When I was growing up on the farm, there were two sure-fire signs of spring – the first feed of asparagus and the first feed of rhubarb. Daily, we visited the two longs rows of asparagus, the one long row of rhubarb, searching for those first nubbins breaking through the soil. Especially the rhubarb.
And then, there it was! We yanked an armload of rhubarb stalks and marched triumphantly to the house, precious booty in hand.
Our rhubarb was the old-fashioned green kind, to be eaten only with generous amounts of added sugar. The first feed was always plain and simple — stewed rhubarb, often served with cream. Real cream! The so-called whipping cream you buy in the store is a mere pale imitation of the cream from our Jersey and Guernsey cows. So thick, you could stand a spoon in it. You could cut it with a knife.
Or so I recall.
Only after we had sated our appetite for rhubarb on its own did Mom then turn to rhubarb crisp and rhubarb pie. We filled numerous freezer bags with chopped rhubarb to see us through the winter.
And then rhubarb season was over. But we had memories of what had been, memories that would remind us of what was to come.
A couple of springs ago, when rhubarb season was at its peak, our writing group decided to collect rhubarb recipes. And so I give you:
Rhubarb Pie, a recipe (sort of)
(With apologies to William Shakespeare)
How shall I make thee on a summer’s day?
The day’s so hot and sultry, yet my mouth
Doth water at the thought of rhubarb pie.
I don my hat and brave the summer heat.
I pluck an armful, and with sharpened knife
Cut thee in dice like rubies shining red.
Thy tangy taste I soften some with sugar
And flour holds thy juices well at bay.
Thy pastry bed I make with flour and lard
That glistens like a pearl ‘neath summer moon.
Once mounded in the dish, I crown thee last
With butter and with nutmeg and a cap.
Then bake one hour full, and when ‘tis done
The joy of eating pie is soon begun.
#Rhubarb #RhubarbPieRecipe #Sonnet #HannaFamilyHistory #ChildhoodMemories #WilliamShakespeare #MargaretGHanna #FarmLife #MeyronneHistory #PrairieLife
A Prairie Perspective 
What I remember about rhubarb were these long red stalks and huge leaves, and it grew in abundance. It was pleasantly sour, and then it was sweet when made into a pie. I wish I could still eat it but it is too high in oxalates.
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I’m glad you have memories of rhubarb and rhubarb pies.
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The story you shared has my mouth watering for my mother’s strawberry rhubarb tortes. I grew up surrounded by farm country. One of our neighbors, who lived five miles away, (the normal distance of neighbors where and when I grew up) raised cows and chickens. We were never without fresh, brown eggs and cream that absolutely could support a standing spoon. One dollop on top of my mother’s torte and we could all hear celestial music. It was glorious! Also, I have to tell you how much I enjoyed your rhubarb poem ala William Shakespeare. I read it over several times because it was that lovely.
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Thanks, glad you enjoyed it. “Celestial music” is an excellent description of our joy at eating freshly-made rhubarb pie.
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Oh your memory of standing the spoon in the cream is totally spot on. I still love that kind of cream and occasionally even get spoilt with some. It was the raspberries and cream that were my favourite.
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