SWEET IT WAS |
may have this wrong, but the best I can remember it, my father had a unique way
of deciding where to have our vegetable garden each year. Our farm consisted of
almost four hundred acres and we could have had it any place that was convenient.
The way I recall it is that he would take notice of which spot grew the healthiest
looking specimens of cotton, corn, high gear, and so forth. The next season he
started a garden there. Regardless of how he arrived at his decision, it worked.
Every year we would have some of the most robust vegetables you ever saw. People
would marvel at our tomatoes, onions, carrots, squash and sweet potatoes. |
of sweet potatoes, one morning Dad came in the house all out of breath with excitement.
He was holding the largest yam we had ever seen. We celebrated like he had found
a gold nugget. On our next trip to town he took his prize to the Marlin
Chamber of Commerce. It weighed in at just over eight pounds. The manager immediately
removed a smaller one from the display window and placed ours there for everyone
to see. We were all very proud of our exhibition but Dad was ecstatic. He never
missed a chance to take friends by and show them what a great sweet potato he
A short time later kinfolk from out of town come to visit and
as soon as he had the chance to work it into the conversation Dad told them about
his championship potato. They all seemed to be as thrilled as he was and they
couldn’t wait to see it for themselves. It was only a ten-mile drive into town
so they all piled into the car to go take a look. They could hardly contain their
excitement until the car finally pulled up to the Chamber of Commerce. Everyone
leaped out and ran to the display window, then froze in their tracks. Dad’s pride
and joy was nowhere in sight. It had been replaced by a twelve-pound sweet potato.
The trip back home was a somber one. For a long time no one spoke. I
may be wrong about this too, but I believe that is the first time I heard the
“Records are made to be broken.”