Pressed Between the Pages
Treasures in the Woods
By DeAnn (Wolkow) Kruempel
The old butcher knife settled into the bottom of the pail as Mom carried it out the gate. A wide-brimmed straw hat and a long-sleeved pink shirt, our mother’s typical outdoor spring attire, protected her fair skin from the sun. An everyday apron covered the front of her homemade cotton wash dress.
I skipped beside her, presenting her with dandelions that grew along the dirt road that ran next to the shelter belt. Leaves of tall and short trees whispered in the South Dakota breezes. A row of wild plums shimmered next to us in the dappled light. “Looks like we will have plums for jam this year.”
Mom pointed to the small light-green ovals that would mature into purple fruit.
A yellow-breasted bird trilled from the fencepost ahead. “That’s a meadowlark.” Mom added that the bird probably has a nest on the ground close by. A bend in the road allowed access to the pasture gate on the left or the dirt road that continued on between the trees and a field.
Tender new blades of corn fluttered in the wind. Mom scanned the ground cover below the trees as we walked. Suddenly, she smiled and I knew she had found the hidden treasure. A patch of green sprouts protruded from the earth under a giant cottonwood. She set down the pail, reached for the butcher knife and sliced off seven leafless, pointy shoots at the ground. She said new shoots would come up in a few days.
Soon we were off to find more. Mom knew the places where the asparagus plants had grown for a lot of years and the stash grew. “Did you plant it here?” I wondered.
“No, the birds did. When we stop picking the asparagus, it will grow tall and make seed pods on top. The birds eat the seeds, then poop them out when they sit in a tree or on a fencepost.”
Suddenly, the grass moved ahead of us, a single wave. Something was running silently.
“A hen pheasant.” Mom explained that her plain feathers are a camouflage. Just then, I noticed a nest tucked under a fallen branch. Soft dry grass surrounded a clutch of twelve olive-colored eggs. Mom said the hen pheasant had been sitting on them. “She’ll be back.” We moved on.
When we headed home, Mother’s hands were full. The bucket of asparagus swung from her right. My small hand happily nestled in her left.
Asparagus has a delicious history, having been raised for food for more than 2,000 years. The Greeks and Romans prized the plant’s medicinal properties. Later, European royalty considered it a delicacy.
Colonists brought asparagus roots to America in the 1650s.
The vegetable is a powerhouse of nutrition, providing folate, vitamins K, A and C and fiber. It also contains glutathione, an antioxidant and cancer-fighter.
That night Mom cooked a kettle of asparagus, which she and Dad loved. With wrinkled nose, I forced down the required one bite.
Our mother considered those green stalks growing from the earth year after year as gifts, treasures to feed her family. Looking back, I realize the real treasure was not the asparagus, but the time shared with our mother, hand-in-hand with nature. And now, strangely enough, I love asparagus!
The author’s column appears in a growing number of Midwest newspapers. Kruempel compiles and publishes the column stories every year. She has also published a historical fiction series, “Promises to Keep.”
Her ten books are available on Amazon. Signed copies may be purchased at the Harrison County Welcome Center. Contact Kruempel at deannkruempelauthor@gmail.com.
