Paul has asked us to go underground for our
offering for Poetics Tuesday. I chose to take
him literally. I hope my poet friends do not
tire of hearing my remember-whens!
Submitted to dVerse Poetics Tuesday
A stone’s throw from the back door of my childhood home was what we called “the cave”. Actually, it was an underground storm cellar. Many of the farm homes had one for refuge in event of a tornado, which occurred on occasion in our area. My mother was an inventive soul, however, and turned our “cave” into her personal winter storage area. She built long shelves along one side on which she arranged the food she canned from her extensive garden … green beans, peas, corn, tomatoes, apple butter, jellies, jams, peaches, apples, pickles, and beets. On the other wall, she built bins for the root vegetables … potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, and carrots. Unexpected company for dinner merely required a trip to “the cave”, and a typical farm meal would be forthcoming. Guests were usually sent home with a jar or two of her prized jelly. My mother was a woman of many talents … a hard act to follow!