growing up on a farm

CLIMATE CHANGE? FAKE NEWS!

As many of you know, I grew up in the city but spent my weekends and summers at my grandparents’ farm. I had the best of both worlds. On one hand, I had the city conveniences of restaurants, movie theaters, shopping malls, and good schools. But on the farm, I received an education! Just like Mark Twain opined: I never let my schooling interfere with my education.

At the farm, I witnessed the stillbirth of a calf, I watched a barn cat deliver ten kittens, I fed the chickens, I helped slop the pigs, I milked a cow, I planted seeds and sapling trees, and I drove the tractor during haying season. I was overwhelmed by the amount of work farmers did: 24-7, 365 days of the year. In fact, I asked my grandmother, “Why don’t you and Grandpa take a vacation?”

“Suzanne! You know why. Cows, chickens, pigs, cats, dogs. Do they ever take a vacation? Plus, there’s crops to grow, gardens to plant, picking, and canning. And then there’s the weather. Will it snow or rain? Will we get enough? Or too little or too much?”

Fast forward to May, 2026. We regret to inform you that our fruit stand will be closed this summer and fall due to a late frost. We are unable to offer any fruits or vegetables. Years ago, a friend of mine recommended this market, who brings in truck loads of fresh, delicious apricots, tomatoes, red and black raspberries, cherries, blueberries, and peaches from Utah. The Angelo Peaches are undoubtedly the best I’ve ever had! I’m really bummed I won’t get to bake a peach cobbler and smother it with vanilla ice cream.

What can we expect? We shoot more pollutants into the air; we abuse the Earth; we mock Mother Nature and defame science. But what I do know this: Dr. Suze can’t bake a cherry, nor a peach pie. Sorry, Billy Boy, your father was right. I’m not wife material.

Like most folk, I have food addictions. Fortunately, I’m not addicted to donuts, cake, nor pie. Now, broccoli, zucchini, Italian food, rare steak, and baked potatoes awash in sour cream are high on my list, but popcorn is my compelling drug of choice.

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My affair with popcorn began at an early age. My father and grandfather grew the best popcorn at the family farm. After the first-killing frost, we’d hand-harvest it, dry for a month, and then shuck the small white kernels. Every Friday and Saturday nights we’d have popcorn, and we children were each permitted one, 8-ounce bottle of Squirt. Popcorn also was the snack of choice at Saturday matinee movies.

Then, the theater lobbies were something to behold and the concession area was a work of art. While I preferred the homegrown corn to the large, yellow popcorn of the movie house, theater offerings had mounds of butter. (The only downside was flossing the huge hulls from between my teeth.)

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Recently, I discovered Orville Redenbacher sells “tender baby white,” and it’s almost as good as homegrown. However, though convenient, microwave popcorn just isn’t as good as what I used to pop on the stove. Probably because it’s not drizzled and tossed with freshly, melted butter. So I decided to fine-tune Orville’s creation. This delectable is popcorn soup! Microwaved popcorn, melted real butter, tossed, and eaten with a soup spoon. Viola! No more greasy fingers, nor dropping errant kernels on the sofa or floor.

Try it. You’re welcome.

Dr. Suze Espouses

“There’s NO Such Thing…”

Popcorn Addict