Hopefully in a day or two, I will get a little turnip patch in. Here is what I wrote a few years back about my turnip patch.
I also have a tiny turnip patch. It's a tradition with me. I remember going to visit Grandpa and Granny on Sunday afternoons. I always liked to hang around the menfolk - their stories seemed more interesting. In the fall Daddy and Grandpa would walk out to the turnip patch and each peel a turnip with his pocketknife. Daddy would peel one for each youngun that wanted one. That was so good! So after being cooped up in an apartment in Raleigh for 10 years, the first thing I wanted to do when we bought this house in '94 was dig in my own dirt. I remember digging up some blueberry plants from Mom's to transplant here, and Mom explaining to Caleb who was just a toddler, "Your Mama's got her a little piece of dirt to dig in now." The implication was that my excitement was to be overlooked or perhaps even indulged because we all knew it couldn't be helped. Daddy drove the 2 hours and 20 minutes to come help me put in my first turnip patch. So I've put in a turnip patch every year since then. As a matter of fact, I had been out changing the oil in my tiller on 9/11/01 in preparation for putting in my turnip patch when a friend called to tell me about the bombings. My immediate preparations for the unknown included putting gas in the car, putting some drinking water aside, and buying chocolate (who knew if the borders would be closed!), but within a day or so I got that little Victory Garden turnip patch in. So now every year when I put that turnip patch in, in my mind I call it my Victory Garden turnip patch. I try to eat some greens from it, but the big deal is eating a raw turnip now and then and reminiscing about the good ole days.