I don’t think Grandpa ever made me any food. 

Not because he was a terribly mean grandparent withholding sustenance from me, but because he didn’t cook … so even if he had made me something, I probably wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to eat it. Grandma didn’t question the prevailing social norms, so as a good Mennonite woman, even though she didn’t love cooking, she did it all. She died almost 10 years ago, leaving Grandpa not exactly competent in the kitchen; as the years without her increased, so did the rate of his ketchup consumption. 

Yet while Grandpa could not ever have been described as a chef, my memories of that sweet man are exploding with flavors. 

He was an incredible teacher, speaker, and theologian, his study overflowing with books and sermon tapes proof to his lifelong love of digging in and learning more; along with almost 63 years of marriage, Grandpa conducted 50 years of revival meetings and over 40 years of college Bible classes. All this intellectual knowledge and ability, however, paired beautifully with his innate love of the natural world. Grandpa was as at home clambering around trimming his apple trees as he was giving an intense Scriptural treatise.

He was born into a farm family almost a century ago, and must have brought that heritage along with him. He didn’t just like working with the soil; he needed it. At his funeral this past weekend, a major theme that emerged from us as Grandpa’s descendants was his strong work ethic — something by default that we got to “enjoy” alongside him, primarily outside in the ample garden and loaded orchard.

He wasn’t afraid to put us grandkids to work, and while we may not have loved every minute, he helped instill in all of us the value and (eventual) appreciation of hard work. Together, we picked up sticks in the orchard, and buckets and buckets of apples; planted, pulled weeds, and harvested in the garden; and then had corn day, applesauce day, peach day, grape day, so forth and so on, forever it seemed in my younger days.

Some of my most cherished memories now are sitting around with Grandpa and Grandma, working up mountains of produce; just talking about it I can almost taste concord grape juice, fresh sweet corn, and crisp sun-warm apples. Grandpa always grew too much of everything, from tomatoes to strawberries, and he was never tight-fisted with the bounty. 

I could always count on something homegrown on their table, whether fresh or preserved in some way. Far into his 90s, after Grandma died, we would still amble out to the garden patch to see what he was proudly tending. 

I could never get into his butter & radish sandwiches, and I shudder when I think of how he would take chomps of plain spring onion. I am far too laissez-faire with pruning our two apple trees, far and away from Grandpa’s example of his extreme pruning of his 70 apple trees. But I make tomato juice like him, with inordinate amounts of black pepper; I search out other family’s corn days to join in; and concord grapes will always have a distinctly special spot in my heart. 

So Grandpa might not have made food in the kitchen, but he did the step before and grew it; he didn’t cook for me, but he certainly fed me and my soul. I’m sure he’s feasting now in heaven, where the sweet corn is even fresher.

Peppery Tomato Juice

Grandpa wasn’t gardening much anymore when he died peacefully last week at age 99 – yet even this summer he had tomatoes growing in a planter on the back porch! While he loved other tomato products like creamy soup and his everlasting ketchup, his real tomato love was garden tomato juice. This is the perfect thing to make with the last bits of the season’s produce, as you can make any size batch you like. Mom said he never followed any kind of recipe, so this is all approximate. We just always called it tomato juice even though it is more of a V8 style mixture of vegetables and black pepper, lots of pepper. If your mouth isn’t burning when you drink it, you didn’t make it right. 

Prep tips: don’t attempt to can this if you aren’t familiar with the process, but if you are, skip the chilling, add a tablespoon of vinegar to each quart, and water-bath for 45 minutes. 

• a couple pounds of tomatoes, chunked

• an onion or two, chopped

• a bell pepper or two, roughly chopped

• a couple celery stalks, chopped

• scoop of sugar

• salt

• more black pepper than you think is appropriate

Combine all ingredients in a large kettle, and simmer until vegetables are fully tender. Let cool a bit, process until smooth in a blender, and adjust seasoning to taste. Serve fully chilled as a beverage, or use in chili or homemade tomato soup. 

Lettuce Eat Local is a weekly local foods column by Amanda Miller, who lives in rural Reno County on the family dairy farm with her husband and two small children. She seeks to help build connections through food with her community, the earth, and the God who created it all. Send feedback and recipe ideas to hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.