In these days of jaded appetites, condiments and canned goods, how fondly we turn from the dreary monotony of the “dainty” menu to the memory of the satisfying dishes of our mothers! What made us, like Oliver Twist, ask for more? Were those flavors real, or was it association and natural, youthful hunger that enticed us? Can we ever forget them; or, what is more practical, can we again realize them? We may find the secret and the answer in mother’s garden. Let’s peep in.
The garden, as in memory we view it, is not remarkable except for its neatness and perhaps the mixing of flowers, fruits and vegetables as we never see them jumbled on the table. Strawberries and onions, carrots and currants, potatoes and poppies, apples and sweet corn and many other as strange comrades, all grow together in mother’s garden in the utmost harmony.
All these are familiar friends; but what are those plants near the kitchen? They are “mother’s sweet herbs.” We have never seen them on the table. They never played leading roles such as those of the cabbage and the potato. They are merely members of “the cast” which performed the small but important parts in the production of the pleasing tout ensemble—soup, stew, sauce, or salad—the remembrance of which, like that of a well-staged and well-acted drama, lingers in the memory long after the actors are forgotten.