in my neck of the woods, it is ramps that bring on spring. i live on a rough and tumble trout stream that i have heard and seen - popping and exploding when the ice breaks some winters, and dams up and some flooding occurs. this winter tho, we did not get that.
ramps...in my rusty latin...i think it is something like "allium tricoccum," a wild leek-garlic-onion green that grows in the mountains, above a certain elevation, and on mostly northern slopes. as soon as the snow melts enough and the ground thaws, off i go with my trusty ramp hoe and gunny sack.
the worst part is crossing the river on a hand made bridge. it used to be a swinging bridge, rebuilt several times due to floodoing, but always never better than before...15 feet or so above the river, and really swinging, narrow planks, rusty cables...i ignore the 'no trespassing' sign and cross the bridge for two things, the first being ramps...
this year's bridge (the old one finally being so unsafe it was taken down) is a tree washed in from floods. it is balanced on boulders on either side of the river. ladder steps were made up to it and 6" planks were nailed on it end to end, and a handrail on one side - that is for looks only! - probably 12 feet above the river.
across i go, and then climb the mountain, out old logging roads and woods, and after about a mile through the woods, i come to my ramp patch. since it is still early spring, with more snow always on the way through march, the ramps are not up and i have to look for the dead flower/seed heads laying on the ground.
on my knees on the rocky mountainside, i pull winter's carpet away, and start digging. the ramps are there, waiting for me to lift them out of the cold earth, and to enjoy their pungent smell and the smell of fresh spring (almost) earth. i shake the dirt from the roots and put the clump in my gunny sack. i am ecstatic, and want to sing and yelll and dance, but i just keep digging, and thanking the Lord for the privilege of ramp digging, the sun and blue sky, the wind creaking in the trees, and the sounds of woods birds, chipmunks, and what ever else comes along, deer or turkey.
then, when i know i have to get back before dark, i take off, stopping only at the fresh mountain spring that runs over the hill, to wash my hands and drink right from the run. of course crossing the bridge with a bag of ramps is worse than before, but i slowly make it across, my heart pounding. if i fall, i would lose the ramps!!!
then...dinner. oh, the taste and smell is indescribable! i fry up some bacon, and fried potatoes, and clean the ramps, and fry them in the bacon grease, and fry up some eggs (i know... a heart attack on a plate!). later, i will cook a pot of pinto beans and make cornbread or biscuits. the pungent odor fills the house, and for a few days people will know by my breath i have been eating ramps. but when we all start eating ramps, we can't smell
each others' bad breath, so it is ok. kids get kicked out of school because of ramp breath...later, when the ramps get some green leaves on them, and have a stronger taste, i will invite some of the local widowed farmers in for a big ramp dinner...they all show up.
when i die, i hope i am digging ramps.
copyright 2006, jill snyder
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Comments: 15
be well.. tie off that bridge!
L.
now, if the bacon grease gets too much for you, just make ramp soup...too wonderful! chop potaotes and onions and cook with some salt and pepper, add some chopped ham, the tavern type is the best, and then add milk, like potato soup, then...ah yesssss...the chopped ramps....simmer till ramps are tender...a bowl full of delight!
again thank you all for your kind comments. i amnew here and jessie has been so kind to help me and i am still trying to find my way around in this confusing world of cyberspace...and oh yea...you're all invited for dinner!
jill
jill