“They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear, - but left the shield.”
―Philip Freneau
.
And by a prudent flight and cunning save A life which valour could not, from the grave. A better buckler I can soon regain, But who can get another life again?
Archilochus
The laboratory experiments attempting to engieer the production of food –– presumably to to ensure better quality and greater abundance –– are intriguing, and may be well-motivated, but to be honest the produce from my grandmother's vegetable patch, my father's World War Two Victory Garden, my Great Aunt Etta and Uncle Joe's Herb Garden, their tomato plants, theur rhubarb patch, their Berry patch, and their small orchard containing apple, peach and plum trees tasted far better than anything we've ever bought from the supermarkets in more recent years. We also loved to buy home-grown produce from the roadside farmstands that dotted the areas where we lived and vacationed.
Eating fruits and vegetables in ther proper season was much more exciting –– and satisfying –– than having everything available all the time looking beautiful but tasting BLAH as it does today.
Parked beside a lane with lilies lined Instinct drives us to the fragrant fields Carrying buckets to our task resigned. Keeping up with Nature’s bounty yields In summer morning’s warm, earth-scented mist Nostalgic sweet refreshment from the soil. Gleefully we gather berries kissed By sunshine, plump with rain before they spoil. Edible, these gems that fill our pails Remain, once tasted, as a lifelong treat. Remembrance fond at “Realism” rails. It knows behind our stated urge to eat, Each one of us who picks collects delights Stored to ease the future’s endless nights.
4 comments:
The laboratory experiments attempting to engieer the production of food –– presumably to to ensure better quality and greater abundance –– are intriguing, and may be well-motivated, but to be honest the produce from my grandmother's vegetable patch, my father's World War Two Victory Garden, my Great Aunt Etta and Uncle Joe's Herb Garden, their tomato plants, theur rhubarb patch, their Berry patch, and their small orchard containing apple, peach and plum trees tasted far better than anything we've ever bought from the supermarkets in more recent years. We also loved to buy home-grown produce from the roadside farmstands that dotted the areas where we lived and vacationed.
Eating fruits and vegetables in ther proper season was much more exciting –– and satisfying –– than having everything available all the time looking beautiful but tasting BLAH as it does today.
__________ Picking Berries __________
Parked beside a lane with lilies lined
Instinct drives us to the fragrant fields
Carrying buckets to our task resigned.
Keeping up with Nature’s bounty yields
In summer morning’s warm, earth-scented mist
Nostalgic sweet refreshment from the soil.
Gleefully we gather berries kissed
By sunshine, plump with rain before they spoil.
Edible, these gems that fill our pails
Remain, once tasted, as a lifelong treat.
Remembrance fond at “Realism” rails.
It knows behind our stated urge to eat,
Each one of us who picks collects delights
Stored to ease the future’s endless nights.
~ FreeThinke, The Sandpiper
Who knows just how much a bad environment contributes to the flavor...
...which I see as a major drawback to this research.
Well, I hate wax CORNY, but I believe "It's not nice to foll around with Mother Nature."
};^)>
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