Toughsledding

POCATELLO — I consider myself very fortunate. I own a plot of land.
Land, experts say, is the backbone of democracy, the very root of survival and freedom.
We only have to look at the “uprooting” of peoples caught in the muddle of political conflict or natural disasters to realize the symbiotic relationship of humans to soil.
I did not buy my plot for real estate speculation, that is, as a “starter” home to be traded in on a bigger one when its value increases.
I bought my little house in order to practice traditional American Agrarian Jeffersonian Democracy by planting a vegetable garden.
Pocatello doesn’t possess the best climate for growing vegetables. At this altitude we can expect killing frosts every month during our all too brief growing season, so we keep abreast of temperature warnings in order to cover the beans, tomatoes and peppers when frost threatens.
We start our tomatoes and peppers indoors early so when it comes time to plant (late May usually) the fruits have a chance to ripen before snowfall.
Right now (early May), my tomato plants (a good 15 inches tall) are hardening off beneath a floating row cover under the canopy of my front porch awaiting the magic moment for removal to the garden proper.
I’ve given up on Wall ‘o Water protection. The blue green plastic contraptions are cumbersome, too heavy for me to lift with an aging arthritic hip when it’s time to remove them. I’ll stick with wire cages and easily removable cloth covers.
Another useful adaptation to our northern high altitude climate is the cold frame. Two years ago, I made a simple one by arranging cinder blocks in a rectangle and laying an old window sash on top. Nothing fancy.
In March, on a sunny day, I pull up the window and scratch some mixed lettuce and spinach seeds into the soil, give them some water if the soil seems dry, replace the window and forget about it.
Voilà! I’m eating fresh salad in April and early May.
I garden all winter via books and catalogs. I draw diagrams, order packets of seeds, fantasize about how nice it would be if I owned a large estate and could hire a full-time gardener to do my bidding. Yet I know full well, I’d still insist on playing in the dirt, nursing seedlings and harvesting the vegetables myself.
Planning is almost as much fun as watching the plants grow and preparing meals from the produce.
I come from a long line of gardeners on both sides of the family. In the past if you wanted fresh vegetables, you grew them yourself. In many cases, if you wanted to eat at all, you gardened.
Aside from the obvious survival advantages, tending a garden can be a spiritual experience. Some cherished memories of my childhood include listening to my father sing sea chanties as he worked in our family sweet corn patch.
I recall my father’s father, Frank Croner, and attorney and eventually a judge, leaning on his shovel, relaxed and dreamy, as he irrigated his small summer plot in the tiny high prairie town of Fairfield, Idaho.
And there was my Uncle Jake’s lush garden in wet Western Washington teeming with cucumbers, summer squash, corn and raspberries. I can still recall the earthy smell of his root cellar dug into the side of a hill, a food storage technique becoming lost in our peculiar age of supermarkets.
By some standards, my little garden isn’t much to look at.
It’s small and shaggy; the rows aren’t straight and I often allow volunteer plants to grow unchecked.
But as I pop fresh peas into my mouth, sit down at my outdoor table to feast on a batch of wilted leaf lettuce, snip a handful of thyme to season a roast, or show my delightful grandson where to find a carrot, I feel good and free, alive and connected to this earth that sustains us.

Here’s my idea of a perfect early/mid- summer lunch, my Grandmother Louella (Warner) Croner’s recipe for wilted lettuce:
• Serving bowl full of coarsely chopped or torn leaf lettuces.
• 4-6 fresh green onions, sliced
• 2-4 slices of good bacon, diced
• 2-4 T. red wine or cider vinegar
• 2 tsp. sugar
• Salt and pepper to taste
Arrange sliced onions on top of the lettuce in a serving bowl. Saute bacon and remove excess fat, leaving 2-3 T. in the pan. While the pan is still hot, add the vinegar, sugar, salt and pepper. While boiling, pour over lettuce and serve immediately.