Thanksgiving in June

We get all kinds of visitors at Myrtle's place, from the curious-but-not-on-board, to the gung-ho and ready-to-roll.  Recently, one of the latter came to see our little project, and she brought her charming father, who brought a wealth of experiences which would interest the most casual of observers.  He graduated from Texas A&M in the early 1940's, and spent three years in World War II fighting in the Far East.  The daughter wanted to talk plants; Mrs. Myrtle Maintenance, however, upon discovering that the father grew up on a farm in West Texas during the Great Depression, would not allow him to speak of anything else; we feared a lack of hospitality on our own part, but more, we feared not getting to hear his fascinating stories.

Among other things, our esteemed visitor discussed all the food his family produced which they could not eat, since they collected eggs and cream for the purpose of trading -- rather than selling -- said produce in exchange for things they couldn't grow themselves.  He smiled when we talked of our own grandparents' fondness for peaches and cream -- getting to keep the cream, after all, would have been a remarkable treat, only reserved for special occasions.  We were, needless to say, all attention.  We were also thankful.  "The Greatest Generation" set an example which our society has lamentably forgotten, of sacrifice, of work-ethic, and of long-term thinking.

These were the thoughts foremost in our minds as we set about our other task for the day, harvesting the grain from our amaranth.  Harvesting amaranth is really unlike any other harvest we have made to date.  It involves three discrete steps:

• Separate the seed heads from the stalk
• Dry the seed heads
• Remove the seeds from the husks

Step one is fairly self-evident; the stalks of our grain amaranth plants were as much as an inch-and-a-half thick, so a good pair of hand clippers was necessary.

To dry the seed heads, we hung them on the grape arbor in our driveway, the grapes being currently six months old, and therefore not having yet climbed the trellis.  We don't know where we'll dry next summer's crop, but then, that is a problem for next summer, not now.

Removing the seeds from the husks will, we imagine, be much the same as it was for our quinoa crop last winter -- we shall have to make a party of it in the kitchen, everyone rolling the dry husks between our hands and collecting the grain as it falls into a bowl.  Fun for the whole family, we expect.

We gave the stalks to the chickens, the leaves now being too bitter for use as potherbs (although we imagine we might not have thought so in 1933!), and much as with our corn harvest, the stalks will also give the birds a much-needed break from the western sun... at least, it will do so until they eat their own sunscreen, bless their little bird-brains.

We then turned the remaining stubble in the garden plot back into the soil with a vigorous hoeing.  After adding a bit of chicken-poop compost, we planted our Halloween pumpkins and a variety of winter squash where our amaranth had been.  The calendar pushes relentlessly forward, even for those who take the time to look however fleetingly backward.

Meanwhile, most folk rightly associate harvest with autumn festivals, most notably the American holiday known as "Thanksgiving".  For a year-round garden, though, harvest happens on a fairly regular basis.  What a shame, then, that "Thanksgiving" only happens once a year, particularly when we have so much to be thankful for.  The hunger felt by the vast majority of Americans in the 1930s is unparalleled in contemporary society, and where it does occur, it fills us with outrage.  It was simply another day, though, for so many who struggled and suffered through it at the time.

We don't often get visitors who remind us of such things, but when we do, we remember them.

Happy Thanksgiving!