My dad always had a large garden when he was on the farm and after we moved to town
we had two extra lots and dad still had his garden. I got my first business
experience selling produce out of that garden.
By the time I was nine years old I had a large Radio Flyer wagon and would go out in the
garden early in the morning and pick enough beans or black-eye peas to fill that wagon.
I would get some medium size brown grocery sacks and go peddle the produce house to
house in our neighborhood at .25 cents per sack of produce. The customers got a bargain
in fresh produce and I made some extra spending money.
There is an old story about two small boys in Hillsboro in the 1920’s who were going
door to door selling homemade sausage. After selling the last of their sausage they
decided to divide the money. The lady who had purchased the last of their sausage
heard a ruckus in front of her house and went to the door to investigate.
The two boys were having an argument in her front yard. As the lady stepped out on her
porch she heard one of the boys say; “I should get the most of the money because that
was my dog.” I think that sausage got thrown out.
Now, back to the sweet potatoes. One year dad put out several rows of sweet potatoes
and kept them irrigated. It looked like he was going to have a big crop of potatoes.
One evening in the early fall, dad asked me to locate a hand pushed roller like the
landscapers use to roll over new lawns after seeding them to level the ground and
pack the seeds in the soil. He said that he would like to have one that could have
water added in the roller to give it extra weight.
Knowing that our lawn was well established and didn’t need any work done on it, I asked
dad what he needed the roller for.
“I want to dig the sweet potatoes next Saturday and I want to roll them before I dig
them.” he told me.
Now I was really confused. “Why do you want to roll the potatoes/” I asked.
“To roll all the farts out,” he replied.
We never got the roller.
Enjoy those candied yams with your turkey and dressing on Thanksgiving.
Gardening still runs in the Family.
My son plowing our garden in 1990.
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