In the Genes

My grandfather and his 2 brothers were farmers. Not necessarily happily (one uncle wanted to be a radio broadcaster. Another should have been an accountant. My grandpa was a natural veterinarian.), but the Great Depression and family tragedy interfered to cancel schooling for all. They did what they needed to do to survive. My grandpa ate the whole apple- including the core- until his death. No waste. Every week-end of my young childhood, from infancy until my grandpa died when I was 7, I stayed with my grandparents. They let me pick up eggs in the chicken house (after shooing out the chickens for feeding and for my safety, and so they could clean the place), pick strawberries, plant peas, and feed lambs. I loved it.
But the farm was dying. My Dad and his sister were the only children, and not interested in carrying it onward. Many years the brothers were only able to pay the interest on the loan their father had used to buy the place (but in the Depression, a bank was happy to get that much), so Dad grew up hearing and seeing all the reasons not to own a small truck farm. It was sold for (and by God's grace provided) money to pay medical bills and nursing home care.
Million dollar homes sit on what was once pasture and peach orchards.
So now I'm getting a Ph.D. I bought an older home to be close to work and saw a half-size chest freezer in the garage. And it all came flooding back. I have planted and harvested in a tiny backyard. I have put up produce and plan to do more. I remember the two full-sized freezers at my grandparent's house. I remember the pantry full of home-canned produce. And some deep desire has been activated to fill my own pantry and freezer, to prepare. As talk of economic hard times spreads, the ant in me beats out the grasshopper. Winter is coming. We'll see what we can do.