My mother gardened all her life. It was one of her great loves, next to family, God, and country. Because she grew up during the Depression, she learned to use every last item from her garden for canning, preserving, drying or pickling. Every year at the end of the green bean season she made leather britches, dried beans that would keep for the winter. These were the last beans hanging on the vines. The beans inside had grown to full size with outsides a bit withered. They were beyond the stage to can or preserve, or even to pickle. Although her fried pickled green beans and corn bread were the best in the world. (Well, next to her biscuits and fried apples.) Mother started the drying process with clean beans. She would spread a clean white sheet on a table in the wash room and spread the beans out on that, giving them space to dry. Sometime she would carry the sheet outside and put them on a table in the sun to further the process. The next step involved needle and thread ...
great poem......love it !
ReplyDeleteYou've made me smile!
ReplyDeleteParticularly like the last stanza, kind of like a "little ditty".
ReplyDeleteLove it! I'll be there for you, if you'll be there for me.
ReplyDelete(But if we're both in the same boat . . . )
Of course!!! Esp if you're closer.
DeleteLove the last verse, Barbara.
DeleteAww that's really good. Somebody needs to take the mirrors out of my house . Somebody weird looking keeps popping up in them. 😏
ReplyDeleteOh wow , I did not realize that you are such a good poet as well. I also felt that I am not the only one who needs help with my make up.
ReplyDelete