I was thinking of how spring used to be when I was a kid. The garden would be plowed and disked by now, and the potato sections with the eyes facing up would go into the musky smelling soil under the last new moon of March, which this year will be on this coming Thursday. Planting the garden was usually a family affair, with Mom (my grandmother), my mother and her two brothers pitching in for the hardest parts; Mom would do the later sowing herself. She began her morning at 3:30 by kindling a wood fire in the cook stove and making breakfast, usually sawmill gravy, fried eggs from the hen house, home cured bacon or canned sausage, biscuits, and coffee so strong that afternoon naps were out of the question. By first light on every day but Sunday and when it wasn't raining, she would be in the garden, sowing seed or hoeing hated weeds. By 10:00am, she would be back in the kitchen and preparing dinner (lunch for you non-country folks).
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My uncle Roy would go into the neighboring fields that had been plowed in late autumn searching for creasy greens (field cress). They were the only greens I would eat as a child because they were not the least bit bitter. They were boiled with a piece of fat back, and most folks ate them with apple cider vinegar, although I preferred them straight up. I now buy canned ones in the store and they are still my favorite with corn bread.
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The greatest pleasure of spring was going into the woods in early April and hunting morel (mo·rel') mushrooms. I will correct myself; the greatest pleasure was eating morel mushrooms. They were plentiful before subdivisions and other urban trappings took the land, and morels can still be found if one is able to do a little walking over the hills. They were always sliced, washed, and soaked in salt water overnight, then rolled in flour or cornmeal, or a combination of both, lightly salted and peppered to taste, and fried in an iron skillet. Fried morels are the best food that exists on this earth!
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I can think of no better life or way to get an education than being a boy living far out in the countryside during that era; no phones, no tv, no computers; just life.
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2 comments:
Beautiful memories.
I do not understand some words, but I feel aura; nice, nostalgic aura of this narration.
And the conclusion is clear for me.:-))
H Jola,
I tend to use words that I grew up with when reminiscing. It was a good life, my friend. :-)))
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