Green Tomato Relish

      Around this time of year when all the nice juicy red tomatoes are gone from the gardens in my neighborhood I think about my grandmother.  She would call friends and relatives to see if they could give her their green tomatoes that were left in the gardens.  We'd usually get a bushel or two since the growing season was over and they wanted to get rid of them anyway.  In return they would get a jar or two of grandmother's special green tomato relish.
      The kitchen floor would be full of boxes of green tomatoes, shelves would be full of the other ingredients, jars were collected from the shed, new lids and seals were bought and I spent my days trying to think of a way I could get out of helping.
      I hated green tomato relish.  I had good reason to.  I was the one that had to turn the crank.  Grandmother had a big heavy metal grinder.  The rest of the year it was hidden away in a drawer just waiting.  At one time it must have been a meat grinder, but now it's only duty was to grind the ingredients for the relish.  Since food processors were way in the future this contraption was run by person power.  And I was the person who had to run it.
      It clamped onto the table edge with a big screw.  Vegetables were fed into the hopper, ground into tiny pieces and deposited in a pan on the table.  I sat on the opposite side of the grinder and turned the hand crank that turned the grinding blades.
      We peeled the tomatoes and cut each one into wedges.  There were big pans of tomato wedges that grandmother would feed into the grinder while I turned the crank.  Grinding the tomatoes wasn't easy but it was better than what came next.
      The other main ingredient was onion.  After peeling and cutting up the onions we would start the grinding process again.  We had to take breaks often to let our eyes recover.  Over the years I must have cried buckets because of those onions.
      All the ground up tomatoes and onions were put in a pan on the stove.  Grandmother added her special ingredients, some vinegar, sugar and spices.  Nothing was measured but it always came out right.
      This mixture cooked for several hours.  In the mysterious way that good cooks have grandmother just knew when it was ready.  I think it had something to do with the smell.  It was so strong our eyes would start to water again and the dogs would leave home.
      The relish was packed in jars, sealed and stored for future use.  The grinder was cleaned and stored away in a special place and I could relax for a year.
      Anyone who donated tomatoes were given some.   It was served often at meals especially if there were guest.  Everyone said it was delicious.  I wouldn't know.  Maybe it was because I had to turn that crank.  I couldn't bring myself to eat it.  I never tasted grandmother's special green tomato relish.
      Now, I wish I had.

Summer Afternoon

She sits on a swing
in the garden,
in her pink straw hat
with the wide brim
and the sheer net
that drapes over her shoulders
and waits for evening.
Oak branches intertwine overhead
enclosing her in nature's bower.
The rusted swing squeaks
with each movement.
A small bird plays
in birdbath water
shaking itself,
sending droplets over the edge
onto thick grass below.
The scent of yellow roses
from a nearby trellis floats on the air.
A light breeze touches her,
stirring wisps of hair.
She sails
on thoughts of yesterday.

A Trifling Tale

                                             A Trifling Tale

                                                                      Kay Jordan

                                    A tricolored trilobite

                                    once lived in a trifoliated trillium

                                    that grew in a triforium.

                                    She suffered the trials

                                    and tribulations

                                    of a trite tryst

                                    with an untrustworthy Triton.

                                    He served her truffles

                                    on a treacherous trestle.

                                    A train traversed the trestle

                                    and in a trice

                                    the tricolored trilobite became extinct.

                                    The moral of this trifling tale

                                     is not hard to tell----

                                     A tricolored trilobite

                                     should never eat truffles

                                     with an untrustworthy Triton

                                     on a treacherous trestle

                                     that a train might traverse.



Young Man in Limbo

Summer sun

small town heat

his last July here

College starts

in a couple of months

He'll ride out of

this little burg

on his way to forever

Now he passes time

playing video games

at Wal-Mart

watching people

come and go

Old men ask

if he's ready for college

if he's goinna play ball

if he thinks he can make it

He smiles

assuredly answers all questions

Young girls walk by

notice him and giggle

behind their hands

He turns away and smiles

He's not gonna get tied down

Not now

when he's ready

to flex his wings

and fly this coop

There's too much

waiting for him

somewhere else

He knows

he's got it all mapped out

Gonna wipe the dust

of this small town

off his feet

and never look back

But for now

he gazes out the window

and watches the heat

ripple up in waves

on the Wal-Mart parking lot