Drive-by Vegetabling

A Faux Real Story

My gift to you today is another Faux Real Story! You may unwrap it whenever you wish.

This one is a story about giving. Merry Christmas!

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I would occasionally work for Grandpa Faux for week-long stints during the summer; painting, cutting down weeds, and (rarely) being an additional worker for his work crew. Most of his other grandchildren were given the sand-shoveling job when they visited, but that wasn’t my task simply because I was willing (and pretty good at) painting. In Grandpa’s mind, painting was the absolute worst job. So, finding a grandchild that would happily, patiently, and competently complete a painting job was a good thing.

I was also an accomplice in semi-frequent "drive-by vegetabling" trips.

But, I think I've gotten ahead of myself. Let me provide you with a little bit of background to help the story go down easier. You've got your hot chocolate too, right? Take a sip and settle in.

Grandpa was a contractor (cement and other general contracting) who had a workshop near the edge of town. He also grew up on a farm. So, unsurprisingly, some of the land around the shop was pressed into service as a place to grow some peppers, onions, zucchini, and other vegetables.

Most of the plants he chose to grow were things that were easy to pick quickly, but were likely to produce more than he could, or would, eat. In fact, I remember a time that we brought some veggies to a restaurant he frequented and he gave it to them and asked if they would prepare a specific meal for him - and they did it. On the flip side, I also remember he did some work for them when they needed it, so I'm sure the trade was a good one from their perspective.

The barter system still worked for my Grandpa! You fix some meals for me to my specifications with my produce and I’ll get my guys to frame in that wall for you. Why not? So, what did he do with extra zucchini, peppers and other veggies?

Grandpa certainly was not the sort of person who would let perfectly good produce go to waste and he lived in a trailer court at the time. Like many trailer courts, it had developed into a community that was a bit closer than a typical neighborhood. This particular area had a significant number of retirees who lived on fixed incomes. There was a need and there were already personal connections. Surely these people would appreciate and enjoy fresh produce!

Of course, Grandpa was happy to share the excess freely with those he knew. So, what exactly, is the problem with this situation? Person with extra produce meets those wanting some produce. Sounds good, right?

Ok, you've forgotten something.

Most of us remember Aunt <fill in the name here> or Nana <another name>? You know, the member in your extended family who would try to give you money for everything and anything - especially when you were trying to be nice and provide a gift?

Maybe it’s just an Iowa thing? Or perhaps it’s an Iowegian thing?

I'm not sure, but I do remember my own childhood struggle to do the right thing with my Grandma on the other side of the family. She would always want to give a dollar or two to each of the kids for whatever reason when we visited. We were all well-instructed that we were NOT to accept these gifts. But, a seven-year old kid is going to have a difficult time looking at money being offered and not be happy to take it.

Looking back, I wonder if this was all part of some elaborate game. My siblings and I all knew that part of the game was to protest - sometimes vigorously - that we would NOT take the money. So we did that. Sometimes with a will and often times with reluctance.

Manners, and maybe tradition, dictated that we should not accept the money. But it seemed to be equally important to my grandmother that she try to press a dollar bill into each of our little hands.

Regardless of the details of the scenario, the resulting tumult of repeated offers to pay/give cash and refusals to accept payment/said gift can become tedious, frustrating, uncomfortable and...well... you get the idea.

So.... back to the story at hand. My Grandfather did NOT care to participate in this game. Yet there most certainly were a number of Aunt <fill in your name heres> in the trailer court! They were going to want to play the game of "I want to pay you/no I don't want any money" for however long it was going to take. And these people played for keeps! Or... um... gives? I don't know. Grandpa knew they played this game in a way that was going to leave someone (probably him) feeling less than happy.

We'll just leave it at that.

I entered the picture as a grandchild who was capable of dashing from the cab of the truck to the front door with a bag of produce and back to the truck in a few seconds. After all, I did need to stay in shape for baseball.

I knew I was about to get some running in when Grandpa Faux would look at me and say, "Let's go to the shop."

Hey, he was my ride, I couldn't exactly say no! So, we went to the shop.

Once we got to the shop, we trudged out to the (very) long single row of plants and he gave instructions on what to pick. Once we'd harvested everything, we went back to the trailer and put the excess into paper bags because we had some 'errands' to run before we went to dinner ourselves. And, yes, I was aware of the irony that we had just harvested food but were going to go somewhere else to eat.

I am positive Grandpa enjoyed this game more than he let on. But, I'll tell you this, once he explained the goal, I took it all as serious business. I was NOT going to get caught and I was going to make each delivery without squashing any squish (yes, you read that right)! I didn’t want to be stuck in the “here’s a gift / let me give you money” trap any more than he did.

Grandpa often chose a different route each time we did this and the pattern he seleted is still a mystery to me. As he pulled up to each place he would quickly describe where the bag of goodies was to go. Then, I'd run up to the target home, rap quickly on the front door or ring the doorbell and dash back to the truck. This was followed by burning rubber (ok, I exaggerate a bit here) as we zipped away.

There it is, the anatomy of a drive-by vegetabling.

As I look back on it, I am not sure who was having more fun - me, Grandpa - or the people who were trying to anticipate when we would arrive so they could find some way to catch us. In one case, we noticed someone peaking out through the blinds of their window as we pulled up. So, Grandpa sped back up and we went on. We drove up on the road that was a block away and he gave me instructions to run through a few backyards and then slip it onto the front porch.

Then, once that particular delivery was dropped off, we drove around the front so we could wave as they picked up the bag from their porch.

I realize now that I only did this a few times since I only stayed with him for a week at a time twice a summer while I was in high school and early college years. But, I still remember the joy of giving - with a little bit of "daring do" to put an edge on it.