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My grandpa was born in 1912 and reached adulthood during the great depression. It taught him a lot I'm sure, because he learned how to feed a large family on a limited income. That family often included a guest or two at the kitchen table, but there was always room for them. By the seventies, most of his sons and daughters now had homes and families of their own, but he still lived as though he had an army to feed. In a way, I guess he did. With dozens and dozens of grandchildren, weekend meals were always large.

He lived just three blocks from my house. His property was just outside the city limits. Even though it was an average neighborhood for any small town, it made for an interesting situation. He had two vacant lots on either side of his house. He kept three good sized gardens on the two lots. He had a chicken coop in the back yard and a small pen where he kept rabbits or once in a while a lone pig. I guess you could say I lived a hop, skip, and a jump from a mini-farm. During the summer months, I pretty much spent most of my day at grandpa's house.

Two of the gardens were planted in green beans, tomatoes, sweet corn, and a variety of other vegetables. One garden was always reserved for potatoes. As grandchildren, my cousins and I were appointed assistant gardeners. Assistant gardener's had several different jobs. We did everything from pulling weeds to picking the crop when it was ready. The picking season started with the tomatoes and green beans. We'd pick the tomatoes and deliver them to Grandma and her assistants to be washed, cooked, and canned. Hundreds of quart jars of stewed tomatoes and tomato juice passed through the kitchen during the summer. Green beans by the bushel basket were washed, snapped, cooked, and canned as well.

The potato harvest however was a onetime event. When it was time to dig potatoes, the troops were called in for a hard day's work. My grandpa, a few of my uncles, my father, or one or two of my older cousins would grab the potato forks and head to the garden. The younger grandchildren were given baskets to carry the potatoes to the root cellar. The forks would break through the loose soil and bring up the larger potatoes that couldn't pass through the tines. Dozens of little hands would sift through the soil and get all of the small potatoes that the fork didn't bring up. Basket after basket of potatoes would be taken to the root cellar and dumped into the potato bin. Even after all of Grandpa's children had moved out,

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