Amidst the usual bills, health/fitness magazines, and junk mail we receive six days a week (but not on federal holidays!), I noticed one day last week a large safety envelope bearing my name and a Houston-area postmark. Actually, it came addressed to me as "Mrs. X X," pretty much guaranteeing that the sender was a lady "of a certain age." The script suggested a woman's hand, too...though I didn't immediately recognize the return address. Silly me...I'd known the letter was coming, but I blanked immediately upon seeing it. I could blame "Mommy Brain," but this site claims motherhood makes one smarter...so, it musta been just plain forgetfulness on my part, seeing as I'd been alerted by my mom that the contents were "in the mail".
Inside the package I found, from my mother's childhood friend (C.M.), three legal pad pages filled with C.M.'s memories of WWII and post-WWII-era gardens. My mother had told her about my blog during their weekly (sometimes daily) gab fests, and C.M. graciously volunteered to share her family's garden story with me...and you.
And that's how I ended up sitting on a suburban curb at the end of a long, hot day reading not about how I could lose 10 pounds in two weeks...or the exact balance on my Mastercard...but rather about a little bit of American history through the lens of one family's garden.
Since it was meant to be shared, I'm sharing it. It took me a few days to transcribe it, and I trimmed it up a bit...but am so grateful that yet another person has stepped forward to contribute her knowledge/memories of mid-century Texas gardening. And, yes, the "friend" C.M. mentions below is my mother (who shapes this blog and my thinking about its direction far more than I credit her here)..and the "friend's father" is my grandfather, whom I never really know but to whom this blog is dedicated.
C.M. writes:
One year ago, I returned to a small Texas town of approximately ten thousand people, declaring it home!...I marvel at the direction of this path having been reared in similar surroundings. [After a twenty-five year career in social work] I was ready for less or no stress…. I chose an adorable sixty-year old shabby chic cottage for my residence, began my small decorating business and let the games begin.Tomorrow: Wordless Weekend
Coming home one evening I found a large bag of home grown tomatoes. I was overwhelmed by forgotten memories and the influences of gardens of my childhood…It is unclear to me if the garden of my family was considered as “victory” or “survival”! Dad and Mom were “blessed with a four beautiful daughters,” in addition to displaced family and neighbors, who enjoyed eating three or more times a day. Weekend and dinner meals were prepared for at least fifteen people. Food preparation was a major factor, thus the garden and importance thereof.
Annually Dad tilled the large plot if soil and established neat rows ready to be planted. Everyone participated in the process, waiting eagerly for the plants to bloom and produce. As a youngster, accompanied [by] my best friend, the garden was a playground. With my partner in crime, we would check the plants for worms, water levels and picking the daily yield. Typically we grew tomatoes, green beans, bell peppers, cucumbers, new potatoes, okra, leaf lettuce, beets, and green onions.
Once the plants began to grow, [activities like] cleaning and canning began on a daily basis. My mother’s friends, neighbors were invited to join the process, bringing their own produce to increase the yield. A sharing encounter was established with the “split” at the end of each session. Recipes were shared and the women taught each other different canning techniques. They would gossip and tease each other and for many of the women the social aspects were as important as the food preparation…The children would come and we had great fun doing chores...
Corn and cucumbers require more land than most vegetables so acres of them would be planted in the country…There were several large fig tress in the backyard at our home, and the figs were processed making preserves. We did not grow many fruit products. My friend’s father grew strawberries and like everything that he did, it was done with class. I was impressed with the straw “spread” and the delicate, beautiful strawberry patch…
This wonderful man taught us the logistics of the “melon” family. Diamond back, red, yellow, cantaloupe…he iced them in a large tub, covering them with a burlap bag. He would declare them cold, slice and serve. At our home we iced five at a time, due to number of guests. They were cut, eaten and the rinds were taken to the hog pen.
My friend and I, barefoot with a very big stick prowled the railroad track and picked dewberries. The big stick was used to protect us from snakes. This was “against” the house rules, but dewberry cobbler was a big favorite, so many times, if not most of the time, a blind eye was applied.
My mother would purchase several large bushel baskets of Fredericksburg peaches from roadside vendors for canning or frozen for ice cream. This process would include putting the peaches in hot boiling water and slipping the skins off. Did I tell you that the acid from the peaches [stains hands and arms] for several days?
There were never “groceries” purchased at home with the exception of staples, i.e. flour, sugar, salt, pepper, coffee, chocolate. Living on a farm, we butchered beef and raised chickens. Thus I knew nothing about grocery prices.
I have canvassed my new community friends and find that the beat goes on! They continue to can and pickle and make sausage—time stands still. They continue to teach the next generations the value of food processing…[their finished products] are still judged at the county fair.
Next week: A bit about my summer vacation....no, gardening is not a "quick and easy solution"...and more...
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