Jalapenos and Motorcycles

When Stacy showed Penny her garden…

They walked to a sliding glass door between the kitchen and dining room. Stacy Gunderson took a wide-brimmed straw hat off a hook on the wall and put it on her head then opened the door. They stepped out onto a large covered redwood deck that contained several pieces of lawn furniture, some potted plants and a large deluxe barbecue grill.

Walking to the edge of the deck, Penny Crawford looked out over the immense backyard which sloped gently downward away from the house. She guessed the yard was easily five to seven times larger than her own backyard. She immediately saw the garden which looked to be the size of Penny’s entire yard. She also saw a small barn down near the end of the property as well as a gazebo, a horseshoe pit, and a small orchard of fruit trees. It was Penny who was now filled with jealousy.

“Oh Stacy, this is a little slice of paradise.”

“Penny, I can’t believe you said that. That is exactly what I call it; my slice of paradise. Whenever the boys call they always say, ‘Mom, how’s everything in your slice of paradise?’ When they were still living here and I’d go out to the garden I’d say, ‘If you need me I’ll be in paradise.’”

“Wow, that’s kind of weird that I picked up on your words. It sure is a perfect description. So what kind of fruit trees do you have over there?”

The two women were walking past the little orchard on their way to the garden. Stacy adjusted her hat then replied, “Well, we’ve got six peach trees, two apricot trees, two pear and two apple. There’s something you should know about me. I’m a peach freak. I love peaches. They are my absolute favorite fruit. When the peaches are ripe I will eat them all day long. Remember that awful hail storm we had four years ago? Well that year we lost all of our peaches.” She clutched her chest, “I was devastated!”

She continued, “You know what’s funny? When I was a toddler my nickname was Peaches. My mama says that’s why I like peaches so much.”

“Is your mom still alive?”

“Yeah… if you can call it that. She and Pops are both in a home over in Omaha. I go and visit regularly but she hardly even recognizes me anymore.”

“Alzheimer’s?”

“Yeah. Pops is starting to get it now, too.”

“That must be terrible.”

“It really is. It’s hard to watch. What about you? Are your parents still with us?”

Penny looked down at the ground, “No, they died together in a car accident nineteen years ago.”

“Oh Penny, I’m so sorry.”

The two women reached the garden and stopped at the gate leading into the garden. Stacy changed the subject, “So tell me, do you have rabbits over where you live?”

“Rabbits? No… the only critters we have over there are stray dogs and cats… and squirrels.”

“Well we are absolutely overrun with rabbits around here. We’re essentially right at the edge of town. The creek and the nature trails are right over there where those tall trees are so there’s a lot of wild space just beyond our property and for some reason there are gazillions of rabbits around here.”

“See this wire fence around the garden? Well, this is actually the third fence we’ve put in. We’ve gone deeper into the ground with each new fence. This fence here is sunk two feet into the ground and I think we’ve finally gone deep enough to keep the rabbits out. You know, for being such tiny cute critters they sure can eat a lot. For the first few years we had the garden I think the rabbits got more food out of it than we did.”

“Huh, that’s interesting.”

Stacy opened the gate to the garden and proceeded to walk Penny down the paths showing her all the different vegetables she was growing.

Penny was amazed, “Gosh, you’ve got an awful lot of food here. Aren’t your boys off living elsewhere now? Surely you and Gordon can’t eat all this food.”

Stacy laughed, “Well no, we can’t. But first let me say that my boys are good boys and they come home regularly to visit and when they come home they expect the same healthy home-grown food that they grew up on. I only grow organic, by the way.”

“So I guess I keep gardening for myself and Gordon and for when the boys come home but mostly I keep gardening because I can’t help it. It’s in my blood. It’s like an addiction or something. I just can’t imagine not having this garden to tend to for half the year.”

Penny smiled, “I know what you mean. After the kids left and after Howard died I almost completely quit gardening until this spring when I decided to start gardening again. My garden is pretty tiny compared to this but it felt so good to be gardening again. There’s something about it that makes you feel more alive.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Stacy giggled and bounced.

“So what do you do with the extra food?”

“Now that’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. You see, every Saturday morning I take my extra produce down to the farmer’s market. I don’t do it for the money. I don’t need the money. I do it for other reasons. One reason is because it’s fun. I love the farmer’s market. You get to talk to other gardeners as well as all the shoppers. Everyone is in a good mood. It’s almost like a little fair or something.”

“But another reason I do it is because it makes me feel really good to know that I’m enriching the lives of the people who buy my produce because they’re getting good wholesome, nutritious and organic food. My food is not only healthy but it’s grown with love and by sharing my food with others I’m spreading that love.”

Chills raced through Penny’s body. She opened her mouth but could find nothing to say. Her mind was reeling with thoughts.

“So Penny, I really, really would like for you to come to the farmer’s market with me. You will love it so much.”

“Uh… it sounds great but I work every Saturday morning.”

“Can’t you switch shifts with someone? I swear, if you could just come one time I guarantee that you’ll love it so much that you’ll do everything in your power to get Saturday mornings off. I just know you’ll love it. Please? Will you try to get a Saturday morning off sometime soon so we can do the farmer’s market together?”

Penny smiled. Just like Henry, Stacy was hard to say no to, “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

Stacy giggled and bounced then held out her glass of iced tea. Penny raised her glass then they clinked glasses and took a drink of Stacy’s delicious sun tea.

Continuing the tour of the garden, they came upon some plants that Penny did not recognize, “What are those?”

“Jalapenos.”

“Jalapenos?”

“Yup, never in a million years did I ever think I’d be growing jalapenos. I blame it all on my son, Mack. You see, when he was in college down in Texas he developed a serious fondness for hot and spicy Mexican food. So one time when he was home from school he decided he would teach me how to cook some Mexican dishes. By the way, of my three boys Mack is the only one who likes to cook.”

“Anyway, we go out to Wal-Mart to buy groceries for the Mexican food and after we got home and got cooking Mack throws a big huge hissy fit because it turned out the jalapenos we got from Wal-Mart weren’t even remotely hot. According to Mack, what Wal-Mart does when they buy jalapenos from farmers is they have the hot ones shipped to the South, the medium-hot ones shipped to the West and the East and the extra-mild ones with no hotness whatsoever they have shipped here to the Midwest ’cause we Mid-westerners are famous for our disdain of hot and spicy food. Mack calls it the ultra-bland Mid-western palate.”

“Well Stacy, I guess you can call me a genuine Mid-westerner. I tried a jalapeno once back when I was in college and I thought I was going to have to go to the emergency room. I haven’t had one since.”

Stacy laughed, “Oh, I’m a Mid-westerner, too, but I have started liking Mexican food… as long as it’s not too hot. Have you eaten at Rosalinda’s, that new Mexican restaurant in town?”

“No. I remember reading about it in the paper, though.”

“It’s actually very good… and you can tell them whether you want the food hot, medium, or mild. Anyhoo, since you can’t buy hot jalapenos here in Stanleyville, Mack brought home some jalapeno seeds from Texas and ever since I’ve been growing hot jalapenos so that when Mack was home in the summers he could have hot jalapenos.”

“Wow, he must eat a lot. You’ve got an awful lot of jalapeno plants.”

“Actually, Mack ends up eating only a small amount of what I grow. I sell most of them at the farmer’s market. You see, thanks to the farmer’s market I learned something interesting. I learned that not all Mid-westerners have a bland palate. There really are a lot of folk around here who like hot jalapenos. When people see my jalapenos at the farmer’s market their first question is, ‘Are these hot?’ When I say yes their faces light up and they buy them. I’m the only source of hot jalapenos in town. I sell out of them every single Saturday.”

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely. No offense, but Wal-Mart has it all wrong.”

“None taken. Hey, I only work there. I don’t make the decisions and I certainly don’t own the place.”

“See, Wal-Mart likes to homogenize people. They like to bunch them into groups. Instead of carrying hot, medium and mild jalapenos, it’s more cost effective to carry only one kind. Since the majority of people here prefer mild or not at all they only carry mild and that cuts down on waste and keeps their profit margins up.”

“You’re right, Stacy. Wal-Mart is that way about a lot of things.”

“And it’s not just fresh jalapenos. You’re familiar with Pace picante sauce right?”

“Unfortunately I am. I once broke a jar of that and spilled it all over me and I smelled of it all day. I’ve never eaten it, though.”

“Well, the Wal-Mart here only carries mild and medium Pace. They refuse to carry hot. Boy, Mack really had a hissy fit over that, too. He complained to the Wal-Mart manager. Of course, that didn’t do any good because they still won’t carry hot. So now Mack will bring up a case of hot Pace from Texas every now and again so that I always have it in the pantry.”

“That boy likes his hot Mexican food, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, but the point I’m trying to make is how Wal-Mart thinks. They want everyone to eat the same thing because that’s more profitable for them. They don’t want to have to deal with those in the minority who have different tastes. They figure if they only carry one choice then everyone will just accept that choice and eat the way Wal-Mart tells them to eat. But what Wal-Mart doesn’t realize is that people are dying for more choices. They don’t like being pigeon-holed into regional stereotypes. Now that the other groceries stores are out of business Wal-Mart is the only grocery left in town and they think they can tell people what to eat. But there is another choice.”

“There is?”

“Yes, it’s called the farmer’s market. No, it’s not as good as a full-time grocery store but it does provide at least some choice for people. I know that for a fact because I sell hot jalapenos like crazy. Now I’ve got people asking me for other kinds of hot peppers. I could probably grow this entire garden in hot chile peppers and completely sell out.”

Penny took a sip of her iced tea as she seriously thought about this.

The two women came full circle back to the gate to the garden. Stacy took a sip of iced tea then spoke up, “So what do you think of my garden?”

“Oh Stacy, I am totally, thoroughly, completely, absolutely jealous! I’ve always wanted a garden just like this. If I had a garden like this I would be in it all the time and I’d never be heard from again.”

Stacy laughed, “Well I certainly enjoy my garden but you know what else I want? A greenhouse.”

“Oh my God! I’ve fantasized for years of having a greenhouse. It would be so wonderful to have fresh tomatoes and cucumbers and lettuce and stuff in winter and spring.”

“Yes, exactly. It would be so much better than the crap that Wal-Mart has shipped by boat from Argentina and Chile and Ecuador and Mexico. I told Gordon that I wanted a greenhouse and, as usual, he went ballistic and went online to study greenhouses. He says he wants to build a fancy geodesic dome greenhouse. Seriously, I just want a greenhouse. He’s way too busy building houses right now so I don’t know when I’m gonna get my greenhouse but when I do I’m sure it will be top of the line. He won’t be satisfied with any old greenhouse. He’s got to have the best one in town.”

Closing the gate behind them as they left the garden, Stacy spoke up again, “Listen, I mentioned that I only grow organically but I also refuse to use any GMO’s. Industrialized agriculture is all going to genetically modified plants and I think that’s a very dangerous thing. It’s just not right. I hate being a guinea pig for the big ag companies whose only intent is to maximize their profits. I get all my seeds from a couple of great small companies that only sell certified GMO-free heirloom seeds. I can email you the urls if you want. I’ve had nothing but success with them.”

“Uh… er… I’m not online.”

“What?!” Stacy looked perplexed. “Well… uh… that’s okay. Hey, you can come over and use my laptop, in fact we can place an order together and get better prices on shipping. Of course, it’s not seed-buying time right now but, hey, you can come over and use our computers any time.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

Stacy was walking towards the barn and waving for Penny to follow her, “One would think that a barn is for farm and garden equipment, right?”

“Yeah.”

Stacy laughed, “Well, wait ’til you see what’s in our barn.”

They walked an expanse of lawn, reaching a side door to the small barn. As Stacy put her hand on the doorknob she stopped and turned to Penny, “Now, we do keep the riding lawnmower and tiller and other garden stuff in here but, as you’ll see, that’s not the main purpose of the barn.”

Stacy opened the door and the two women entered. Once inside and once her eyes had adjusted to the indoor lighting, Penny realized that she was looking at a small fleet of Harley-Davidson motorcycles. She counted six of them.

Stacy spoke up, “We usually have seven bikes in here but Mack currently has his out on the road somewhere in Colorado. That one over there is Benny’s and that one is Harley’s and the other four are Gordon’s. I mean, how many motorcycles can you ride at one time? To tell you the truth, Gordon would probably have a lot more than four bikes if I didn’t insist that he show at least a little restraint and if we didn’t have three boys to put through college.”

“Oh my God!” Penny slapped her hand on her forehead. “I didn’t make the connection until just now. Your oldest boy’s name is Harley…”

Stacy laughed, “Yeah, that’s right. We named our first-born after a motorcycle. Crazy, I know.”

“So where is your motorcycle?”

“Ha! Sorry, but I won’t even get on a motorcycle, much less own one. I won’t have anything to do with motorcycles.”

“You’re kidding. What does Gordon think of that?”

“Listen, gardening is my thing and motorcycles are Gordon’s thing. He totally respects my aversion to motorcycles and I may not like it but I respect his boyish fascination with motorcycles. Men need their toys.”

Stacy put her iced tea down on a workbench, “Let me tell you a story. I’ve only been on a motorcycle one time in my whole life and I fully intend to never get on one again.”

“That one time I was on a bike was the day after the spring semester of my junior year in college ended. Some girlfriends and I were celebrating the beginning of our summer vacation. We were down at the park in our short shorts and halter tops drinking beer and trying to look as sexy as we could.”

“Then a group of bikers showed up and asked us if we wanted to go for a ride with them on their bikes. We said, ‘Sure,’ and the next thing I know I’m on the back of a Harley holding on to this big macho biker whose name I didn’t even know and we were flying down a country road at ninety miles and hour.”

“We take a curve in the road and suddenly come upon two cows standing in the middle of the road. One cow is in each lane so we couldn’t go around them and still stay on the road. So to avoid hitting the cows Mr. Macho Biker swerved off the road and we went flying into a corn field.”

“Oh my God!”

“Indeed. I ended up spending the next six weeks in the hospital with eight broken bones and countless contusions.”

Penny covered her mouth with her hand.

“Well, the big macho biker fella didn’t get hurt at all. He had some bumps and scrapes but he was basically fine. But he felt really, really bad for me. He showed up at the hospital the next day with fresh flowers for me. At that point in my life no man had ever given me flowers before. And that is when he introduced himself to me. His name was Gordon Gunderson.”

“Oh my God!”

“Yup, that’s how Gordon and I met. And that’s why he understands why I’ll never get on a bike again. He ended up bringing me fresh flowers every single day I was in the hospital and he must have apologized to me a thousand times. We spent a lot of time in that hospital just talking and that’s how we got to know each other. I learned that he was not just a big dumb biker; that he was actually the kindest and gentlest man I’ve ever known. One year later after I graduated from college, on the one-year anniversary of our motorcycle wreck we got married… and then exactly one year later on the second anniversary of our wreck our first child was born. How could we not name him Harley?”

“Oh my God, Stacy. That’s the wildest story I’ve ever heard. Hmm, so your wedding anniversary is also the anniversary of your motorcycle accident and the birthday of your oldest son. Wow.”

Stacy laughed, “Yeah, it’s a crazy day around here. And you know what? He still brings me flowers on that day. He might be six and a half feet tall and weigh two hundred and thirty pounds and he might still like to deck out in leather and ride his hog but I know he’s just a big ole teddy bear.”

Penny took a sip of her tea.

Stacy picked up her glass of tea, “Let’s get out of this man cave.”

After leaving the barn and as they were walking across the lawn back up to the house Stacy spoke up, “Speaking of motorcycles, every year in early August Gordon and the boys take their hogs up to Sturgis. Of course, I don’t go. No way. That week is the one week of the year that I am completely man-free. Every year during that week I throw a big party for girls only. No men allowed. It is so much fun. Well, this year I insist that you come, okay? I promise you’ll have a good time. Will you come?”

“Uh… okay.”