Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Grandma's Garden
My grandmother’s garden was located on the sloping ground opposite of the privy and between her house and the barn. At the farthest edge of the turkey wire fort, was one of my favorite spots. It would lure me down the length of her large Garden of Eden and into a forbidden zone, by a savory siren’s call. It held an oasis of seven rhubarb plants that spread their wide, verdant leafy fronds, shading the gangly stalks as they grew from slender shoots until they became small trees. My mouth began to water just thinking about the wonderfully sour taste of its stringy yet tender flesh. Raids on the tasty plants were forbidden by Grandma, but I was always drawn to snitch one of the slender stems whenever we visited.
My second favorite spot was among the maze of the many tomato plants, whose thick rambling vines spread across a mat of yellow straw. Nestled in the pale green jungle were the treasured ruby jewels. Those succulent and luscious red gems called my name. I responded by trespassing into their growing field, selecting one of the fiery orbs. I would cradle it my hand, finally deciding to pluck it from the vine. Brushing against the vine’s raggedly velvet leaves, they would release a spicy and pungent aroma. In the palm of my hand, the sun-warmed fruit would transfer its solar power through my skin to the nerve endings, sending signals to my brain. The radiated energy caused me to quiver in anticipation of its fresh, acidy flavor being placed on my tongue.
I pressed the smooth-skinned love-apple to my lips. The warmth of its kiss penetrated my receptors of pleasure and I opened my mouth to have my first taste. I closed my eyes as the sensuous feeling of my teeth penetrating the tender flesh and then the heated juices coursing down my chin to wash across my bare chest. Bite after bite, I consumed the wonderfully savory fruit. The thought of eating another sun-warmed, garden-fresh tomato is a memory inducing experience.
The rest of the garden was a battlefield between the crops and the weeds that would try to invade. They were eliminated by a short handled, much worn hoe. Grandma would chop between the rows of beans, peppers, and beets. She would encourage the army of cabbage, peppers, and lettuce plants that marched down the garden in rows, keeping the no-man’s land open between them and the dark green, Indian-like feather headdresses of the onions that rose in tall rows.

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