Thursday, September 8, 2011
My grandparents had a few gardens but the one I remember most spread alongside the farmhouse. Being a kid I can't remember who cleared and worked the field in early spring or who planted the field later on but I do remember sitting with my cousin amongst the rows of carrots in that field-and eating as many of them as we could. I have no clue how long we sat there or how many times we sat there. Nothing like that mattered. I just knew every time we did sit in the carrot patch, great fun and a delicious meal were seconds away. If we pulled on a carrot and the top broke lose leaving the carrot in the ground, we'd dig deep into the soil all around it with our fingers and patiently free that carrot for our quick consumption.
There were no hoses to clean the vegetables off back then but even if there had been we wouldn't have taken time to use them. You see, we firmly believed a fresh, vibrant carrot coming out from the soil was about the best tasting experience to be had when young and carefree. Oh we cleaned the dirt off them. We probably wiped them on our shirt or pants but that was it. We sat there in the shade of tall poplar trees and had our own private carrot picnics.
This went on throughout the summer-right up to when the long shadows of Autumn interrupted our parade; straight through the harshness of winter and piles of snow; straight through to the following spring when someone would clear and work the field and someone would plant carrots, squash, corn, beans, beets, onions and so much more-and two little cousins would once again sit in that garden in the summer breeze and eat those carrots right out of the ground!