The following information was contributed by Carole Nurmi Cummings
According to son, Gordon, the ashes of his parents were scattered here. There was no official plaque or stone he said.
Remembrances from son Gordie:
If neither rings a dinner bell, you're not an edible weed forager and, furthermore, you didn't grow up in my childhood home.
I affectionately refer to my mom, the late Alta Grace Requa Little, as a health nut. She knew which wild-growing things could be eaten and which could not.
I was never a very good listener and, while we were on those walks through the countryside, I was doing my usual daydreaming, wandering off the beaten paths.
We ate lots of lamb's-quarters and curly dock growing up. Alta Grace was somewhat of a fanatic in that respect. She picked dandelions from the yard. She dug wild roots. She filled sacks with cattail, garlic mustard, chickweed, red clover and greater plantain. She even collected burdock, oxe-eye daisy, pigweed and wild leeks.
Some of them went into salads. Others were cooked and eaten as a dinner vegetable. I remember that some of the leaves were bitter to me but could be tolerated when cooked with other foods to temper the taste. To this day, the only way I can stomach beet greens, Swiss chard and spinach is to bathe them in vinegar and cover them with butter, salt and pepper.
I wish now that I had paid more attention to my mother's edible weed lessons. These days, I wouldn't recognize many wild things one from the other. In the olden days of the 1930s and '40s, failing to consume whatever was on your dinner plate was not an optional exercise. She put the food there and you ate it — all of it.
She dried certain roots and other things in an oven on top of the kerosene stove. Then they were ground up and used for hot teas, soups and even cold drinks. Most, to me, were not very palatable. I drank them under duress or somehow managed to feed some to the dog under the table.
As I look back on all of that, I should have been more grateful at the time. Most of my mother's so-called edible weeds and things were probably very healthy for us. Of course, we also had tons of garden vegetables, and there are few veggies I don't relish now. My mother made us eat beets, and I was never a huge fan unless they were pickled or made into Harvard beets.
KUDZU EVERYWHERE
Then there is kudzu, that ubiquitous greenery that grows rampant through many southern states. I had never seen nor heard of it until the first time Kaye and I visited Georgia. I was fascinated by the way it swallowed up old cars, sheds, power poles and anything that was left unattended. I wrote columns about it in this space because it was like Chicken Little. It was everywhere.
Little did I know that it was not only edible but many insist kudzu is delicious. In doing research on how it arrived in the Southeast, I learned that it can be deep-fried, made into a tasty jelly and cooked like spinach. Some people also steam or boil the roots. When we return to Atlanta in late August, I might just do some experimentation in the kitchen with kudzu.
My mom realized that many of the edible weeds we ate regularly were not only nutritious but were probably medicinal as well. When I was 5, I don't think the word antioxidant was in widespread use but, looking back, I now realize that there were lots of them in the oddball things we ate and drank.
Yes, Alta Grace was indeed a female Euell Gibbons, and she no doubt "stalked the wild asparagus" decades before he even dreamed of doing it. Besides, Gibbons died in his 60s and my mom made it to almost 90. I guess she was onto something.
I was a young adult before I ever enjoyed homemade dandelion wine. The best I ever laid to my lips was given to me in 1966 by the late Kenneth Baker, who owned Baker's Trailer Park in Plattsburgh. His wife, Ethel, didn't approve of it, and I'm certain that Alta Grace wouldn't have either. She was a teetotaler and a staunch member of the Women's Christian Temperance Union (WCTU). Move over Carrie Nation.
Have a great day, remember you are what you eat, and please, drive carefully.
Gordie Little was for many years a well-known radio personality in the North Country and now hosts the "Our Little Corner" television program for Home Town Cable.
According to son, Gordon, the ashes of his parents were scattered here. There was no official plaque or stone he said.
Remembrances from son Gordie:
If neither rings a dinner bell, you're not an edible weed forager and, furthermore, you didn't grow up in my childhood home.
I affectionately refer to my mom, the late Alta Grace Requa Little, as a health nut. She knew which wild-growing things could be eaten and which could not.
I was never a very good listener and, while we were on those walks through the countryside, I was doing my usual daydreaming, wandering off the beaten paths.
We ate lots of lamb's-quarters and curly dock growing up. Alta Grace was somewhat of a fanatic in that respect. She picked dandelions from the yard. She dug wild roots. She filled sacks with cattail, garlic mustard, chickweed, red clover and greater plantain. She even collected burdock, oxe-eye daisy, pigweed and wild leeks.
Some of them went into salads. Others were cooked and eaten as a dinner vegetable. I remember that some of the leaves were bitter to me but could be tolerated when cooked with other foods to temper the taste. To this day, the only way I can stomach beet greens, Swiss chard and spinach is to bathe them in vinegar and cover them with butter, salt and pepper.
I wish now that I had paid more attention to my mother's edible weed lessons. These days, I wouldn't recognize many wild things one from the other. In the olden days of the 1930s and '40s, failing to consume whatever was on your dinner plate was not an optional exercise. She put the food there and you ate it — all of it.
She dried certain roots and other things in an oven on top of the kerosene stove. Then they were ground up and used for hot teas, soups and even cold drinks. Most, to me, were not very palatable. I drank them under duress or somehow managed to feed some to the dog under the table.
As I look back on all of that, I should have been more grateful at the time. Most of my mother's so-called edible weeds and things were probably very healthy for us. Of course, we also had tons of garden vegetables, and there are few veggies I don't relish now. My mother made us eat beets, and I was never a huge fan unless they were pickled or made into Harvard beets.
KUDZU EVERYWHERE
Then there is kudzu, that ubiquitous greenery that grows rampant through many southern states. I had never seen nor heard of it until the first time Kaye and I visited Georgia. I was fascinated by the way it swallowed up old cars, sheds, power poles and anything that was left unattended. I wrote columns about it in this space because it was like Chicken Little. It was everywhere.
Little did I know that it was not only edible but many insist kudzu is delicious. In doing research on how it arrived in the Southeast, I learned that it can be deep-fried, made into a tasty jelly and cooked like spinach. Some people also steam or boil the roots. When we return to Atlanta in late August, I might just do some experimentation in the kitchen with kudzu.
My mom realized that many of the edible weeds we ate regularly were not only nutritious but were probably medicinal as well. When I was 5, I don't think the word antioxidant was in widespread use but, looking back, I now realize that there were lots of them in the oddball things we ate and drank.
Yes, Alta Grace was indeed a female Euell Gibbons, and she no doubt "stalked the wild asparagus" decades before he even dreamed of doing it. Besides, Gibbons died in his 60s and my mom made it to almost 90. I guess she was onto something.
I was a young adult before I ever enjoyed homemade dandelion wine. The best I ever laid to my lips was given to me in 1966 by the late Kenneth Baker, who owned Baker's Trailer Park in Plattsburgh. His wife, Ethel, didn't approve of it, and I'm certain that Alta Grace wouldn't have either. She was a teetotaler and a staunch member of the Women's Christian Temperance Union (WCTU). Move over Carrie Nation.
Have a great day, remember you are what you eat, and please, drive carefully.
Gordie Little was for many years a well-known radio personality in the North Country and now hosts the "Our Little Corner" television program for Home Town Cable.
The following information was contributed by Carole Nurmi Cummings
According to son, Gordon, the ashes of his parents were scattered here. There was no official plaque or stone he said.
Remembrances from son Gordie:
If neither rings a dinner bell, you're not an edible weed forager and, furthermore, you didn't grow up in my childhood home.
I affectionately refer to my mom, the late Alta Grace Requa Little, as a health nut. She knew which wild-growing things could be eaten and which could not.
I was never a very good listener and, while we were on those walks through the countryside, I was doing my usual daydreaming, wandering off the beaten paths.
We ate lots of lamb's-quarters and curly dock growing up. Alta Grace was somewhat of a fanatic in that respect. She picked dandelions from the yard. She dug wild roots. She filled sacks with cattail, garlic mustard, chickweed, red clover and greater plantain. She even collected burdock, oxe-eye daisy, pigweed and wild leeks.
Some of them went into salads. Others were cooked and eaten as a dinner vegetable. I remember that some of the leaves were bitter to me but could be tolerated when cooked with other foods to temper the taste. To this day, the only way I can stomach beet greens, Swiss chard and spinach is to bathe them in vinegar and cover them with butter, salt and pepper.
I wish now that I had paid more attention to my mother's edible weed lessons. These days, I wouldn't recognize many wild things one from the other. In the olden days of the 1930s and '40s, failing to consume whatever was on your dinner plate was not an optional exercise. She put the food there and you ate it — all of it.
She dried certain roots and other things in an oven on top of the kerosene stove. Then they were ground up and used for hot teas, soups and even cold drinks. Most, to me, were not very palatable. I drank them under duress or somehow managed to feed some to the dog under the table.
As I look back on all of that, I should have been more grateful at the time. Most of my mother's so-called edible weeds and things were probably very healthy for us. Of course, we also had tons of garden vegetables, and there are few veggies I don't relish now. My mother made us eat beets, and I was never a huge fan unless they were pickled or made into Harvard beets.
KUDZU EVERYWHERE
Then there is kudzu, that ubiquitous greenery that grows rampant through many southern states. I had never seen nor heard of it until the first time Kaye and I visited Georgia. I was fascinated by the way it swallowed up old cars, sheds, power poles and anything that was left unattended. I wrote columns about it in this space because it was like Chicken Little. It was everywhere.
Little did I know that it was not only edible but many insist kudzu is delicious. In doing research on how it arrived in the Southeast, I learned that it can be deep-fried, made into a tasty jelly and cooked like spinach. Some people also steam or boil the roots. When we return to Atlanta in late August, I might just do some experimentation in the kitchen with kudzu.
My mom realized that many of the edible weeds we ate regularly were not only nutritious but were probably medicinal as well. When I was 5, I don't think the word antioxidant was in widespread use but, looking back, I now realize that there were lots of them in the oddball things we ate and drank.
Yes, Alta Grace was indeed a female Euell Gibbons, and she no doubt "stalked the wild asparagus" decades before he even dreamed of doing it. Besides, Gibbons died in his 60s and my mom made it to almost 90. I guess she was onto something.
I was a young adult before I ever enjoyed homemade dandelion wine. The best I ever laid to my lips was given to me in 1966 by the late Kenneth Baker, who owned Baker's Trailer Park in Plattsburgh. His wife, Ethel, didn't approve of it, and I'm certain that Alta Grace wouldn't have either. She was a teetotaler and a staunch member of the Women's Christian Temperance Union (WCTU). Move over Carrie Nation.
Have a great day, remember you are what you eat, and please, drive carefully.
Gordie Little was for many years a well-known radio personality in the North Country and now hosts the "Our Little Corner" television program for Home Town Cable.
According to son, Gordon, the ashes of his parents were scattered here. There was no official plaque or stone he said.
Remembrances from son Gordie:
If neither rings a dinner bell, you're not an edible weed forager and, furthermore, you didn't grow up in my childhood home.
I affectionately refer to my mom, the late Alta Grace Requa Little, as a health nut. She knew which wild-growing things could be eaten and which could not.
I was never a very good listener and, while we were on those walks through the countryside, I was doing my usual daydreaming, wandering off the beaten paths.
We ate lots of lamb's-quarters and curly dock growing up. Alta Grace was somewhat of a fanatic in that respect. She picked dandelions from the yard. She dug wild roots. She filled sacks with cattail, garlic mustard, chickweed, red clover and greater plantain. She even collected burdock, oxe-eye daisy, pigweed and wild leeks.
Some of them went into salads. Others were cooked and eaten as a dinner vegetable. I remember that some of the leaves were bitter to me but could be tolerated when cooked with other foods to temper the taste. To this day, the only way I can stomach beet greens, Swiss chard and spinach is to bathe them in vinegar and cover them with butter, salt and pepper.
I wish now that I had paid more attention to my mother's edible weed lessons. These days, I wouldn't recognize many wild things one from the other. In the olden days of the 1930s and '40s, failing to consume whatever was on your dinner plate was not an optional exercise. She put the food there and you ate it — all of it.
She dried certain roots and other things in an oven on top of the kerosene stove. Then they were ground up and used for hot teas, soups and even cold drinks. Most, to me, were not very palatable. I drank them under duress or somehow managed to feed some to the dog under the table.
As I look back on all of that, I should have been more grateful at the time. Most of my mother's so-called edible weeds and things were probably very healthy for us. Of course, we also had tons of garden vegetables, and there are few veggies I don't relish now. My mother made us eat beets, and I was never a huge fan unless they were pickled or made into Harvard beets.
KUDZU EVERYWHERE
Then there is kudzu, that ubiquitous greenery that grows rampant through many southern states. I had never seen nor heard of it until the first time Kaye and I visited Georgia. I was fascinated by the way it swallowed up old cars, sheds, power poles and anything that was left unattended. I wrote columns about it in this space because it was like Chicken Little. It was everywhere.
Little did I know that it was not only edible but many insist kudzu is delicious. In doing research on how it arrived in the Southeast, I learned that it can be deep-fried, made into a tasty jelly and cooked like spinach. Some people also steam or boil the roots. When we return to Atlanta in late August, I might just do some experimentation in the kitchen with kudzu.
My mom realized that many of the edible weeds we ate regularly were not only nutritious but were probably medicinal as well. When I was 5, I don't think the word antioxidant was in widespread use but, looking back, I now realize that there were lots of them in the oddball things we ate and drank.
Yes, Alta Grace was indeed a female Euell Gibbons, and she no doubt "stalked the wild asparagus" decades before he even dreamed of doing it. Besides, Gibbons died in his 60s and my mom made it to almost 90. I guess she was onto something.
I was a young adult before I ever enjoyed homemade dandelion wine. The best I ever laid to my lips was given to me in 1966 by the late Kenneth Baker, who owned Baker's Trailer Park in Plattsburgh. His wife, Ethel, didn't approve of it, and I'm certain that Alta Grace wouldn't have either. She was a teetotaler and a staunch member of the Women's Christian Temperance Union (WCTU). Move over Carrie Nation.
Have a great day, remember you are what you eat, and please, drive carefully.
Gordie Little was for many years a well-known radio personality in the North Country and now hosts the "Our Little Corner" television program for Home Town Cable.
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