Fresh Goodness

I was born in Portland, Oregon. When we lived in Salem, we had acres of corn growing behind our home. Our landlords let us pick as much as we could eat if we kept our eye on the crop.

Our neighbors, the Zelinski’s, had a large apple orchard where they hired pickers and boxed up their fruit right there. We consumed apples in every way; juice, sauce, pie, fresh picked.

Ms. Fernandez, who I really liked, had the most beautiful flower garden. When I was five, I picked all her spring blossoms on May Day and left them on her porch. I rang her door bell and ran away, just like your suppose to. Mom said it made her cry. But when she learned it was done out of love, she laughed. I think we both learned something that day.

Mrs. Utterback grew rhubarb. Her teenage son told me if I ate a stick a day, I’d learn to whistle. Only then could I play hide and seek with the big kids in the forest of corn. After about a week, I learned something then too.

My mom had a garden that she spent hours in. Everyday, she would rake, or pluck, or water, or fertilize, or pick. She could whistle and she’d whistle and hum to her garden. And it grew for her.

Every one grew something.

Then we moved to Southeast Alaska when I was six. Our basement wasn’t finished yet so we didn’t live downstairs. But it did have a huge picture window. My mom lined up as many pots and buckets on the plywood flooring as she could. She tried to recreate the garden she had to leave behind. Tomatoes, cucumbers, and zucchini grew like a jungle in that big lower window. But the harvest was minimal. The short summer season didn’t bring enough sun and heat to produce fruit. She fought with it for years; adding grow lights, trying different fertilizers, pollenating with her finger, but she could never reap what she once had in Oregon. She was in Alaska now.

Mom tried replacing her desire to grow things with the desire to catch things. She filled our freezer with salmon and halibut. Dad hunted deer and moose. It seemed to suffice but never replaced the longing for fresh from the earth vegetables and fruit that you nurtured from seed.

Now I understand that void in her life. A newbie to gardening, I first seek the shelves for herbs. Then I remember, “Wait, I have fresh rosemary right outside!” It’s a whole new way of thinking. You don’t buy apples and peaches at Safeway, you get them street side, at the plywood shelter, freshly picked, a whole basket for a dollar! And, you meet those who grew them. Onions and corn too! Cucumbers and zucchini! Berries and nectarines! Your dollars aren’t supporting a corporation, but a family. It tastes good and feels good all at once.

Even dairy is fresh. I recently bought a quart of milk with an expiration date six weeks away. That is unheard of in the far away country Alaska.

I can’t get used to the freshness of Oregon. Fresh fruits, fresh veggies, fresh dairies, lots of cattle if you’re into that. Chickens and eggs too. It’s all right here. That may seem a “duh” to many of you who don’t know any different. But, we from Alaska, know to appreciate these treats. Yes, we have fresh wild salmon, halibut, shrimp, crab, and more. But we don’t have garden fresh fruits and vegetables or sun light to keep us healthy. I’ve sure missed this. I am soaking it up like a bullhead at minus tide.