Back in the day of little country roads, the roadsides were left to Mother Nature to maintain. No one bothered to mow them neatly or spray them for weeds. Consequently, they were perfect for my favorite spring time chore. Asparagus hunting!
My father spent a good bit of time riding up and down country roads as he delivered furniture around the county. As he wandered he would keep an eye out for the tall, ferny fronds of asparagus. This asparagus was abundantly planted by the birds that ate the bright, red berries from the fern in the fall. They then deposited the seeds (complete with fertilizer!) as they sat in bushes or fences up and down the roads. Over time these seeds sprouted and matured into healthy asparagus beds in the area between the roads and fields that was left unplowed or mowed. The plants sprouted early in the spring and if left unpicked would grow all summer into tall, delicately ferny fronds. At this stage they are easily spotted from a moving vehicle. My father would then take careful note of the size of the stands and the location for the next spring's hunt.
Sometime in late April or early May, Daddy would arrive home from work and announce that it was time to go asparagus hunting!
Off we would go driving to the first of his "special" spots. Parking on the side of the road, Daddy and I would jump out and begin the "hunt". This involved looking for last years dead stalks or scanning the roadsides for the slender green stalks just sprouting out of the ground. The best was to find a stand of dead stalks because that indicated a well established patch that would yield several fat (or skinny) stalks of fresh asparagus. We would kick away last years dead growth and run our fingers as far down the short, fat stalks as we could to get to the tender, white bottoms. The skinny stalks were bent until they naturally broke at the tender point. The really tall, tough stalks were broken off to make the roots keep sending up new shoots.
If we were lucky we could talk my older sister into coming along. She wouldn't get out of the car for love or money...too many wiggly, creeping things out there for her! However, she would read a book until we whistled, then move the car on down the road as we wandered and hunted.
Our "hunts" would yield enough fresh asparagus to feed us happily until the season ended. We would feast like kings on asparagus with hollandaise sauce, asparagus casseroles, or asparagus with lemon butter or cheese.
Our roadside ramblings did cause a few raised eyebrows and some interesting situations. Not everyone quite understood our obsession or that we would eat weeds from the ditches. (Although, having raised domestic asparagus in my garden for years, I can assure you that our roadside asparagus was exactly like my home grown!)
On one such occasion a local lady approached daddy on a slow afternoon in his furniture store. Daddy was sitting in a rocking chair enjoying a rest in the breeze from the open door. The good woman walked in and Daddy jumped up to see if she needed any help. "No-o-o" she drawled, hesitantly. "Well, what can I do for you?" questioned Daddy, intrigued by her manner.
She shuffled her feet a little, and quietly responded. "Mr. Gaines, I know times are hard. I guess people just don't need as much new furniture as they once did." Puzzled now, Daddy replied, "Well, you know we do have a fine supply of used furniture that wouldn't be quite as expensive as new." Becoming even more flustered, she said. "Oh, I don't mean I need something, but that business must be bad for you!" Then she floundered on, "I mean, I saw you and your girls out on the roadside collecting bottles for the deposit and wanted you to know that our church has a little fund if you need money that badly."
Choking back laughter, and not wanting to offend a possible future customer, he managed to reassure her that while things might be a little slow, he wasn't quite reduced to collecting bottles for the 5 cent deposit to pay the bills!
I'm sure she was convinced he was just too proud to accept the help offered. Especially if he explained that we were picking weeds for supper!
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Monday, April 3, 2017
The Dress-Up Box
An overnight visit of the grandkids coincided with a thunderstorm that knocked out our internet service. That meant no x-box, no Netflix, no computers, no handheld games, and three grumpy kids on a rainy day. After a spell of tv watching, games and a couple of attempts to make me lose my mind, the little girl came to me with a request. "Make me a princess dress." she demanded with a smile.
Thinking hard, I rummaged in the back of my closet for something suitable. My questing fingers brushed something smooth and silky (not my usual blue jeans and sweatshirts). I grasped the hanger and gave a tug, finally dragging out a brightly flowered, short robe from years ago. "Perfect!", she squealed with delight, as I wrapped the robe around her and tied the sash. She turned regally in her finery and strutted out of the room to find her crown (and kingdom). I watched her swish down the hall and was instantly transported back to my childhood and the playhouse.
Visiting my grandparents was the high point of my summer. My mother worked and since her parents lived about 3 hours away, short visits weren't practical. So we often were shipped off to spend weeks at a time with my grandparents, which also helped with summer baby-sitting. I thought my grandmother was a bit crotchety but looking back I am amazed with her patience and forbearance.
They lived on a street of small houses in the town where my grandfather worked at the telephone company. Fortunately the street had several families with children about our ages. All summer we ran and played in a pack of kids. We not only weren't entertained by the adults we were expected to entertain ourselves invisibly.
We were expected to be out of the house shortly after awakening and remain out until bedtime. We were fed at regular intervals (my grandmother made wonderful cookies that were placed just inside the back door for a quick "grab and go" snack.) but basically we were to entertain ourselves, stay out of trouble, and not interrupt the work being done around the houses. (Failure to follow this rule often meant being caught and given a job to do. Consequently, we avoided the houses unless it was a dire emergency!)
The neighbor's house across the alley was home to a girl my age and an unused chicken house. Since the pack of kids ran to more girls than boys and since the building was in a "girl" yard it became our headquarters. Boys were allowed or not, depending on what game we were playing. We spent days scavenging around the neighborhood for treasures for our new playhouse. A discarded table with a broken leg was perfectly usable when taped and propped against the wall. A rejected bucket became a seat, a crate another seat, and so on until we had "furnished" our playhouse.
My grandmother, invited in to inspect our new palace, looked thoughtful and smiled as she continued on to visit the neighboring mother. Both women were found rummaging in drawers and closets for the next day or two. Early one morning, while we girls were busy in our playhouse there was a polite knock on the door. Upon opening the door we were surprised to see the two women standing outside. Arms loaded they inquired if they might come in for tea. Delighted, we ushered them in. They deposited their bags and bundles in the little room and started producing their treasures.
First out was a mason jar of juice, a paper bag of cookies and cups and napkins. Placing these on the table (after being sure the broken leg was secure) they looked at us and asked, "Don't you think a nice tea like this requires that you dress up a little?" We looked at our normal summer attire of shorts, blouses, and sandals, and shrugged. Like magicians, pulling a rabbit from a hat, they started unloading the box they had brought. Out came dresses, scarves, belts, necklaces, hats, and shoes. Flowing skirts in bright colors drifted to the floor. The treasures of their closet cleaning lay awaiting our pleasure in a sumptuous pile. With cries of delight we were soon draping ourselves in dresses, cinched up with scarves or belts. A broken necklace became an elegant bracelet, a stained scarf became a perfect shawl, all donned while we clumped around in the cast off high heels. Soon hats and mismatched gloves completed our tea attire. Never has a tea had such well dressed attendees.
The dress-up box became the treasured start of many adventures that summer. The dresses (and a contribution from the men of some suitable boy things) became pirate costumes, Superman, cowboys, Indians, princesses and princes. Castles were stormed, seas crossed, maidens rescued, rockets launched, bank robbers captured, along with lots of elegantly garbed princesses doing princess things. Not a day passed without a colorfully garbed character being seen around the playhouse, generally being pursued by several equally sumptuously attired members of the pack.
No summer has ever been as magical as the summer of the dress-up box.
Maybe I need to clean out a closet or two.
Thinking hard, I rummaged in the back of my closet for something suitable. My questing fingers brushed something smooth and silky (not my usual blue jeans and sweatshirts). I grasped the hanger and gave a tug, finally dragging out a brightly flowered, short robe from years ago. "Perfect!", she squealed with delight, as I wrapped the robe around her and tied the sash. She turned regally in her finery and strutted out of the room to find her crown (and kingdom). I watched her swish down the hall and was instantly transported back to my childhood and the playhouse.
Visiting my grandparents was the high point of my summer. My mother worked and since her parents lived about 3 hours away, short visits weren't practical. So we often were shipped off to spend weeks at a time with my grandparents, which also helped with summer baby-sitting. I thought my grandmother was a bit crotchety but looking back I am amazed with her patience and forbearance.
They lived on a street of small houses in the town where my grandfather worked at the telephone company. Fortunately the street had several families with children about our ages. All summer we ran and played in a pack of kids. We not only weren't entertained by the adults we were expected to entertain ourselves invisibly.
We were expected to be out of the house shortly after awakening and remain out until bedtime. We were fed at regular intervals (my grandmother made wonderful cookies that were placed just inside the back door for a quick "grab and go" snack.) but basically we were to entertain ourselves, stay out of trouble, and not interrupt the work being done around the houses. (Failure to follow this rule often meant being caught and given a job to do. Consequently, we avoided the houses unless it was a dire emergency!)
The neighbor's house across the alley was home to a girl my age and an unused chicken house. Since the pack of kids ran to more girls than boys and since the building was in a "girl" yard it became our headquarters. Boys were allowed or not, depending on what game we were playing. We spent days scavenging around the neighborhood for treasures for our new playhouse. A discarded table with a broken leg was perfectly usable when taped and propped against the wall. A rejected bucket became a seat, a crate another seat, and so on until we had "furnished" our playhouse.
My grandmother, invited in to inspect our new palace, looked thoughtful and smiled as she continued on to visit the neighboring mother. Both women were found rummaging in drawers and closets for the next day or two. Early one morning, while we girls were busy in our playhouse there was a polite knock on the door. Upon opening the door we were surprised to see the two women standing outside. Arms loaded they inquired if they might come in for tea. Delighted, we ushered them in. They deposited their bags and bundles in the little room and started producing their treasures.
First out was a mason jar of juice, a paper bag of cookies and cups and napkins. Placing these on the table (after being sure the broken leg was secure) they looked at us and asked, "Don't you think a nice tea like this requires that you dress up a little?" We looked at our normal summer attire of shorts, blouses, and sandals, and shrugged. Like magicians, pulling a rabbit from a hat, they started unloading the box they had brought. Out came dresses, scarves, belts, necklaces, hats, and shoes. Flowing skirts in bright colors drifted to the floor. The treasures of their closet cleaning lay awaiting our pleasure in a sumptuous pile. With cries of delight we were soon draping ourselves in dresses, cinched up with scarves or belts. A broken necklace became an elegant bracelet, a stained scarf became a perfect shawl, all donned while we clumped around in the cast off high heels. Soon hats and mismatched gloves completed our tea attire. Never has a tea had such well dressed attendees.
The dress-up box became the treasured start of many adventures that summer. The dresses (and a contribution from the men of some suitable boy things) became pirate costumes, Superman, cowboys, Indians, princesses and princes. Castles were stormed, seas crossed, maidens rescued, rockets launched, bank robbers captured, along with lots of elegantly garbed princesses doing princess things. Not a day passed without a colorfully garbed character being seen around the playhouse, generally being pursued by several equally sumptuously attired members of the pack.
No summer has ever been as magical as the summer of the dress-up box.
Maybe I need to clean out a closet or two.
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