So I was on the phone with Grandma the other day and she asked if I was planting kohlrabi this year. Now Grandma and I often chat about various and sundry topics just to avoid hanging up, but never once have we discussed kohlrabi. And since neither she nor I plant kohlrabi (or so I thought), I was a little surprised by her question.
I know kohlrabi’s been around for a long time, but I just don’t associate it with Grandma. I think of it as something in “my world,” my post-Midwestern world out here in the Pacific Northwest, where I’ve had so many of those tiny life experiences that tend to get lost over the miles when you’re only able to share life with your family over the phone or email. You never even think to mention the day you discover kohlrabi.
I spent a lot of time in Grandma’s garden as a kid. In fact, I can still see the order of her rows: strawberries, beans, radishes, lettuce, cabbage, onions, sweet corn, tomatoes, green peppers, cucumbers, zucchini, yellow squash, muskmelon, watermelon, and potatoes. And I guess I just assumed that Grandma had always and forever planted those exact same veggies through all of her gardening years.
“So you’ve eaten kohlrabi?” I asked.
“Well, sure I have,” Grandma said. “I used to grow it.”
“Really?” I was mentally digging through Grandma’s garden of my childhood for suppressed memories of alien-looking kohlrabi heads. Maybe I’d holed them away with my traumatic memories of trips to the musty outhouse.
“So what’d you do with the kohlrabi?” I asked.
“We ate it,” she said, as if I had not one ounce of sense.
“I know you ate it. But how’d you fix it?” Somehow I couldn’t quite imagine Grandma whipping up a quick kohlrabi stir fry for a hungry crew of hay thrashers.
“Oh, I usually just chopped it up and we ate it raw,” she said. “It tastes a lot better than turnips.”
“Turnips? You used to grow turnips, too?”
“Well, sure I did,” she said.
Such are the things you learn about your Grandma’s garden, once the conversation turns to kohlrabi.
Cherish these talks with her and if you want to know anything about your ancestry ask her to talk about it and record it. You never know when you might like to look into your past. Words of wisdom from Ma Bell.
I tried to get her to consent to a taped confession that she’s not holding out any more vegetables on me. For all I know, there’s a rutabaga lurking in one of her past gardens.
I knew kohlrabi well when I was younger. We ate it raw with dip or in salad. Have memories of those rancid out houses, too — and the flies!
Your photos are magnificent! The color!
How fortunate you are to be able to ask your grandmother such questions, I wish I still could.
The kohlrabi is beautiful. We were turnip kind of people, mainly eating the cooked greens, but we would eat the root raw.
Grandma is sitting here laughing after having read your kohlrabi, outhouse story. She says kohlrabi are sweeter and crisper than turnips. She also confesses that she has grown cauliflower and celery, with not a lot of success, but the rabbits liked them.
She remembers that you were pretty darn sure you would not be using the musty outhouse and your brother asked where the flusher was! She says, I love you Kelly!
Cauliflower and celery?! I knew she was probably holding out on me.
Hi Kelly-This conversation sounds EXACTLY like your Grandma-I had a smile on my face picturing her! Michigan is just awful right now and everyone has ‘spring fever’ esp. gardeners. I can’t wait for something to bloom-I am even looking forward to cleaning up outside. What is blooming in your part of the country? I know from reading it is very different from MI.