Seasoning

Mimere’s  steak sandwiches, Andy’s homemade hooch, Tom’s fried potaoes.  My favorite foods  are seasoned with memories. Each bite reminding me of special people and favorite places. 

Sometime in February I begin looking forward to the first tomato sandwich of the year:  white bread, mayonaise and local tomatoes, not fancy, not healthy and about as tasty as it gets.

I have never seen the people who are seasoning of my tomato sandwich.  I imagine they are older people, their property has a settled quiet feel about it, as if things had been that way for quite some time.

Their gravel driveway is flanked by twin grindstones and from early June to late September a golf cart sits about halfway up the drive.

Instead of golf clubs, the cart holds styrofoam take out containers  marked with a price from  $2 to $5, never more than that. Inside each container is an assortment of vegetables, not perfect in appearance, not uniform in size, and not more than 50 feet from the garden where they were grown.  Some cukes, some tomatoes, a squash or two, enough for a couple of meals. You select your container, leave your money in the old glass peanut butter jar and you are done. 

That old jar filled with crumpled bills represents the finest of old fashioned values, trust in people.  Not on a heroic scale, just as a part of everyday living. Being a part of that process is satisfying and I  know thats why those tomaotes taste so good.