The Southern 'Mater' Treat

The darkness surrounding my slumber was ripped by a beam from the hall light.

"Wake up, Scott. It's time to go," my mother said.

Her voice had the nuance of a drill sergeant though she had proven a mother's love over my lifetime. Raising four boys required it.

With a cold sausage biscuit and a Tupperware cup of milk in hand, I climbed into the passenger seat of our Volkswagen Micro bus. First light broke over the horizon as the unique buzz of the engine at work filled the cabin.

Today was 'picking day' and launched the canning and freezing season for fresh vegetables from Johns Island.

The commercial field's first harvest had been completed and was now open to residents for a minimal fee. We would return home with bushels of handpicked tomatoes, string beans, okra, corn, cucumbers, and butterbeans.

Sweat dripped down my ten-year-old chin as the sun rose into the sky. Like a mad foreman, the orange orb beat down on me like I had robbed the earth of its fruit.

At noon, we stopped for lunch and sat in the shade of an Oak tree. A metal ice chest pulled from the bus served as a table, and my mother washed a vine-ripened tomato. I assembled the bread smeared with mayonnaise on paper plates.

Juices ran through her fingers as she sliced the bright red fruit and placed thick slabs on the prepared bread. We each salted and peppered the lush sandwiches to our own preference.

A mixture of sweet and tart juices burst in my mouth as I bit into the tomato sandwich. The tomato's nectar overflowed from the sides of my mouth and coated my young fingers. The buds on my tongue erupted in pleasure, and contentment filled my mind with the favorite taste of summer.

Cold water poured from the cooler, refreshed my mouth, and I was ready to return to work. The massive sandwich was a reminder that real work can provide an instant reward.

Ears of corn bowed toward the ground in submission to the fate of my basket. The rows of corn stalks provided some shield as the sun sloped across the sky. My mom cut okra.

The remaining cold water in the cooler, like the finest chilled lemonade, refreshed my body before we invaded the vines of the bean patch. The day ended with the backbreaking chore of harvesting cucumbers for pickling.

Sweat and grime coated my clothes as the bus's air conditioning soothed my sunburnt skin on the long ride home.

***

My brothers all descended into the garage and unloaded our treasure while the laborers of the day showered.

Hours later, as twilight consumed the evening sky, we gathered at the table on our covered patio.

The golden harvest of the summer, prepared by my mom, lay like a farmer's smorgasbord before us. Creamed corn, corn on the cob with butter, parmesan roasted squash, fried okra, steamed beans, sliced tomatoes, cucumbers and onions marinated in vinegar, and hot cornbread awaited us.

Sometimes the best meals are measured by the amount of silence at the table. We ate greedily and consumed the fresh fruit and vegetables of the earth.

"Eat your fill boys," my mom said, "it will never taste better than this. Tomorrow we begin the process of canning to preserve everything the best we can."

A week later, the corn was shucked, creamed, and some frozen on the cob. The snapped beans and the tomatoes were canned and sealed. The okra was cut, and the butter beans hulled and frozen. My mother announced the pickling of the cucumbers into bread and butter, dill, and sweet pickles would commence the next morning.

Our work was complete two weeks after the visit to Johns Island, and my mother brought me a box laden with twelve-pint jars.

"I know these are your favorite, so I prepared them just for you. Each jar has your name on it to eat or share as you wish throughout the year," she said.

Each mason jar had a label that read:

Scott's Hot Crisp Pickled Okra

The gift of the pickled okra would remind me of the summer and my mother's gratitude throughout the winter months.

A month later, the darkness surrounding my slumber was ripped by a beam from the hall light.

"Wake up, Scott. It's time to go," my mother said, "the peaches are in and ready to be picked."

***

Southern Tomato Sandwich Recipe

Ingredients needed:

One handpicked vine-ripened tomato

Two slices of fresh bread of choice.

Mayonnaise of choice.

Salt

Pepper

Lots of napkins.

Spread the desired amount of mayonnaise on the bread. Slice the tomato to desired thickness. Place tomato slices on bread in layers. The thicker the better. Sprinkle with salt and pepper to desired taste.

Stack the sandwich together and bite. Wipe chin continuously to prevent your shirt from becoming stained.

Grin.

***