Now as I think back, I would compare those long ago green mountains to the Rockies in Colorado from which I have just returned.
What I’m working on today at my kitchen table here in East Grand Forks is a far cry from what we faced in the kitchen back on the farm. But even a couple little “hills” of this glorious produce from the garden takes me back to days gone by
My late mom, my late sister and I would spend hours picking then shelling peas and snipping beans and blanching. The peas were always sent to the freezer. The beans were canned. Even though we younger ones would perhaps wince as we worked it always was such an enjoyable time. We knew it was a job we all had to help with and the object was to get it done as quickly as possible.
It usually took hours and hours because my mom had a huge garden.
For the past several years I have helped my friend, Marlys, put in her garden. This year I was out of town the weekend she planted but still she tells me, “It’s your garden, too.” Yesterday it was my turn to pick.
I thought I had died and gone to heaven last night as Jim and I sat at the supper table savoring fresh green peas, fresh green beans, zucchini sautéed in olive oil with onions and garlic and a new baked potato. No meat this meal. Sometimes we crave only vegetables.
In my gratefulness journal today I write how thankful I am to have been raised on a farm and to have been taught how to do these things. It’s a gift – from my mom and dad and from God.
When the peas and beans are done today and I’ve completed my daily 20 miles on my yellow Trek Cruiser, I’ll get back to going through more than 100 pictures taken during our trip to Bismarck and Medora, N.D., then on to Wyoming and a condo in Keystone, Colorado — each a magnificent corner of God’s glorious garden.