For #LineByLineTime

I’ve been reading a thread on food banks today. It reminded me of the times of food shortages in my family. My parents worked hard, both of them, but poverty is harder. My dad was a dead shot, but had no money to buy a gun or bullets. He didn’t know how to make traps. One very low point for the family came when we no longer had chickens or rabbits to eat. We could not afford larger animals. We could not afford seeds to grow vegetables or fruits. There were no wild plants to harvest.

Just as we were getting desperate, my mother discovered several gallon jars in the back of a closet that held giant pickles. The year before, a farmer had given Mom a bushel of overgrown cucumbers, too large and tough to sell. She didn’t have much time to do anything to preserve them before they spoiled, so she jammed them into the gallon jars she collected somewhere and poured vinegar over them, screwed the lids on, and shoved them into the closet out of the way.

We lived for a month eating nothing but half of one of those giant pickles in the morning and the other half in the evening. It was boring, but it filled our bellies. Our hair and nails looked great (if you know, you know) and we were healthy despite the monotonous diet.

At the end of the month, the pickles were finished. My dad found a job again and we were able to go to the store and buy staple foods again. We went through lean times later, but never so drastic as that.