and another about five feet high. A wire was attached to the nails between the poles the full length of the row at the top and bottom. Then a string was woven from the top wire to the bottom wire in a "W" pattern the full length of the row. It really looked like a suspension bridge. As the vines grew, Mom would carefully weave each one on the string so the beans would grow up and hang once they filled out the pods. Several times each week, Mom would go down the row and pick the filled pods into a pan, take them home and shell the beans, wash them and either cook them for the evening meal or prepare them for freezing.
One year, we didn't have enough poles for the seemingly acres of butterbeans Mom had planted, so She decided I could help cut some new poles to finish off the garden while Dad was at work. Out to the woods we go and chop down a suitable tree, with an axe, no less. Neither of us knew how long a bean pole should be, so I lay down next to the pole and Mom marked where to cut off the top, adding a few inches to allow it to be buried in the ground. We repeated that process and finally had enough poles to finish the row. I'm not sure how we did it, but our poles wereeither a good three feet taller than the others, or quite a bit shorter. Our measurements were not exactly consistent from pole to pole, but they did the job. Still, I could never understand why butter beans were so important. I guess Mom would have starved to death if it wasn't for those beans.
Beans, Beans!
Living on a farm does have some advantages and some disadvantes. A garden takes a lot of work to keep up, but it produces fresh food the family can eat all year long. That can be a good thing, or a bad thing. Truth is, as a kid I liked most vegetables from the garden, although I wasn't fond of tomatoes or okra, but everything else was fine with me. It seemed some were the main course, like collards and cabbage, long before we ever heard the term "soul food". Sometimes Mom would combine two vegetables and a favorite combo she called caps and snabbages. Actually, Cabbage with snap beans boiled together. I always giggled at the name, but it sure was good!
Then there were butter beans.
During the summer, these things produce pods every week that must be picked off the vine, shelled and consumed. The excess were blanched and put in bags to be frozen for use during the winter. It was really a vicious cycle for me. Fresh butter beans tonight means leftover butter beans tomorrow for lunch and again at dinner. They never ended, year round, there was a plentiful supply of butter beans on the table in a never ending cycle of beans over and over. Well, like anything, if you over-indulge in something, you grow tired of it and no longer want it. I can tell you, butter beans got tiresome very quickly for me. Very quickly and to the point of no thank you, I've had enough! Suffering sucatash! Even mixed with corn couldn't help them.
Our neighbor Barbara suggested putting catchup on them, and I can say it helped, but why force eat something you're tired of and don't want? They suggested pepper and it did help as well, but still, it's butter beans. What's the point? There's plenty other food on the table, so I won't starve if I forgo the butter beans, so let them stay in the bowl. Does not hurt my feelings to reach over them.
I guess it did hurt Mom's feelings though. She was an excellent cook and took pride in everything she placed on the table, so I'm sure she was a little upset that I didn't like something she prepared. It did become a running joke, even to this day, when there's butter beans on the table, to ask "are you sure you don't want some delicious butter beans?" Yes, I'm sure. Eventually, I got over it and would eat a few, just to make Mom happy, but no more than a small spoonful. Even today, I have ordered them in a restaurant, and make everyone at the table swear they wouldn't tell my Mom I ate butter beans. I will eat them now, but I can assure you I won't be planting any in my garden this year!
That's it for now from the old man on the porch. Leave a comment about your gardening experiences and we'll talk again later!
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