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I was just peeling some carrots for dinner when all of a sudden the smell of the carrots lifted up off the cutting board and ... voila! I was back in a root cellar next to the barn at a school I went to when I was young.
Beets and carrots and potatoes and apples lined the shelves cut into the dirt walls. I suppose the whole thing was about 12x12 feet and perhaps 10 feet deep. It had a straightforward deliciousness. No frills. Just nourishment. It was the kind of place that made me want to say "Mother Earth" without cringing. Homey. Healthy without the unpleasant aspects that doctors and other adults could bring to such a word.
It was honest, somehow.
Real.
Just like the carrots.
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