In Praise of Okra

     I love May! Mothers Day, graduations, butterflies, and okra! Fresh-picked home-grown okra has to be one of this Southern girl's favorite things. Fried okra, pickled okra, and stewed okra with bacon and tomatoes are some of the culinary delights I always look forward to in May. And oh yes, the ultimate -- gumbo! Gumbo just isn't gumbo without okra.

     My daddy, R.T., always grew okra in the garden and would go out in the cool of the morning to cut the young, tender okra pods to cook fresh for lunch the same day. He kept track of the showy yellow blossoms and which ones "made" like an expectant mother at the end of her term. There seemed to be a sort of a ritual to okra planting, cultivating, harvesting, and cooking.

     Sadly, okra doesn't get universal respect. Our son, Trey, when he was just a toddler wouldn't eat "erk" as he called it; nor would his little brother Wade, because it was just another "u.g.o." (unidentifiable green object). Yesterday I called a friend, Marcie, who had recently come home from the hospital and I offered to bring over a home-cooked dinner. "As long as it's not okra, okay?" she responded. But then, I have to hand it to him -- my massage therapist Paul -- he's a Doctor of Naturopathy and knows what's best. He advised me to eat more green vegetables, like collard greens and "ok-ree".

     Okraphiles can find, yes, an Okra Facebook page, okra poetry, and other okra miscellany online. Me, I just look forward to the first batch of stewed okra for this year. In these newsletters Bill and I usually reflect upon matters of inspirational or spiritual importance and while okra doesn't rank with liturgical symbols such as candles, water, oil, bread and grapes, I hold this heat-loving plant in high esteem. And I believe it's virtuous to eat okra. Okree dokree?

                                                                  ---by Jan