Garden Stories part 2
From the age of 11 I grew up in a small town in Vermont and lived in an 1810 colonial, one which I really didn’t appreciate at the time since my bedroom was the furthest away from the wood stove and the wide wood plank flooring was always dislodging a giant nail and ripping holes in my socks or tights. My parents were gardeners, my Dad had a huge vegetable garden and we spent a lot of time picking beans and shelling peas. He grew corn that had the crookedest rows, our joke was that they needed braces. In front of the vegetable garden was a round patch of rhubarb that over the years grew massive. In my 20’s I got married in front of this patch, under an arbor laced with lupine. Shortly after I was married my parents sold this house and moved to another state but not before digging up some of that rhubarb. They were unable to settle right away and planted it in my garden in Maine. The following year they dug up some of mine and planted it at their new place. We then moved south for several years but when we returned closer to them they gave me some of that rhubarb and it’s really doing quite well in the back of my garden. I don’t have much culinary use for it, my neighbor did make a strawberry rhubarb relish, but I cherish it for the memories and its travels.