City kid with farm roots

I grew up in a medium-sized city, but I think I had the closest possible experience to farm living that a city kid could have. My parents were both from Iowa, and they seemed to have corn farming in their blood.

We lived on an acre lot in the middle of the city, and half of that was dedicated to gardens, both flowers and vegetables.

The vegetable garden was mostly planted in early May, but the tomato plants were started earlier indoors (I realize technically tomatoes are fruits, not vegetables, but they seem like vegetables).

Our basement was lit up beginning in March as trays of tomato seedlings struggled to outpace each other under bright fluorescent lamps.

The corn planting was carefully staged. My mom wanted fresh sweet corn as long as possible, so she had early, mid-season, and late varieties and planted them staggered to even extend the season longer.

Even so, the corn season was short lived. In July and into August we often had fresh off-the-stalk sweet corn.

Sometimes, however, the smut took over and an entire week went by without any fresh corn.

I mostly enjoyed the fresh vegetables from July through September, but my mom decided to branch out from the normal vegetables – aka corn, carrots, green beans, tomatoes (ok it’s a fruit), and squashes of every kind – to weird, exotic vegetables that overproduced.

Pattypan squash, for example, is shaped like a miniature UFO and comes in a range of colors from pale green to stomach acid yellow.

It is nearly as prolific as zucchini, and one can only tolerate the squishy texture and next-to-tasteless mush for so many meals.

Was it so bad because it was just steamed each time? Possibly, but to this day I detest the “flavor” (or more accurately, non-flavor) of pattypan squash.

Kohlrabi was another bizarre cruciferous root vegetable that appeared in various forms at breakfast, lunch and dinner year after year.

Mostly raw and crunchy, and might I add, weird-tasting. The rare times I see kohlrabi today I run.

Does anyone actually like kohlrabi? Other than my mother? Mom kept planting it. I would have planted vegetables I like, like carrots. And sweet potatoes, which my parents never planted but I eventually did myself.

But Mom seemed to want to grow what was prolific. She reveled in cucumbers, zucchini, pattypan squash, and green beans, vegetables that just kept coming.

Mom seemed to think a garden is there to give you what it can grow, not necessarily what you want. She planted the dependable veggies, like zucchini, whether we were excited about them or not.

I obviously didn’t appreciate it at the time, but Mom knew what she was doing. Mom knew it mattered for the garden to produce reliably. Corn was wonderful when it came. Zucchini was simply there.

Through her gardening choices, Mom taught us that being dependable is the greater good. She and Dad demonstrated this life philosophy by bringing us six kids each year to visit the Iowa relatives.

Trust me when I say sitting on a couch in a dark living room listening to adults talk about relatives I didn’t know was not as exciting as going to Cedar Point.

But as time went on, it made us kids realize that reliably showing up is important. Going to Iowa didn’t feel like a vacation, but I began to understand that showing up year after year matters a lot more than a single exciting trip could.

In my own life it has not been the flash in the pan type people, who roar in with charisma and quickly leave that make a difference. It is the day-to-day people who keep showing up, keep checking in, keep quietly being there.

It has taken me this long, but last summer I finally planted zucchini.

About the author: Rev. Sharon Smith is pastor at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church. She grew up in the city but spent much of her childhood surrounded by vegetables. She remains deeply grateful for sweet corn and is still suspicious of UFO-shaped vegetables.

Contact Sharon at editor@pageone-inc.com