Unearthed jewel No. 5… Kitchen Goddess.

“What’s that got to do with the price of tea in China?” Apparently that is not just an expression anymore and actually is a relevant question these days. The rising cost of food is such a pain in the ass! Going to the grocery store is both a blessing and a curse. I am so thankful for the ability to go and I never want to lose sight of that. At the same time, it pisses me off when I spend two hundred dollars on– uh… not much at all! How did this even happen? Everything I read says inflation, but That really doesn’t tell me much. At this point I can’t even worry about how it happened because I am just trying to tread the grocery bill water. Stay a float in this sea of ridiculous prices. Working American’s need a life raft and quick. I think of my grandparents. They grew a garden every year. I stayed with them most days in the summer. They were forever bent over working in rows of green tending to their crops. My grandmother’s face covered by some huge straw hat. I sat on my grandparent’s porch adored with indoor – outdoor carpet. An eclectic mix of mismatched yard sale patio furniture always provided a cozy atmosphere. It had been a work in progress. A lean to basically with a concreate slab and then eventually covered. It was their sanctuary and mine too. I would break and string beans with my grandmother every summer. Her sitting in her favorite yard sale chair with her apron on. I was always frustrated because she got to use a knife and I didn’t. Neighbors or one of her seemingly vast amounts of siblings would often show up and I would listen to them talk the whole time we were breaking and stringing. When the string didn’t go all the way to the end, I would break it again just to make sure I had not left any on the bean. I took my stringing as an important occupation. A top to bottom string that curled perfectly gave me great satisfaction. I took the bug bites to her so she could cut them out with her knife. Huffing and rolling my eyes because I knew I could have used the knife just fine. Soon after, the canning process would begin. A process that took place as I would lay on the couch and watch the afternoon news, soap opera, or sitcom while she worked. I mostly watched her. I watched my grandmother work her magic. She seemed to do this always wearing pastels, an apron, and her hair pinned up. She was beautiful. The steam and whistle from the pressure cooker was always scary and a concern of mine. I wanted nothing to do with it. Yet, it amazed me at the same time. I thought of her as a kitchen goddess for her canning talents and still do. My grandparent’s gardening work fed us all year. It took a lot of time, care, knowledge, but required little monetary input. I know that my grandmother worked. She worked in a sewing factory. It’s all blurry to me. I can’t remember when she did all this. I just don’t understand why I can’t do it now. We live in subdivisions, cookie cutter homes, with restrictions. Do any of us have a good sun spot for a garden? If we do, will our neighbor complain about us blocking their mountain view with our row of what not? Instead we trudge to the grocery store, scan our discount cards, and go through the self checkout to overpay for food that we wonder if is even really food at all. I do not know what the price of tea is in China, but I do know what prices are here in America. I know that George Washington and his troops suffered at Valley Forge one winter to fight the British army. To fight the fight that helped to give us our amazing country. They slept in freezing temps, did not have adequate food, supplies, or even proper clothing. We still have our country, but where is our food going? Is giving up mountain views, ignoring neighborhood restrictions really a sacrifice? Could a coach let a player skip a summer practice to let a kid break and string beans? What kind of troops are we?