| Food
& Other Important Things
Mostly Historical Vignettes
by Don Curto
Not such a great Valentine’s Day, I betcha. Seen and heard just before Valentine’s Day in a local store: a young mother and daughter looking over the cards in the section for “Husband.” The young woman opens several cards, reads the greeting inside. She looks at the final card, closes it firmly, puts it back in place and says: “Don’t I wish.”
• • •
My father was a gentle man. He never struck me, though I am sure there were many provocations. I was very adept with childhood provocation, and especially teen provocation. There are those who say more punishment might have done me some good. But, as the possible recipient, I tend to disagree. Sometimes his words were very effective, even though they were spoken in an even tone. For instance:
In the 1930s Marquette was in the grip of the really bad and dangerous Great Depression, a term that came into use much later. It was bad because there was almost no work to help feed families and it was dangerous because there was the increasing possibility of revolution if starving people were not fed. I know it doesn’t seem possible now, but in those times, it was all too possible. Without FDR, things may well have gotten completely out of control.
Like many of the families in Marquette, we had a large vegetable garden in our backyard. My father had two fifty-five-gallon barrels of water, one with plain water allowed to warm up so the plants, especially his prized tomatoes, would not be “shocked” by cold water; the other was also warmed water, but enriched with sheep manure.
As I have noted before, I think my father may have had the first Beefsteak tomato plants in the U.P. He got them from an engineer on the New York Central Railroad who got them from someone at Rutgers University where the plants had been developed.
In those days, the DSS&A railroad met the NY Central in Mackinaw City after crossing the Straits on the railroad ferry. My father’s tomatoes often won first place ribbons at the Marquette County Fair, held in late August at the proper time for harvests. He was very proud and protective of these plants.
When he went back to work and was “on the road,” it was my job to water and nurture these plants, as well as other garden stuff.
To do this job right took about thirty minutes, maybe forty-five at the most. Generally, each plant was watered individually; there was no overall spraying with water from a hose except in specific cases.
Of course, you have little difficulty in figuring out what went wrong from time to time. My father had an uncanny ability to see where I went wrong, forgetting his regular schedule and then trying to make it up. Everything looked OK to me, but he always knew. Italian gardeners have this special sense.
He then would look at me with his unique exasperated expression, tilt his head slightly to the side and say, with the most profound sorrow: “Boy, you better become a priest, because you’re too lazy ever to work.”
Later, I gave the whole idea a little thought, but when girls got in the way, I abandoned any further consideration. I have mentioned this to several priests over the years and, without exception, they think I made the right decision. (I also have learned most priests work very hard and always on Sunday, when we are at rest) . . .
—Don Curto
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