A wonderful lady named Shirley contacted me the other day because she had been to my Surviving the Middle Class Crash website, and wanted to share what she is doing to help in the coming economic depression that we are facing. What she shares comes from 77 years of experience.

She has experienced as a child, what we are about to go through, and we need to listen carefully to what she has to say to make it through the hard times ahead. So, please read the following, and take her advice to heart. We need her, and more people like her to help us in this time of great economic hardship.

Why I'm Planting A Garden

By Shirley Braverman

In 1947, two years after world war II ended there were 20 million small gardens in the United States. They provided 40% of the produce in the American Diet. The gardens started during the depression. During the war, they were called “Victory Gardens.” Even the first lady, Eleanor Roosevelt, had a garden.

I grew up in a garden; we grew tomatoes and zucchini. By age seven, I knew how to remove the suckers from the tomato vines, how to pull weeds and how to pinch off the multiple yellow blossoms. Blossoms had to be 4 inches from each other to get the largest fruits. 

The people in Kirkwood, Missouri liked large tomatoes and zucchinis. When the depression started in 1929, the city fathers’ got together and declared that “No one in Kirkwood would go hungry.” They organized the town and, “though,” as my grandfather said, “the whole damn town of 18, 000 didn’t have $500 between them,” no one went hungry.

Next door to me was the lettuce lady. In her flowerpots, she grew all the lettuces, spinach, chards and greens. She used flowerpots to keep the snails and caterpillars off her plants. When we wanted to make sandwiches or a salad, my mother would send me off with a scissors to Mrs. Ball’s house and I would carefully snip off the outer leaves and bring them home to wash and put on the sandwich or in the salad. The shortest food chain in the world. I never saw lettuce in a ball ‘till I was a teenager and a supermarket came to town. What’s more, Mrs. Ball just loved my tomatoes and zucchini. I was so proud when I took them to her. They were my greatest accomplishments in my young life. Across the street was the onion lady. She grew every onion, chive, shallot and garlic known to mankind at the time. She sprouted them in her basement and people picked them up for their own gardens in the spring. Grandpa Van raised chickens and rabbits and had fruit trees - apples, apricots and a cherry tree that was in the back of the chicken yard. Every time a cherry fell off the tree, the chickens would race over to eat it. Gustof Franks had the two cows and we traded him eggs for milk and butter.  

No one threw anything away. Table scraps and other uneaten food would go in the “slop” bucket. Neighbors came by and threw them to the chickens while they picked up a few eggs. The tops of carrots and lettuce scraps and greens went to the rabbits.

There was a trading system. A basket of apples could be traded for a skinned rabbit or a basket of grapes or apricots. An apple pie could be traded for milk or eggs. Another man grew corn. He had about 10 rows and he cracked some for my grandfather to feed to the chickens. He also gave it to the women who headed the canning committee. For his fresh corn, he could get canned peaches, applesauce, canned corn, potatoes or apricot syrup. Oh yes, we had potato people. They had raised beds and raised potatoes better than any I’ve ever tasted in my life. And there were peas, beans, and herbs. Everyone grew something, raised something and traded something. My other grandfather, although a natural stone quarryman, also kept beehives. A pint of honey went a long way in trade, as did a full honeycomb. Once every two months our butcher would take some meat or fish:  pig, calf, chickens or rabbits into Saint Louis and trade for salt, flour, coffee, paraffin and soap. 

And then there was hunting. The men went hunting on Saturday and whatever they shot, quail, rabbits, possum or deer, was eaten on Sunday. There was also the Merrimac and Mississippi river to fish in. Catfish, Sunfish, and Perch. They could be traded for canned fruits, vegetables, eggs, you name it. 

I don’t think I ate an orange till I was almost twelve, after the war, and I marveled at this

miraculous fruit, and then I was even more astounded with bananas. I was so used to this culture that after the war when I heard that the Greeks and the Russians and the Chinese were starving, I wondered, innocently why they didn’t plant gardens. Even today, when I hear that one in 8 children goes to school hungry, when I hear pleas for food donations for the poor, I wonder why we don’t have community gardens. Instead of talking on phones or watching TV or playing video games, couldn’t the children use their energy to weed the garden and harvest the food?

So, plant a garden and tell your neighbor to plant a garden and share. Mobile Home Parks and Apartment Complexes could create community gardens. Why waste the gas to have your tomatoes shipped in from California or Mexico when they can be grown just as easily in your backyard and taste much better picked off the vine.

They say dark days lie ahead for the economy. But, whatever happens, we don’t have to go hungry. We can feed ourselves. Come on my Beloved Country, let’s get organized. Let’s start digging. Let’s do something economically beneficial, wonderful, brilliant and powerful. Let’s all plant gardens.

Shirley Braverman

About the author

Shirley is 77 years young, and was a nurse for 25 years. She used to write health articles until the editors just wanted her to rave about whatever their advertisers were hawking at the time. She watches for the newly developing diseases and watches in fear as TB and MARSA spread like wildfire and no one pays attention. She saw Morgellon’s a while ago and it scared her. She has 8 grandkids and worries about them. She is starting gardening projects to help. This is her first community article to go in the mobile home parks newsletters.

Author's Bio: Barbara H. Peterson is retired from the California Department of Corrections, where she worked as a Correctional Officer at Folsom Prison. She was one of the first females to work at the facility in this classification. After retirement, she went to college online to obtain a Bachelor's degree in Business, and graduated with honors. The most valuable thing she received from her time with UOP was a realization that her life's passion is writing. Now her business degree sits in her desk drawer, and she counts herself in the category of Writer/Activist. Someday she will make money writing, but that is not why she does it. "I do it because I must. A driving force compels me to reach out to others with what I learn about the condition we the people are in, and that is what I devote my time to. After all, time is the most precious thing we have, and the older I get the more I want to use it wisely." Barbara lives on a small ranch in Oregon with her husband, where they raise geese, chickens, Navajo Churro sheep, Oggie Dog, a variety of cats, and an opinionated Macaw named Rita. She believes that self-sufficiency and localization of food sources will be necessary to survive the coming depression. To this end, she has put up a website to share information at: http://survivingthemiddleclasscrash.wordpress.com. Her philosophy is this: You are on this earth for a reason - to fight for the light. Your words are swords that penetrate the darkness with truth and light. You have a purpose.

www.opednews.com/articles/Why-I-m-Planting-A-Garden-by-Barbara-Peterson-090315-434.html