Well, it's finally over. Where did it go? How and why did we have to endure a year like the last one? Maybe, just maybe, we're in for a change and will see the good old USA get back to what it's meant to be.
You think this 'cuff is going to be about the mess in our nation's capital? You're way off base; you're not on the right trail. I'm thinking about the record-breaking rainfall of 2019 which made it almost impossible to keep up with lawn mowing. Or how about this past autumn when it seemed the trees didn't shed their leaves in a normal manner? A brisk wind and more rain made the fencerows great gathering places for the abundance of those leaves -- much different than usual autumns when raking up large piles of leaves was for the kids to jump into. Remember those days?
During the recent warm January days, it's been fun (I use that word loosely) cleaning up the fencerows and I didn't forget the record crop of sweet gum balls which finally stopped showering from on high. But what is this new year all about? Did you repeat some of those annual new year resolutions? Have you already decided they ... Well, let's not get into that. Let's get into what used to happen in January: Seed catalogs. I'm not kidding. They used to come every year. Just like advertising words suggest "Tucker Time" January was always a GRGT, "Get Ready for Gardening Time."
How was your garden last year? I know quite a number of 'cuffers enjoy playing in the dirt every spring ... so, how was your garden last year? The postage stamp garden could best be considered a "dud." Planted late, because the ground was too rain-soaked to work up, and then when seeds finally were planted, many just washed away toward some nearby drainage ditch ... or they just gave up the ghost and then it was "replanting time." I heard those words several times last spring which later were replaced with "The tomatoes are not setting on" or "The ground is too soft to get in to pick the beans" or "The okra is just sitting there waiting for hot, dry days when it shoots toward the sun" or "Was it unexpected showers during tasseling time that also kept the bees away?" They were the worst corn ears I've ever seen.
I'm tempted to forget the postage stamp garden this year. Are you? Wanna make a bet? It would be easier to make a decision if a couple of those seed catalogs would make their used-to-be appearance, causing the old gray matter to have visions of harvesting good old homegrown veggies. Stores that stock seeds and tender, tempting plants should soon have them on display. So let's get ready?
How about delving into those good seed sales days -- say back in the early days of World War II when kids all over America were selling seeds to their friends and neighbors for War Victory Gardens. Of course, family members were prime targets for those busy little kiddies. It was also, in late winter, a day for a friend to show up with his horse and turning plow to get that Victory Garden soil ready. The ground almost always turned out fine and it looked especially smooth after it was run over with his harrow. Lettuce, cold crops and peas always went into the ground early and somehow they almost always produced ... along with the potatoes which always saw their eyes go into the ground on St. Pat's Day.
But back to the seeds. They always came to kids who answered ads. They (the seed companies) sent gobs of packages of seeds to kids who became street seed sellers. The more they sold, the better the prize they would earn. The one I remember best is when I was 7, heading up and down the streets with packages of all kinds of seeds (some kinds would never be bought). They cost a dime, and guess who bought those no-sellers? The prize or gift I wanted was (get ready) a typewriter. Not like my old Underwood or even the tiny Smith-Corona I'm pounding today. How did the sales go? Good, with the help of all those old friends, etc., possibly in their 30s or 50s, (you know, to a 7-year-old, anybody older than a teen was and is old).
After the folks had bought all those no-sales, the money was sent in and then it was wait. It seemed like months, but then the kraft wrapped package arrived in the mail.
Can you imagine today's 7-year-olds selling dime packages of seeds? Is it even safe for kids to be out on the streets? What a change! What a shame. But it's back to the story. Finally, it arrived. The package. Tearing into the package there, ready for action, was that super deluxe typewriter. A little instruction booklet was with it but, of course, that was ignored (some things never change).
Guess who was helping us admire that little creation? I examined the little machine. On its top was a cardboard circle about as big as a grapefruit. That was before the days of plastic. The circle contained all the alphabet and numbers, from 0-9. I twirled the circle to a special spot. Somehow it had passed over some ink and then I pushed down to a piece of paper. I forget how it all got into that position.
Wanna bet what the first typed words were? You guessed it -- yep, it was my name, age, address, and then I began to wonder what I was going to write. I can't remember what happened to the little seed seller's toy. As an antique, would it be worth a fortune today? Ha. I remember the letter circle broke and the entire little machine broke into three pieces when it hit the floor. Accidentally, of course. So much for the seed selling effort. By the way, the seeds produced in Victory Gardens, even a package of onion seeds, then was ... unbelievable.
Isn't it interesting writing about seed catalogs and a postage stamp garden as a childhood memory? Wonder what will be the memories decades from now for the child -- computer tablets, photograph phones and talking encyclopedia experiences of our before-school-age children? It is a challenge to know what challenges and experiences older generations should present to help those memories be positive for the upcoming youth of today.
What a challenge! And what a challenge to come up with predictions for our unsettled world, not only worldwide but, in many cases, local! How about tuning in later to see if the old brain can wiggle into a trance and come up with some doozies? Until then, if ever ... happy memories for you and for every age.
Dodie Evans is the former owner and long-time editor of the Gravette News Herald. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 01/15/2020