F is for Food

 

Food delivery the more things change....

When I was in elementary school we lived in a small town 30 miles from Oklahoma City. In the morning Momma would call the grocery store, order groceries and Melvin would deliver them. He and his wife Mary Ann owned and ran the store. Melvin was Daddy's cousin and best friend and Mary Ann was Momma's cousin and best friend. Did I say it was a small town?

One time Melvin delivered to our neighbor Adelaide. Actually I think she was one of the few people in town who were not related to one or the other of my parents. Anyway, Melvin knocked on the door and someone called "Come in." So Melvin did. Nobody in that town locked their doors in those days. As he discovered, Adelaide was not at home. No one was. Just Adelaide's parrot. So Melvin put the refrigerator items away and left the rest of the order on the kitchen table.

Almost everyone else on our street was related to us. Mother's mother lived next door. Two of Grandma's brothers and their families live behind us. Daddy's parents lived across the street. And Mother's father's sister and her husband lived next door to them.

It was a great place to be a kid. There were cousins to play with and aunts who were generous cooks. Aunt June would give us ketchup sandwiches made with homemade ketchup and light bread. Aunt Emma always had sweets of some kind. One Grandma had store-bought cookies and the other had homemade ones. It's a wonder us kids were ever hungry for supper.

Everybody had their own chickens and gardens and fruit trees. Nobody bought chicken at the grocery store. Of course this was before refrigerated trucks and Tyson's industrial chicken farms.

A couple of years ago the stores here in Lakewood started delivering groceries. Even Walmart. From The Denver Post, April 12, 2018,"Grocery delivery competition speeds up as King Soopers adds 2-hour service in Colorado." 

I guess it'd been so long since grocery stores delivered, that it made the news and Lakewood is a much larger town with more grocery stores so competition was inevitable.

Even as interwoven as our relationships were in that small town, we're much more dependent on a much wider community now. Fruit out of season is from Mexico. Even fruit in season comes from all over the United States. Because of the way Federal subsidies are set up our milk is usually from dairies that are instate. Unless, it's some kind of nondairy milk. (Is that an oxymoron?) Almond milk comes from California. Coffee and tea and chocolate come from even farther away.

When I was a kid, I didn't think too much about where our food came from or worry that we might not have enough. In-season we ate out of the garden. Out-of-season we had jars of canned produce that were put up in the summer.

With the Covid-19 pandemic, I'm a lot more aware of just how vital those farm workers scattered around this continent and, indeed the world, are. How important the truck drivers who deliver the food to our town are. And the grocery store employees who stock the shelves, or gather what we need from those shelves for curb-side pickup, and those who deliver to our door.

I'm not ready to keep chickens again, but I think I will plant a small kitchen garden. And, if I need to, I can go online and order groceries delivered.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, but with much more appreciation.

B is for Broccoli

Broccoli is a beautiful thing.

Today is April 2 -- B Day in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.

A week ago my husband did the grocery shopping. Up until then I had done most of the grocery shopping. He would venture into a grocery store to buy meat when he felt like smoking a pork loin or a pork butt. Yummm. He makes the best pulled pork. And his barbecue sauce, oh my.

"Why," I ask "do they call it a pork butt when it's actually a shoulder, while the ham comes from that portion of pig anatomy that I would think of as the butt."

Why was he doing the grocery shopping? Corona Virus. The Pandemic that has grounded us Senior Citizens and those of us who may be immunocompromised. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention identified my demographic as "People who need extra precautions." Thank goodness, I'm not immunocompromised just old. ("Immunocompromised" -- a word I had to add to my dictionary to get rid of the squiggly red line. Damn you, Covid-19. Which I also had to add to my dictionary.)

Why him and not me? Because he is much younger than I. Being a retired veterinarian, he can turn all doctory on you at a moment's notice. He decided I should not go into grocery stores until this pandemic has run its course. Now I don't like being told what to or not to do, but I thought it through and decided to trust science. I did point out that at 60, he is only just below the 65 the CDC marked for needing "extra precautions."

When I was a kid, we could only afford enough of whatever to last until it was gone, then Daddy would buy enough more. That meant one kind of cold cereal, one flavor of ice cream, you know. Since I've been financially able to, when we open the last of something, I replace it with two more before we run out. Except milk, bread, and fresh produce. And candy bars. I can't keep extras of them or I would just eat them until they were gone.

I had been doing my regular shopping which means three or so times a week to pick up this and that. I had made my once-a-month run to Costco on March 10th so we were pretty well-stocked on things from there. They were already out of toilet paper, but we didn't need any (and still don't) so I didn't think anything about that. Little did I know.

I didn't make him a written list. I requested milk, bread, and fresh produce. Especially citrus fruit, broccoli, and cauliflower. Generally speaking fruits and many vegetables are just not as good cooked. Frozen broccoli and cauliflower is just not as good as fresh.


     He was shocked at the state of the produce section. No potatoes or onions. No green peppers. He cooks Cajun and you can't cook Cajun without onions, bell peppers, and celery. They did have celery. So I have been eating frozen broccoli that had been in the freezer so long, there was a bit of freezer burn to be trimmed away.
     They also didn't have kitty litter and we were running low. I know, first world problems.

So yesterday he went again. Now I have broccoli, cauliflower, oranges, cuties, grapes, strawberries. And kitty litter. I am so happy. 

And he's going to build me a raised bed in the back yard. I will garden for the first time in four years. I can't grow citrus or mangoes here. And probably won't grow broccoli, but all kinds of lettuce, green beans, bell peppers, jalapeno peppers. I can have fresh produce, at least in season. 

Do you think I should stock up on kitty litter? Surely people won't hoard kitty litter.

A to Z Blogging Challenge -- America

Today is Day 1 of the 2020 April A to Z Blogging Challenge. In all the Covid-19 chaos, I did not sign up, but I need to write so I'm going to do it informally. The goal of the challenge is to post every day except Sundays during the month of April. Each day's topic will begin with the corresponding letter for that day. April 1's topic should begin with A. April 2, B. April 3, C. etc.

Today is Day 1, A -- America

In this day of the continuing Stay At Home edict, America is at risk from Corona Virus-19.

Many years ago on my first trip to Washington, D.C., I saw the America I believe in.
I worked for the Federal Crop Insurance Corporation, part of the Department of Agriculture in Oklahoma City. They sent me to D.C. for training. Alone.

I saw America on the subway despite my out-of-towner anxiety. Oklahoma City has very little in the way of public transportation and back then even less.

That first day I entered the Metro at the DuPont Circle Station. I carefully paid attention to my surroundings as I walked from my hotel to the station so I would know which way to go when I came back. The Colombian Embassy was right there, a red brick building across the street from DuPont Circle which was a small park.

Descending into the underworld, I was exposed to the high speed world of a big city. The locals literally ran up and down the impossibly high escalators, not just one floor or even two floors, but three or four floors without a break. Did I mention, I'm afraid of heights? I stood as far to the right as possible clinging to the railing with both hands, silently pleading "Don't touch me. Don't touch me." They ran past me carrying their brief cases and back packs and giant purses and shopping bags. I knew that if they brushed against me, I'd tumble all the way to the bottom.

On the train, I worried about how I would know which stop to get off? The train was filled with people. I was alone. I was scared enough that I didn't really register the sights and sounds of the people around me. Locals in their business professional attire. Most wore government id's on lanyards around their necks. The women wore sneakers, their heels stowed in those bags to change into once they got to the office. I had been advised to do the same, so I was in sneakers, too.

And there were tourists, too. It was June, so they were in their comfy vacation clothes. Some of them didn't know how to navigate the underground either. I listened as they discussed among themselves how to read the maps posted on the wall of the train. One group had been in town for a week. They were from Iowa. They actually knew where the Ag Building was and explained to me where I needed to get off. Luckily there was a station right across from the building I needed to go to.

When I returned at the end of the day, I confidently exited the subway at the DuPont Circle Station. However, when I reached the surface, I recognized nothing. I didn't see the Colombian Embassy. Even DuPont Circle looked different. What confidence I had gained during the day evaporated.

I knew the street my hotel was on. So I started walking in the direction I thought I should go. I realized I should ask someone which way. There was a group of upper elementary aged children speaking French. There were people in twos and threes speaking languages I didn't recognize. Finally I passed two men speaking English. I asked them how to get to where I wanted to go. They looked around thoughtfully then gave me directions and wished me well.

When I got back to the hotel, I found out there are two subway stations at DuPont Circle.

The second day, I was considerably more secure. I did know how to ride the subway. No one was going to knock into me on the escalators and both locals and tourists were perfectly willing to help a lost out-of-towner.

That afternoon on the ride "home" to my hotel, three young women each dressed in white and carrying a rose further represented this America that I love. They had just been to their high school graduation. One was a red-haired Caucasian, one was African American, and the third appeared to be of Middle Eastern heritage. Three enthusiastic young women embarking on their future.

I know people complain about Washington, meaning the American government. And I admit that if something can be mismanaged or someone can be mistreated, our government can certainly discover just such a way to do it. And even with all our languages, Americans can fail to communicate with each other. But, Washington, D.C. is a beautiful city, filled with museums celebrating America's past and people of all kinds building the future.

The city exemplifies the wonderful variety of America. And, along with the rest of the world, America will come through Covid-19.

America's Future