Rhubarb

I’ve never been a fan of rhubarb, but when my dad was dividing his several years back, I couldn’t say no.  My favorite rhubarb memory isn’t even about eating rhubarb, it’s about wearing it!  The summer I was 10, I was in Norway at my grandmother’s and made a skirt from rhubarb leaves!  I found a length of yarn and carefully strung together enough giant leaves to make a very fashionable mid-calf garment.  (Much more modest than the garb of the Jolly Green Giant.)  It kept me occupied for a good long time while the adults were busy . . .  eating rhubarb (and drinking coffee).

I do have a few memories of eating rhubarb.  I remember eating rhubarb soup as a kid in Norway.  I remember sprinkling sugar on rhubarb stalks as a youth in Minnesota.  And, I had a delicious “rhubarb slushie” with the neighbors one summer night a few years ago.  But, I don’t really like it!  I never think… “hmmm.. I have a craving for some delicious rhubarb,” which I do with many other fruits.

And yet… I still have it in the garden!  I can’t part with it.  How irrational is that?!  I even dug it up recently from its spot by the compost and moved it in with the raspberries to make room for the two-bin composter instead of tossing it into the compost!  I gave the stalks from the smaller plant to a neighbor and did toss the giant leaves from the larger of the two plants into the compost – only after contemplating and then rejecting the idea of making another rhubarb leaf skirt.