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June 2024

- Asparagus Season -

Every family has something that unites parents and children – be it games evenings, music or bike rides. An asparagus field united us and the asparagus season was like a fifth season for us. From the beginning of May until my father's birthday on 18 June, everything revolved around harvesting and selling this coveted vegetable. The work kept the three of us on our toes, as the asparagus had to be picked early in the morning and late in the afternoon. We had 20 long rows and everyone searched their section for a white tip or a prominent crack in the soil.

Ah, there was another one. I carefully dug up the soil with my index and middle finger spread apart, held the asparagus by the top of the head and separated it from the root with the long-handled pricking knife. I placed the asparagus spear in my basket, filled the hole again with a wide trowel, pressed the soil down firmly and smoothed it out. The work wasn't difficult, but all the bending down was so tedious that I sometimes just piled soil on top of a crack and made it invisible. Nevertheless, I loved working in our asparagus field. I liked the peace and quiet, especially the atmosphere in the early morning when I cycled out to the village with my mum.

I was well rewarded by my parents for my help. My father let me drive his car over the bumpy country lanes long before I got my driving licence. My mum had a globe as a money box into which she put all the 5 DM coins she received when she sold the asparagus. If I made a special request, she would get a knife and poke the slit in the globe until the coins tumbled out. Back then, I was convinced that money could also have the character of a renewable resource if you only grew the right ‘vegetables’ and spared neither risk nor labour.

Our asparagus field wrote a piece of family history. My father had sold his motorbike in 1958 and bought a field with sandy soil in return. My parents reclaimed the original fallow field, planted many thousands of seedlings and nurtured them for four years until the asparagus could be harvested for the first time. In 1982, after 20 years of harvesting, it was harvested for the last time. My father toasted everyone happily on his 57th birthday. The house was paid off, the drudgery was over and he now had plenty of time and leisure for his stamp collection. My mum discovered knitting as a new passion for herself – and so it was probably only I who mourned the end of our fifth season somewhat wistfully. But I hadn't lived at home for a long time by then and had long forgotten about bending over and sweating. But not our asparagus: it was always served on Sunday lunchtime when I visited my parents and tasted so delicious that I still dream about it today.

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