Every summer for as long as I can remember, our family had a garden. It was actually Poppa's garden but others helped water, weed, plant, and pick. Purple hull peas and corn were always the biggest crops. When they were ready to pick, the corn was done mostly in one day. The men would rise early and pick corn by the truckload. We would all go to Granny and Poppa's back yard where we would shuck, silk, wash, and cut off the corn. It was a huge family affair. Silking corn was a nightmare. We painstakingly washed and looked to make sure each piece was perfect before sending it the the cutting board. But every one of us has happy memories from those July days of putting up corn.
Last summer, Poppa said "this is my last garden." Unfortunately, those words proved to be true when he left us in October.
Today, Daddy bought five bushels of corn. Rather than truckloads for a family of nearly fifty, we had five bags for a family of nine. Rather than twenty adults in worn out lawn chairs and endless chatter, four adults did all of the work. No baseball games with a dozen kids or three cups of green worms for the little ones but two little muddy buddies entertaining themselves.
It was different. But while I remember the hot corn days at Granny's, a tradition that I imagined would never change, I realized that we are now creating new traditions for my children. My sweet babies will have memories of playing in the mud, swimming in the corn buckets, and chewing on empty cobs.
This summer is one to build something new, to do things a little different. And although it may be hard on some of us as we remember the past, it will still be good.
