Tuesday, May 09, 2006, 18:48
Operation Rhubarb Rescue
As I stood in my horse pasture gazing down at three scraggly shoots of rhubarb, I felt a sharp sense of disappointment.
“I thought there’d be more,” I said to my husband, Randy.
It was a hot day in late August. About six weeks earlier, Randy and I had moved into the house that my folks had built when they retired from farming. Before this, I had been much too busy to think about rhubarb. But then just this morning, Randy and I had started talking about food that we liked, and he had mentioned that rhubarb crisp was one of his favorites.
“Why is it way out here, anyway?” Randy asked.
Only a few days earlier, we had finished putting up a fence so our two horses could have a small pasture. The rhubarb wasn’t exactly in the middle of the pasture, but it was close enough.
“When Mom and Dad lived here, this is where Dad originally had his garden,” I explained. “Mom wanted some rhubarb, so Dad planted three of them.”
“Three? There’s not much left out of three,” Randy said. “And it sure doesn’t look like the rhubarb that I remember from when I was a kid. That stuff had huge leaves and sort of greenish stalks.”
I shook my head. “It’s not the same kind. Mom didn’t want big rhubarb. She said that with just the two of them, they wouldn’t be able to use it all. So Dad planted this. It’s called Canadian Red.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Instead of the bigger stalks, it gets smaller stalks that are a pretty red color,” I said, reaching down to push aside the leaves. “See? And the other thing Mom liked about it is that because it doesn’t get very big, you can use it all summer.”
Randy nodded. “I can understand how that would be an advantage. We could have rhubarb crisp on Labor Day, too, instead of just Memorial Day.”
I shrugged. “Maybe you shouldn’t get your heart set on rhubarb crisp. It probably won’t even come up again next spring. Especially if the horses walk around on it all winter. ”
Randy stood there for a few moments, then he turned and headed for the fence.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To get a shovel.”
“A shovel?”
“We’re going to dig it up and transplant it,” he said.
I hurried to catch up with him. “Transplant it? Now?”
“Why not? If the chances are good it won’t come up again next spring, then what have we got to lose by trying to transplant it?”
I could see that he had a pretty good point.
A few minutes later, we arrived back in the pasture with a shovel.
“Here goes nothing,” Randy said, as he started to dig around the rhubarb.
After about ten minutes of pushing the tip of the shovel through the tangled mass of grass and roots and then jumping on it to drive the shovel farther into the ground, Randy was ready to see if he could pry up the rhubarb.
“Finally,” he said, setting aside a lump of dirt containing the three rhubarb leaves.
“Where do you want to plant it?” he asked.
I considered the question. “Hmmm…how about over by the barn?”
“By the barn it is,” Randy said.
Twenty minutes later, we had dug up a spot on the south side of the barn. (Well, actually, “we” didn’t. Randy did. But that’s beside the point.)
After that, about once a week until the first frost, we we made sure we gave the rhubarb plenty of water. After the leaves froze, we covered the plant with a layer of hay.
The following winter was one of the worst I’d seen in a long time: 20 degrees below zero for many nights in a row and plenty of days when it hardly got above zero.
The next spring, I did not hold out much hope that the rhubarb had survived. And as each day passed and no rhubarb shoots appeared, I gave up hope all together.
When the first tiny pink tip poked out of the ground, I could hardly believe my eyes.
“And you were worried,” Randy said, looking pleased with himself.
That was 10 years ago, and as far as I can tell, the rhubarb never even realized it had been transplanted.
There’s just one problem, though. I thought Canadian Red was supposed to be small. Unless you can count knee-high stalks as “small.”
All I can say is — it’s a good thing Randy likes rhubarb crisp!
I cut some of the rhubarb today so I can make crisp. Can't hardly tell I cut anything off the plant, but I did. . .
(Look for the recipe for Rhubarb Crisp in the May 12 edition of Rural Route 2 News)
LeAnn R. Ralph
P.S. Thanks to Deanna for her comment on yesterday's blog entry "Pictures":
Hi LeAnn,
I loved seeing the pictures! Your lilacs are beautiful...and so is baby Eli. He is truly blessed to have all your family to love and adore him. Who can resist a sweet, innocent baby? I hope he grows up wanting to spend lots of time with Auntie LeAnn and Uncle Randy. Thanks for sharing!!! Deanna
Monday, May 08, 2006, 19:41
Pictures!
Randy and I finally got a chance to see my great-nephew, Eli Roy Ralph on Saturday evening. My sister-in-law invited us for supper, and Eli and his mom, Amy, were there, too.
I had forgotten how tiny new babies are! Eli will be three weeks old tomorrow (Tuesday, May 9).
Here is a picture of me and Eli.
And here is a picture of Eli and Grandma (Mary Ellen).
And a picture of Eli and Grandpa (my brother, Ingman, who appears in all of my books).
And a picture of Eli and Randy.
And a picture comparing the size of Eli and Randy's thumbs!
And a picture of Eli and his mother, Amy.
Also, my lilacs are starting to bloom! So, here's a picture of my lilacs.
The church dinner went well on Sunday. Of course, Randy and I were exhausted by the time we finally got home at 3 p.m. I'm glad we don't have church dinners like that every week. I'm not sure how many we served, but maybe 175. We went through 18 pies, 8 slices per pie for 144 slices, and not everyone had pie. . .
LeAnn R. Ralph
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