Cuttin' Greens

The summers of my youth were extremely happy times filled with activities and time playing with friends and relatives. But they were also learning times where I was taught the value of hard work and the rewards that come from it.

On my father’s side of the family my grandfather ran a very successful farm where his primary focus was on greens. I’m talking turnip, mustard, and collard greens. On occasions he would grow a field of cabbage, but for the most part greens and lots of them. Many a day I’ve seen him carry a large 2 ton truck loaded with them to Atlanta and also a smaller one to the Chattanooga farmers markets. These would be sold to grocery distributors and would wind up in plates all over the south.

As you can imagine it would take a lot of workers to bring in the amount of produce he was selling and for a few weeks every summer I was one of them. Every morning he would leave long before sunrise and pick up workers willing to work hard to get another crop to market. My day would begin before daylight and I’ll never forget the huge breakfast my grandmother would have prepared for us every morning.

After breakfast we would put our boots on and climb in a truck and head out to a field that was ready to be cut. I remember many mornings sitting on the back of a truck and waiting for the sun to rise so we could get to work.

In my younger years I spent time stacking baskets on the truck and punching the cards as the workers would bring their full baskets to the truck. As I got older I was handed a brand new Old Timer knife and cut bushel after bushel of greens. At the end of the day every worker would line up and my grandfather would pay for each basket you cut. Believe me even though looking back it probably wasn’t a lot of money it seemed like I had earned a fortune.

Usually by lunch time we were finished cutting and would then go to wash the greens. In later years my uncles came up with a quicker way, but for many years the way the greens were washed was by dipping them in the creek. For a moment picture hundreds of baskets of greens, floating in a creek all at the same time. Each one of these baskets would then get dipped until it sank, and then be lifted back up onto the truck.

I’ve seen the truck so full that pulling up out of the creek the front wheels would come off the ground. And sometimes it would even have to be pulled out with a tractor. Then off to the market we would go. The Chattanooga trip wasn’t bad, but if you were lucky enough to ride to Atlanta you weren’t getting home until late.

Even now as I rise to start a day I still remember those days of working in the sun, and getting to observe just how hard it really can be on a farm. But I’ll never forget the lessons learned and for the opportunity I had to spend time with my grandparents learning, growing, and cuttin’ greens.