Welcome to the 21st century...

When I was old enough to hold a dish without dropping it, my dad made me wash dishes. He does not believe in a dishwasher. In fact, I really don't think our dishwasher has been used in at least ten years. Seriously. I'm not kidding. After dinner, my sister, my dad, and I would clean up. Immediately. One of us would wash the dishes, one would dry, and the other would put up. I don't know where the obsessive-compulsiveness comes from, but I certainly didn't get the genes. I have absolutely no problem letting those dishes sit there for a couple of hours while I relax after a good meal. And when I do get ready to do the dishes, I certainly don't wash them by hand. I hate to sound like a brat, but HELLO, welcome to the 21st century. Use a freaking dishwasher. That's what they're there for.


Along with snubbing modern technology, my family members also turn their noses up at the produce aisle in the grocery store. You see, we have a garden. "The Garden." The Garden is more like a small farm. My whole family--my dad, my aunts and uncles, cousins--plants rows and rows and rows of every vegetable you can think of every year. Okra, corn, cucumbers, squash, every kind of peppers in existence, the list goes on. Here's the thing though: all of these fruits and vegetables are planted by hand, then picked by hand. It doesn't stop there, my friends. We make our own jellies, pickles, salsa, corn relish, and probably some other things that I can't think of at the moment. (When I say "we," I really mean "they." However, I do contribute to the picking and shelling/shucking processes. I learned how to shell peas before I could write my name.) I sometimes feel like this is how Laura Ingalls Wilder lived. I love Laura Ingalls Wilder. Or George Washington. I'm not complaining: my pantry is stocked with mason jars of various homemade concoctions, and my freezer is packed with fresh, frozen vegetables. I have a huge family, and there's enough to last everyone a whole year. This garden is serious business. 


The dishwasher issue I despise, but the Garden is my favorite thing about my family. It's a tradition. It's funny. Who does that? Who plants and picks that many crops by hand in the year 2009? We do. Arnold family bonding is what we like to call it. The Garden is a family affair. We sit on the back porch of my aunt's house and wash, snap, shuck, shell, ziploc, and label. Usually there's beer and good story-telling, which is all the more reason to love the Garden.


So tonight, I pulled some potatoes out of a tattered wal-mart bag and scrubbed the dirt off of them. They were straight from the Garden. I sliced them up, poured Italian dressing over them, and powdered them with Tony's. Then I put them in the old corningware that my mom gave me. I was so excited that she gave me some of it. I never thought I'd cherish my mother's corningware. But I do. Not because of what it is or how it looks... Because it's my mom's. She's cooked in it since I was a child, and it just feels like home with it sitting on my stove. It's simple. Classic. It makes me happy. Thanks, Mom.