What a fun piece you’ve written.

Cheers!

I couldn’t wait every spring for the ‘pink celery’ behind her garage. (Hey! I was a kid. I didn’t know celery didn’t come in colors that tasted way better than the green kind. ha!)

When I got older, we’d all help with canning and preserving what came from her garden. I remember my grandmother telling us not to cook any of the leaves, and not to cook it in one particular metal pan. She’d say, “You’ll poison yourselves.” I paid attention and remain unpoisoned.

She froze rhubarb, too. Cut it into short pieces, spread the pieces on a cookie sheet and put it in the freezer. When frozen put the pieces in a plastic bag.

I am a purist when it comes to rhubarb. Just give me a plain old tart rhubarb pie. I know it is popular, but don’t contaminate mine with a bunch of strawberries. I don’t even mess with a crust most of the time… just cook and eat.

Yummy stuff!

We sifted the “dirt,” placing the stones in the wagon which was used to haul them off for later use. After what seemed like weeks of effort, we ended up with a 50 foot square patch of land where Mom grew New Jersey Beefsteak Tomatoes, Pole Beans, Zucchini, Strawberries and Rhubarb. There were only two rhubarb plants, but they produced enough for our family and then some.

Ripe rhubarb was harvested in June. Mom would put it in a big pot and cook it down until it was nice and tender. She would then make deep-dish rhubarb pies, the memories of which bring tingles to my jaw to this day.

Mom would demonstrate her generosity by offering the pies to neighbors, friends, and family. Since no one would ever accept the gift, one pie would go a long way. Interestingly, she wasn’t quite as generous with her apple pies!

Shamin: I figured you for a rhubarb lover – did it also grow in Wales?