Pastor's Blog
When I was in seminary, I served a little country church. For three years, each weekend, I drove from Lexington to the tiny town of Morgan in Pendleton county. On more than one occasion, as I drove up to the parsonage, I was greeted by the sight of a paper grocery bag on the front porch. Invariably it was filled with fresh produce from a parishioner’s garden. Homegrown tomatoes, fresh cucumbers or squash, several ears of corn – whatever was in season would be offered to me free of charge. These bountiful blessings helped stretch the $150 a week I was paid for preaching and teaching, and they often reminded me of the Old Testament practice: “Bring your first fruits as an offering to the Lord.”
When I served a church in Glendale, Arizona the type of fruit changed but not the generosity of parishioners. There each year I was blessed with fresh citrus. In fact, I received so many lemons, oranges and grapefruit that I purchased an electric juicer and savored the seasonal squeezing of fresh juices. (That reminds me – I met my husband while on a youth retreat gleaning oranges for a local food-bank, but that’s another story….)
In the Midwest, during ten years in central Illinois, I did a little gardening of my own and enjoyed driving out to Esther Reeves’ farm each fall to load the car with a surplus of apples from her trees. In moving to Wyoming, I was prepared to miss the late summer season of fresh corn. In fact, Normal has a weekend Cornfest where over 50,000 ears of sweet corn are consumed on the city streets as folks stroll among craft booths listening to live music. Thankfully, our first summer here in Wyoming is bringing a blessed harvest of shared garden produce. On a recent Sunday morning, Billy and Jerry Triplett handed Charles four ears of sweet corn straight from their garden. The variety “peaches and cream” has bi-colored kernels and was a tender, tasty treat.
Roger and Cecelia Miller stopped by our house Friday afternoon with two sacks full of beets pulled from their garden that day. Now, to tell you the story behind the story – Roger had called and asked me if I liked fresh beets – he is wise enough to know that not everyone would appreciate such a generous gift. I have to confess, I first thought he asked, “Do you like fresh beef?” Well of course, who doesn’t (unless you’re vegetarian, which I tried once, but found I quickly became iron deficient upon giving up red meat). I had memories of that little student church in Morgan where a parishioner once filled the parsonage freezer with as much of a side of beef as would fit. I was already salivating as Roger continued talking, telling me about his garden… So, after my enthusiastic response, as the conversation unfolded and I realized he was offering BEETS rather than BEEF, I was too embarrassed to decline his offer. I went home thinking that he’d probably bring enough beets for me and Charles to share at one meal, and that would be the end of it. Then, they showed up with TWO BAGS of beets.
I thought, I like beets all right, but I wouldn’t say they’re my favorite vegetable. Thinking back, the main time I had eaten beets growing up was at my grandmother’s house in Iowa. (Which is also home to great corn on the cob fresh from the garden!) It was one of those “eat your vegetables” childhood memories… I can picture the extended family gathered around the dining room table at Grandma’s. No doubt, there were fresh tomatoes from the garden, a steaming platter of corn on the cob, a roast perhaps, Grandpa’s fresh sliced onion (which he loved enough to eat like an apple), and in the midst of all the food, a small dish of bright purple-red pickled beets. It was a rule in our family that you had to at least try a taste of everything. So, I know I ate the beets. They weren’t bad…. But now, as a grown woman, I was faced with the daunting reality - I had never cooked beets in my life!
Roger offered me the basic instructions – “wash ‘em, cut off the tops and roots,” and he likes them just steamed. “Once cooked, the skins’ll come right off.” Tentatively, I asked my husband, “Do you like beets?” “Sure,” he said, “I like pickled beets.” Oh great…. Now, not only do I need to cook them, I guess I should pickle them too…. Thank goodness for the internet! Within no time, I had found detailed instructions for the traditional canning method of pickling beets – and a simpler recipe for a vinegar dressing for a small batch.
Saturday morning I began the adventure – cutting off the stems, I decided to set aside a small pile of greens… (maybe I’ll use another recipe I found online for a hot bacon dressing for cooked greens – or maybe I’ll decide that’s too much…) I stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing away the small clumps of soil that clung tenaciously to the roots. As I cleaned and trimmed one beet after another, more memories of my grandmother surfaced... Watching her aged hands deftly snapping the ends off green beans, her motions patiently teaching me the care and respect farmers have for the earth and the food it offers us. The beets went on the stove in fresh, clear water quickly turning purple; the timer was set for 30 minutes and I went off to do other things.
When I returned to the kitchen, it smelled like Grandma’s house – not like beets specifically, but the earthy aroma of fresh vegetables cooking, steam rising – a place permanently seasoned by food being prepared for years upon years with deep love. As I skinned the beets, I watched the colored water drain down the sink and thought how its color was similar to that of communion wine. I tasted a single, small, tender beet. It’s amazing to me how truly good FRESH food tastes. With no seasoning, simply a skinned boiled beet would not have been something I’d thought to choose as an afternoon snack, yet it was a wonderful treat. Henry, our little lover dog, had been watching the entire process, and he too enjoyed a tiny taste of this new treat. A short time later, the sliced beets sat marinating in a mixture of spices and cider vinegar.
The weekend held two potlucks for me, informal home gatherings of two of the church’s “shepherding groups.” Thanks to Roger’s generosity, I took freshly pickled beets. Now, I have one small jar left, being saved for a special occasion.
May you know the blessing of beets in your life (even without beets perhaps)… an unexpected blessing of generosity from friends… the joy of sharing the work of your hands with others… and the gift of precious memories from years ago filling your heart and home with the fragrance of love.
Rick, my grandmother would do the same thing with pie dough that yours did. Isn't this fun? Marj
I have to admit, I've never been a lover of beets. I still avoid them whenever possible. Simply reading your blog has brought back memories - specifically of Grandma Trescott baking in the kitchen during her visits, usually around Thanksgiving and/or Christmas. To this day, I remember the best treat was when she took the left-over dough from pie baking, sprinkled them with cinnamon and sugar, rolled them up and baked them. It was almost as good as the pie itself.
Thanks for sharing your memories.