When I was 16 years old, my mom started working for our school district’s early childhood education program, and met many other almost-empty-nesters like herself. She forged lasting friendships at ECFE, one of which was with Rose. Mom and Rose became close friends, often carpooling to work in the mornings because Rose didn’t drive. Mom loved the company, and she loved her friend, Rose.

Rose was married to a kind fellow named Lou. Lou had many positive traits and talents, one of which was an uncanny ability to garden. While his landscape was never exotic, it was always lush, healthy, and smile producing. Lou had a green thumb, loved being outside, and it showed. Year after year, his gardens grew everything from trees to flowers to vegetables. Rose often shared Lou’s bounty with Mom, and while I didn’t appreciate some of the vegetables (yes, zucchini, I’m looking at you), others were welcomed with an eager belly. Lou’s tomatoes were always a favorite, but the one thing I looked forward to most, was Lou’s rhubarb.

Rhubarb.

It’s a Minnesota staple. Seems we use rhubarb in all kinds of things around here – jam, pies, cakes, bars, relishes, sauces, and even jello!

Recently, I found a recipe book in my kitchen dedicated solely to rhubarb. I don’t remember if I bought it or if it was a gift, but in either case, I’m quite happy to make room for it on my cookbook shelf. (For the record, it was published here in in Minnesota… I told you rhubarb is a local food staple).

http://www.mnhs.org/mnhspress/books/rhubarb-renaissance

Anyway, back to my story about Lou and Rose.

We all know that life often takes unexpected twists and turns, and one year, Lou developed prostate cancer. Actually, he lived with the diagnosis for a long time, but because his energy levels fluctuated with the cancer’s treatment and disease course, his time spent in the garden grew shorter and shorter. Eventually, Lou dug up most of his plantings in favor of easier to maintain shrubs and grass. He gave away many items, but was left with gobs and gobs of rhubarb plants. Well, I couldn’t just leave the rhubarb for the garbage truck! Those plants were more than just plants, they bound our family to Lou and Rose, and… c’mon! It was LOU’S RHUBARB! I vowed to bring some to my garden. (You know, for something so classically Minnesotan, it still surprises me that he couldn’t find enough welcoming homes for his rhubarb…)

Mom told Rose that I would be happy to make room for the rhubarb plants if they were still available. Rose told Lou, and after that, Lou started calling it Melissa’s rhubarb.

I brought home 25 plants… that’s a lot of rhubarb.

I planted three plants in my garden and gave the rest away to friends and neighbors.

Eventually, Lou died from his cancer, but the stories about him and his beautiful garden did not. And, like clockwork, year after year, Lou’s rhubarb reappeared, each time prompting a retelling of how it came to grow in my backyard.

Well, every year except 2014.

That was the year that we had a LOT of rain, and the creek that borders my backyard ran high. I watched helplessly as the water level inched toward my house, flooding the part of my garden where the rhubarb plants lived. We were lucky because the creek never came all the way up into our house; some of my neighbors were not as fortunate.

It was awful.

The first spring after the flood (not surprisingly) the rhubarb didn’t come up, and I’ll admit that deep down I knew the plants were gone. Even so, I pushed my fears aside and told myself that everything was going to be ok; the plants were probably taking the year off to regroup.

The next year I tried to be optimistic, believing that the rhubarb would surprise me and reappear, but of course it didn’t. All of my fears returned, and I had to accept the fact that the flood had indeed killed Lou’s rhubarb.

I was heartbroken. Sure, I could buy new rhubarb plants, but that wasn’t the point. Lou’s plants were gone.

A few days passed when I remembered that I only kept three of the original 25 plants. Surely, other ones still existed, right? I left messages with my friends and neighbors who had (I thought) happily accepted Lou’s rhubarb years ago, hoping that I could reclaim some for myself.

Slowly I heard back from the rhubarb diaspora. It wasn’t pretty. One person told me that the plants “never grew”. Another admitted that they had dug it up years prior to make room for something else.

I was ready to give up all hope, when my next door neighbor revealed that she still had some growing under her deck! “I never really use it, to be honest, but the leaves are so pretty, so I keep it. Why, do you need some?”

After doing a happy dance in my mind, I told her that YES, I did. I won’t lie. I cried a little, because I was so relieved to have found what turned out to be the sole remaining rhubarb plants from the original 25. I went over to her house, and found happily growing plants and even a new baby one!!

I cut some rhubarb for a recipe, recognizing the immediate need to prevent any future loss of Lou’s rhubarb. Ok, well sort of immediate, because I can’t execute any plan until the fall. But, here is:

THE PLAN

I will transplant Lou’s rhubarb back into my garden by either splitting the older plants or digging up the new baby one. I will NOT, however, place the rhubarb anywhere close to the creek. Instead, I have a new sunny patch that will be a perfect spot.

I know it’s been said before, but, it really is far too easy to under-appreciate what you have, never realizing its worth until whatever it is, is gone. Unfortunately, that sentiment could apply to lots of things these days, but I don’t want to get too philosophical. For this moment, I’ll focus solely on the gain-loss-regain of Lou’s rhubarb. Lucky for me, it’s not really gone, and I get a second chance. I promise I won’t take it for granted ever again.

THE TAKEAWAY

A recipe for you to try if you are so inclined. I call it: “the bars that we had at Great Aunt Margaret’s funeral.” It’s a story for another day, I suppose. They’re really tasty…