I often speak of my dad’s sixty-acre spread on Meadowbrook Road with a certain amount of pride and wonder. This is where I lived when I attended First School. It was a place where my young-boy dreams began and my imagination took hold. Dad grew field corn, pickles, potatoes, and had a pear orchard with a mix of Bartletts and Kieffers. Our pears sometimes had scars on them from being “nipped” by the frost, but that didn’t seem to keep anyone from buying or eating them.
I liked the field corn because it grew so tall and attracted deer and pheasants, and was like a jungle for an eight or nine year-old kid to explore. Unknown to some, field corn tastes very good on the table. Somewhat starchy but I prefer it to sweet corn. In addition, Dad also grew several rows of popcorn for us to enjoy during the winter.
I remember my dad telling me that when he was plowing or cultivating, a flock of bobwhite quail would often follow his tractor to get at the worms and insects that had been disturbed.
I hated picking pickles because they were “prickly” like a cactus on tender young hands, and it always seemed to be hot and humid when it was time to harvest them.
The potatoes are where the organic farming part came in. Dad would give each of us kids a clear glass fruit jar with a little gasoline in it and send us to walk up and down the rows of potatoes to pick off the potato bugs (called Colorado Potato Beetles). They had round, shiny, creamy white striped backs and were found crawling along side their red worm-like larva. Their tiny yellow-orange eggs were found on the underside of the potato leaves and also had to be destroyed in the gasoline. This was Dad’s version of organic farming.
Today, someone might have called the authorities on him for making his kids learn some character by working on the farm this way. Great times, though, and great memories. –MLJ