Our family moved to the little town of Slater, Missouri, when I was just seven. We were a family of seven, so there were a lot of mouths to feed. Both our parents were good at making things stretch. Our father was a pastor of a small church and the church was quite poor. They didn't pay much, but they did share their harvest of vegetables and such freely.

The first harvest brought many interesting things such as tomatoes, corn, green beans, peas,
squash, cherries, apples, peaches, apricots..and Then...turnips! A whole bushel basket of them, not just a small bag.

Turnips were not something we usually ate. I think at first Mother cooked some, but they were not well received.

My sister Frankie carefully counted the amount of turnips in the basket and announced at the next meal how many each of us would have to eat to finish them all. Frankie always said she wasn't good at math, but she was that day! Her grand announcement brought a lot of tears and feelings of dread.

How many ways can you eat turnips? Fried? Mashed? Raw? Stewed? How about turnip pie? Turnips and ice cream, or turnip ice cream! Bacon and turnips--now that might just work. Bacon improves about anything. And then again, how about making compost with them?
Or giving them to the groundhogs, our pets at the time.

I never did know how Mother got rid of all those turnips. We never had them at another meal, but somehow, they disappeared. Mother was quiet about it and never divulged her secrets!