Last week, I harvested a new crop to me; potatoes.
New potatoes, from our little garden. I had no idea how gratifying it would be.
Earlier in the day I had grabbed a few ears of local corn from a stand by the road. I stopped because it looked like they had peaches, which I was craving. We bought a few of those as well, but of course, none of them made it the whole way home. I can assure you they were as delicious as their heady scent promised and well worth all the sticky spots on the seats of the car.
Corn reminds me of my gram, standing with her back to me in her small kitchen, at the counter with a knife, a cutting board, a box of ziploc bags, and ears and ears of corn from her garden, waiting to be processed, marked, and thrown into the freezer.
What a visceral experience I had, cutting into those ears that I bought. I could almost smell her house again, hear the creaks as my pap walked down the narrow hall from the living room. I miss them both. I am so glad those cobs brought them both back to me, even for the briefest of moments.
Corn was never my favorite, but I loved my Gram’s, with the sweet cream gathered from the deep pockets of the kernels, released by running the back of her knife blade down the cob she held nearly vertical to the board.
Today I wanted to write about the meal I made with my new potatoes and the carrots and corn I bought from local farmers. But instead I find myself thinking about family, and nourishment, and fortitude, and grace; an unexpectedly rich new harvest of senses and emotions.
As I write this post, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for all the scattered and tender memories I have of her. On that day as I walked past my children and breathed in their scent, I again caught the faintest trace of her presence…
And along with the very keen yearning I had to have her here again, I also felt comfort.
Thank you Gram. You are still so very loved.