Carrots

make up your mind firmly, and you will.

end of season carrots, destined for the soup pot.

“it’s been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will.”

- Lucy Maud Montgomery

“scooch, aunt-a.”

eyes wide and stifling a laugh, i looked up across the length of the bench and admired the two foot gap between my niece and i. in my estimation, there was room a-plenty for five humans to sit comfortably at this picnic table. when your favourite—and only—niece gives you a direct and rather demanding order, there’s no sense in arguing.

C.J. was merely a few months shy of her second birthday. she was self-assured, overwhelmingly verbal and fluent in total sassafras. she was also built with that bossy oldest child gene that allows her to speak on behalf of herself, and everyone else. the campsite dinner seating arrangement would certainly not be the last instance that my niece and her “eldest daughter” personality fully swept the room. i gingerly collected my enamel tea mug and metal honey spoon, and moved farther down the line.

before C.J. was born, my parents, siblings and i drew lots for what we’d be responsible for teaching her. among the many pledges were tinkering with motorbikes, knot tying and sailing, plant and insect identification, an exposure to speculative and horror films and a total gung-ho-ness for the outdoors. my middle sister (5c), however, curiously reserved her answer. in time, the most unusual commitment emerged. it arrived in the form of a common root vegetable.

“carrots! carrots! carrots!”

hand on the steel blue wagon, sister 5c pulled C.J. at full speed up and down the rural backroad. the tops of the Parisian carrots had just emerged, and the shared delight was clear! this variety of market carrot is small—not even the width of a palm. it doesn’t look like it packs much flavour, but it is sweet and crisp. dusted off and generously tossed into an autumn soup pot, it is irresistible. the two unruly munchkins continued onward, chanting and screeching in turn!

by C.J.’s October birthday, we learned that the roots sown across the summer months had firmly taken hold.

in due aunt-a and uncle-a diligence, we snuck homemade mini-muffins C.J’s way before desert. “shhhh. don’t tell mom,” we whispered as we eyed the kitchen and the hallway for suspicious onlookers who might interrupt our sworn code of bad aunt/uncle shenanigans. it is a right of passage! proudly cleaning off her loot, holding steady while we took turns dabbing away the evidence, she promptly asked:

“you got carrots?”

before we knew it, carrots had become the undercurrent of every discussion.

planning the garden for the season? carrots. a must in every heritage variety.

camping for the weekend? don’t forget to pack the carrots.

side quest to Nana and Grandpa’s? please make sure you have washed and quartered enough carrots.

going on a walk with the dogs? you will need extra carrots for sharing. lots of them.

carrots, carrots and more carrots!

this past Christmas, my dad gingerly put it to our group chat that he “didn’t know what to set aside for C.J.” curly-haired, bright-eyed and simultaneously sweeter and more mischievous than carrot cake, she is appreciated eagerly and lacks for nothing.

“honestly,” i offered, “if you found a nice variety package of her favourite vegetable, especially during the winter season, you’d be her best friend forever.”

on Christmas morning, we each took turns handing C.J. our carefully wrapped packages: clothes, books, tiny treasures to fuel her heart and imagination. she had a running commentary on everything and how she’d utilize it as she rapidly dismantled the items from their makeshift paper homes. she modeled the ribbons, the bows placed at awkward angles as she stood entirely akimbo.

when grandpa’s package arrived, she shed the shiny parcels with glee.

still cold and plunked neatly inside the reusable bag, was a GIANT carrot. it was crisper in shape and brighter in shade than a paint chip from Pratt and Lambert! it was also the size of C.J.’s face. she held it up to the waning December light, positively thrilled.

“is this FOR ME?”

before we could even attempt a reply, she sat herself atop her trove and chomped. the outer flesh snapped with a satisfying crrrrruuunnnccchhh. we howled while C.J. tuned out the world and turned towards that delicious pre-dinner snack. Grandpa sat back and grinned, pleased with himself for selecting something worthy of the attention. even Beaufort, the Newfoundland dog, had to sneak over to see if he could—perhaps—have a corner or two.

all these carrots, all of the time have us collectively Gilbert Blyth-ing our way through the days. without the classic slate to the noggin’, of course! it is merely a handful of months into this new year, and we collectively know that C.J. has turned into a young version of the “Anne Girl.” her heart is so set, so full, so fierce and so utterly and charmingly free. in so many ways, she has cracked us all wide open with her wit and wonder. i am, indeed, richer for a world where there are Octobers.

this recent Easter weekend, C.J.’s mom (sister 5b) video called to show off their newest baking adventure: tiny, multicoloured bird nests made of rice krispies, garnished with chocolate and candy coated mini eggs. C.J. was over the moon with excitement—not only for the treat, but for something in the background…

there, on the corner of the counter, tucked steadfastly in frame, was a container of freshly washed and ready-to-enjoy baby carrots.

make us scooch forward firmly, niece-a.

i know you will.