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The past few days I have been out in the garden with my trusty pitch fork in hand removing the full weed base. Today, my neighbor gentleman leaned over to the fence and asked why I just didn’t just rent a rototiller for this job each year.

I looked up and smiled as I picked a long rooted dandelion out of the soil.  I told him  long story short; this is how it has been since I was a young girl.  While a rototiller does help to mix compost into the soil base, weeds are not to be tilled into your soil because you will end up paying later. Besides, unless you can barter with someone, why pay for the rental?  I was taught gardening is a hobby,  you can do the work yourself. The reasons for gardening vary from person to person.  I do it for reasons different from most, I guess.  It just may take me a little longer to complete the work.

I spent a few hours, pitching and picking as my great-grandfather called it.  You pick each clump of weeds out of the dirt, shake the excess soil from them and compost the weeds for next years soil.  Then once the weeds are removed you compost your soil and wait one week before planting.  Again, go over the garden before planting and pick any remaining weeds.

After my neighbor man left I spent the remainder of the time thinking how differently I spent my childhood than most. My great grandparents and grandparent taught me how to benefit from my surroundings. With some hard work, you can benefit year round.

My great grand parents lived in a small, rural community and until I was of school age, I spent 90% of my time with them.  Summers again, I would spend weeks at a time there.

A typical summer day at my great grandparents’ home was working from sun up until sun down. With a 20 minutes lunch break at 12:00 and an hour break from 3:00-4:00 in the afternoon.

First thing you did in the morning was to get up and water the garden. Hoe the garden rows for weeds and pick any produce that needed picking. Except the berries, that was done in the afternoon.

Then we went and checked the live traps and fish nets. If we caught anything in either, they had to be cleaned. My great grandfather was both a trapper and a commercial fisherman. The pelts and animal meats were sold. Certain animals had additional qualities that they were trapped for besides selling the pelts or the meat. For fox we excreted the urine to sell to people to spray around their gardens to keep other animals from eating their crops.

We bartered fish and meat with neighbors in the surrounding community for other goods my great grandparents could use. Looking back we had our own “Little House on the Prairie” going on.

Before lunch I would help my great grandmother shred cabbage, peel potatoes or anything else she needed done.  I would set the table for us and then we would eat.

After lunch I would go out and put more water in the canoe they had on their land.  The canoe was the watering hole for cattle.  My grandfather rented a portion of his land out to a farmer; it was my job to be sure it was filled every day.  It was one of my favorite times of the day too.  One summer I talked my grandfather into purchasing a few goldfish for the canoe.  Each year they lived through the frozen water over the winter and each summer, I had more than the previous year to watch.

It was a special treat to run to the little market to pick up some groceries some afternoons. Once or twice a year we would receive a mail order catalog from that same market to look at and order specialty items out of, otherwise we didn’t need it.

Then it was on to pick the strawberries, raspberries and blackcaps. I brought them into the house and my grandmother would decide if we were going to barter with them or clean them for ourselves. If we were keeping them they needed to be cleaned.

If we had any bartering to do, we would then go to certain peoples homes and do our bartering. If it was a barter day, I always seemed to get extra baked goods and treats to eat.

Then we’d go back to the house and sit outside on our vintage chairs. We would have our snack before venturing out to pick any additional produce needed for supper time.

To my neighbor I might do things strange.  To my great grandfather we do things strange.  An example of this was after my great grandmother passed.  We were at the wake and my gramps hadn’t eaten all day. I told him he was going to ride along and grab a quick burger and we would bring him right back.   Of course he fought me.  With a little time he gave in.  I handed him a little bag with his hamburger in it from the drive thru window and said “Here, was that quick enough?”  His response “Where did you ever find a place like this?”

So, I guess it really does boils down to how you were raised. Some things stick.  In my case I am just doing things as I was taught.