Every summer Mom’s sisters made at least one visit to the
farm. Mom would make a big dinner (not
lunch, lunch was served between dinner and supper). Usually it was roast beef,
boiled or mashed potatoes, whatever fresh vegetables were in season, pickles,
homemade bread and pie for dessert. If they timed their visit right, they not
only feasted on fresh green beans, corn on the cob, coleslaw, creamy cucumbers and thick slices
of fresh tomatoes, but also went home with a trunk full of produce. My aunts were delightfully funny, interesting
accomplished story-tellers. I was
fascinated with these women who bore traces of Mom in their eyes, voices and
gestures.
Mom and I were finishing up the last of the dinner dishes
and her sisters had trooped off to "settle their dinner" and inspect the gardens. Yes, gardens plural.
They were hardly even all in the door when we heard Aunt
Lucille exclaim, “Wiiillllmmaaa—did you know you have 47 heads of cabbage in
the garden?”
“Yeah,” Mom replied, “there
were more but the cutworms got them.”
“What are you going to do with all that cabbage?” Aunt Stena
asked sternly.
“I guess I’ll have to make a little kraut.”
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