MUSINGS
By Regena Handy
A new jar of Duke’s mayo is waiting in the pantry. At the top of the shopping list is a fresh loaf of bread. The salt and pepper shakers are full.
Yes, it is that time of year. I can hardly wait. Tomato sandwich season is finally here.
Truly I could live off of these delicious red fruits. And most summers, I do so. Before our own vines yield up their harvest, I begin to haunt the local farmers’ markets for that first ripe, home-grown tomato.
Though the majority of folks may, for various reasons, prefer fresh vegetables straight from the garden, they would likely agree that the planting of such these days is actually not a necessity. After all, for the most part we are a fortunate people who live only a short distance from fully stocked grocery stores, where almost any food item we need or want is available. A convenience unknown by our early ancestors, for whom the constant provision of edibles was not an option but by necessity a full time job—the line between surviving and dying.
Summer harvesting always brings back memories of my grandmother’s cellar, mason jars lining the shelves, their bounty the symbol of a prosperous yield and the promise of an abundant winter. Or those hot days of helping my mother can vegetables. After a trip to the garden in the early morning, we would sit under the backyard maple trees and prepare our gathering. One of my main jobs was to wash the cans because my hands were small enough to slide inside for a good scrubbing.
In order to keep from overheating the house, my mother canned outside over an open fire, using a large galvanized tub. If I close my eyes, I can clearly see her bending over the tub, gently placing each jar in the bath water, sliding pieces of cardboard between to protect them from bumping together in the bubbling steam.
At the end of the day, I recall her pride in our efforts, her remarks on the beauty of the jars lining the pantry. Back then it simply seemed like a lot of work to me, but as an adult, I well understand her feelings. There are few more fulfilling moments than admiring the results of produce prepared from one’s own garden.
Here at our house, my husband is the gardener. I mainly assist with the harvest. I commented to him recently that from a fiscal sense, we would be better off buying from local farmers than putting in a garden ourselves. After all, the costs associated with purchasing and maintaining a farm tractor for plowing and a tiller for keeping the weeds under control far outweigh the financial benefits of raising our own crops. That doesn’t include the purchase of seeds or nursery stock to start early growth.
His simple reply summed up how many of us feel about vegetable farming.
“But I enjoy it.”
What better reason to grow your own garden, I am thinking to myself, as I admire its growth from our kitchen window. Oh, happy day! I think I see a ripe tomato hanging on the vine.
