After a long day on the river and a fine sunburn, I suppose a few thoughts may have crossed my mine today. One of such thoughts brought me back to my childhood. See, canoeing was always an activity my family would embark upon when camping and we would only go camping when my grandfather was ready to take his RV out, even though he insisted that we stay in tents. Moderately selfish, but lead to great experiences. Where this relates to food comes within the year my mother and I spent living with my grandparents. During the long summer days, my grandmother was adamant that she catch her ‘daily programs’, all of which happen to be the soap operas of the 90’s. Given that I was a 9-year-old boy, I was not too keen on watching such lame television. However, my only other option was to venture out into the garden with my grandfather and help him pick the tomatoes and, as I recall, the green beans.
These adventures started off small, but I began to enjoy the time spent with my grandfather in the garden. Mind you, his garden was not much larger than those at the community garden, maybe ten feet in each direction. Of the small collection of memories held within that garden, I always remember the phobia I gained if small critters, including garden spiders and such. Once I overcame such fears I was able to accompany my grandfather more often than not.
If nothing else, spending time in the community garden brought back some great memories from my childhood that I hope others can relate to. Those were some of the few moments I spent with my grandfather alone, giving us a rare opportunity to bond differently than usual. These things did not occur to me until sitting on the river today. I suppose food played a larger role in my understanding of life as a child than I realize. The role was actually quite substantial.