Satan’s Candy: (A Betrayal)
I held that clear, translucent plastic cup in my small hands for a long time. Within those few inches of soil grew a whole mysterious world. Roots reaching down, tiny leaves unfurling upward, an entire plant emerging from what had only a few weeks ago been nothing but a seed and some dirt. The joy of seeing that bright red color shimmering on the surface, just peeking through a thin layer of soil, revealing its magenta, spherical body, was a moment of pure elation.
I grew this. From a tiny seed, I cared for this little plant, and even though I was only five or six years old, I grew this all by myself.
I have very few memories from my early years that will surface on demand. Most of my childhood exists in a hazy, half-remembered way that could very well just be old photographs I have seen. But this experience stuck. In fact, I have more vivid memories from my time at Montessori school than from all my early school years combined.
And one of our activities was for each of us to grow a radish in a transparent cup, so we could watch its roots develop as it grew. It was a brilliant lesson in patience, biology, and the magic of tending to something that we have no idea what it will become… learning to embrace the mystery!
There was, however, one crucial piece of information that was omitted from this otherwise excellent educational experience. Nobody thought to mention what a radish actually was. I had never had a radish in my entire, short life. I was a child of the 70s, raised on fruit cocktail, Veg-All, Vienna sausages, and TV dinners, which at the time, I sincerely believed constituted the entirety of the four food groups.
So when I finally plucked that little red radish from its earthy womb, dusted off the dirt, and took a big, confident, celebratory bite… My joy immediately ceased to exist and a shriek lurched out from my throat.
I was certain I had grown Satan’s candy. Nothing in my six-year-old palate had prepared me for that sharp, peppery, borderline aggressive bite of raw radish. I remember feeling utterly betrayed by a life I had personally nurtured from birth.
It wasn’t until around 2009, when I was growing radishes as companion plants in my first ever garden, that I decided to taste them again. Decades of quiet radish trauma stood between me and that garden bed. But I swallowed my hatred, along with a healthy dose of adult perspective, cleaned off a couple of the brightest, ripest ones, and sliced them thin over a salad. And just like that, a completely new relationship with radishes began. Oddly enough, as it turns out, I love these weird and tangy little vegetables! Who knew!?!