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.
Gotta like this entry for a couple reasons.
ReplyDeleteI truly admire the idea of the Victory Gardens, I remember them. I wish I had been more observant of mama's gardens. Dad would always do the prep of the land leaving the rest to mama, she had a GREEN THUMB.
No matter the church dad pastored he would find a place to raise a hog, and mama would find a place for her garden. They started life together as farmers.
Once in Missouri I called mama, to tell her my turnips looked like carrots and they were bitter (It was July). Then as instructing a 5yr old she explained the spring and fall CROPS. TURNIPS WERE FALL! And about 'thinning'. That long distance call 'costed' a little more than normal. hahaha.