I have been privileged to enjoy some of the finer things in life. Just this past Sunday I enjoyed a Sunday dinner (lunch) of Peaches and Cream corn-on-the-cob, fresh green beans (Romas), a home-grown tomato of the Pink Girl variety along with a slice of purple onion. It doesn’t get any better than that.
It took me back to the days of my boyhood when we lived out of the garden in the summertime. When each vegetable came “in” we dove in. Green onions came first, then the first corn, squash, and cucumbers. Green peas, green beans, okra, cabbage, and all the others soon followed. On the 4th of July, we dug potatoes. It was an event!
I came to appreciate the value of a garden, and its importance to the livelihood of a small farming operation. We always ate well. My mother used to say living on a farm where you raised most of your food almost made you recession proof.
When my brothers and I were going to school, we started the day with a bowl of oatmeal or a bowl of white rice. My mother said, “it would stick to your ribs.” It was years later when I realized she fed us breakfast for pennies-a-day.
Sunday dinner was always the same – fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, and green peas (Minnesota Valley was her favorite brand.) In our big family everyone got one piece of chicken – no more, no less. Which reminds me of a gravestone I once saw at the Haunted Mansion at Disney World.
Beneath this stone lies Les Moore.
Took three slugs from a Forty-four.
No Les, No Moore.
But I digress.
My father loved the land. It seemed it seeped into his pores. He understood the rhythm of the seasons, and how seed and the soil responded to proper care. You might say he was in tune with nature. He taught by example, and never appeared to be in a hurry. I am one of those fortunate sons who can say my father was the best man I have ever known. It was a fine thing to be called his son.
My mother was a teacher in every sense of the word. She was not a teacher by profession, although she did teach at Riddleton School shortly after graduating from high school. She taught her sons and daughter proper use of the mother language from morning to night. Our home became her classroom. She was best at teaching in the school of life. Her words of wisdom echo across the years.
“Son,” she would say, “every situation can make you or break you.”
“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good.”
“The answer to every problem can be found in the Bible.”
“A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches.”
“Bread cast on the water will return after many days.”
“Moderation in all things.”
“Be not weary in well doing, for in due season you will reap if you faint not.”
She taught her children to think for themselves – the deeper thoughts. She imparted to us a gift that has kept on giving – another of the finer things in life.
We worked hard on those 67 acres. We came to know how bone-tired was rewarded by a good night’s sleep. How to face the next day - rain or shine, hot or cold, rested or still tired – without complaint. And how to come to the end of the day with a grateful heart - in my father’s words, “thankful for our many blessings.” It was a fine way to live.
Copyright 2023 by Jack McCall
