Dumpster-Diving Granny (and some road pickles)

 

From the windows of my grandfather’s beautifully buffed behemoth of a car, a 1975 Lincoln Continental, my sister and I gradually sank lower and lower in our seats, hoping no one saw us—

Embarrassed,
Horrified,
Exasperated.

Just outside the windows we could see them—Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa—standing beside a dumpster at the Asheville Farmers’ Market.

We saw my mom helping to lift my 75-year-old grandmother to the upper edge of the dumpster, her butt in the air, hovering over the edge to grab left-behind cantaloupes, all perfectly ripe, the last of a farmer’s load to sell, abandoned at the end of a long selling day.

My grandmother, all 5’ 1” of her, and her daughter, my mother, raised to be just as determined, just as frugal, grabbed one and hoisted it to my grandpa who acted like this was an everyday occurrence.  Grabbing another and waving in the air, Grandma yelled to us and pointed, “Look, girls, they’re perfect.  We’re having cantaloupe tonight!”

Both Kelly and I sighed and knew that anyone driving by who noticed an old lady dumpster diving in her polyester culottes and shirt would find this a curious sight.

* * * * * * * * *  

Years later on Hwy. 37 in the boonies, halfway between Bradenton and Mulberry, Florida, not a car in sight, once again, Kelly and I sank in the back seat, watching Mom and Dad scurry across the two lanes of highway, picking up cucumbers that had fallen from a produce truck, packing them into the trunk of our VW Rabbit.  

“Waste not, want not” rang in our ears.  When Mom exclaimed, "Girls, they are the perfect size!" we instantly knew all evening plans, including the weekly watching of Heehaw and The Lawrence Welk Show,  would be sidetracked to sanitize Mason jars and can some pickles.

Like mother, like daughter.

* * * * * * * * * *

Grandma’s early adult years were spent in the Great Depression, so frugality was treasured, and became a commodity of its own.

50 years later, that commodity led to a dumpster diving granny and road pickles and a cabbage incident.  There I stood in a Florida Publix watching Grandma strip layers of cabbage leaves off the head before weighing it for the price, proclaiming to me as I hid my face behind my collar, “Why should I pay for the cabbage I won’t use?”


* * * * * * * * * * *

Only age provides clarity.  Imagine my wonderment as I now consider these two influential women.

Both were proud money-savers, 
garage sale junkies, 
discount rack-only customers.

Yet despite this frugality,  neither saved, 
scrimped, 
or hoarded their love, 
their time, 
or their praise.

The young, embarrassed sixth grader wouldn’t have recognized this irony,
Wouldn’t have appreciated the generosity,
But I do now.

Perhaps part of being a mom involves—
The pursuit of seeing the traits our kids devalue and toss aside,
The desire to uncover the hidden value,
The willingness to throw dignity aside and dive into the mess,
Come up to the surface,
And hold high,
Pointing and yelling at all who pass by, 
“Hey, look at what I found.”