This is a story from my mother’s childhood.
Mama kept me close to her side we when were home alone. If she did let me go in the yard on my own, I had to be close enough to come running in an instant when she called. The only exception was a trip to the toilet. Since it wasnβt polite to answer from the toilet, I kept quiet knowing, sheβd be watching for me to come out before mounting a search. She always warned me against falling through the hole in the seat, but that was a concern she could have spared herself. Iβd have sprouted wings and flown had I felt myself falling into the quagmire beneath that toilet seat!!
A well-worn path led down the hill to the toilet located far enough to cut the odor and avoid contamination of our well. Mama was vigilant about sanitation and shoveled lime into the pit to aid decomposition and screened the open back to foil her chickens who considered the flies and maggots a tempting buffet. Chickens are not known for their discriminating tastes. Any chicken Mama planned to butcher, was penned up and fed a fine diet of grain and table scraps for several days prior to its date with the axe, till Mama was convinced it, βclean.β I now realize my brother didnβt bother with the long walk to the toilet at night, since a healthy crop of tomatoes had volunteered beneath his bedroom window. Mama noted the size and beauty of the crop, but said we couldnβt eat them. βThey might not be clean.β They looked as βcleanβ as the ones from the garden, so John and I slipped off and enjoyed the finest tomatoes of the season, which had apparently benefitted from the trip through his digestive system. When Mama noticed the stripped plants, she whirled around and quizzed me βWhat happened to those tomatoes? You didnβt eat them did you?β My guilty look gave me away. βYou did, didnβt you? Oh, My Lord, you could get typhoid from those nasty tomatoes.β
My heart fell. I knew this had to be serious since Mama said, βOh, My, Lord!β I had no idea what typhoid was, but I did understand I was about to die.
βJohn ate most of them. I only ate a couple of little ones but nothing was wrong with them. They tasted real good.β
βBeing raised in filth wouldnβt make them taste bad. They could still make you sick.β She went on about her business as I prepared to die.
I worked up my nerve. βMama, will typhoid kill you?β
βIt could, but maybe you wonβt get it. I had typhoid when you were a baby and nearly died.β I already had a keen conscience and knew I deserved punishment as I waited anxiously all afternoon for typhoid to strike me down. I attributed everything to typhoid: a ringing in my ears, a rapid heartbeat, feeling hot and thirsty as I played listlessly in the shade that July afternoon. My last day dragged. Mama didnβt say any more about typhoid, but I knew it was only a matter of time. I dreaded going to bed that night since I wouldnβt be waking up tomorrow, but certainly couldnβt confide in Mama, since Iβd brought all this on myself. During bedtime prayers, I got cold shivers reciting the line, βand if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.β Knowing tonight would be the night put a whole new light on the situation, especially since Iβd disobeyed Mama. It hurt my feelings a little when she tucked me in as matter-of-factly as usual on my last night on earth. I fought sleep, but couldnβt hold it off forever. I bounded out of bed, thrilled to find myself alive and ravenous when I awoke and smelled dry-salt meat frying, biscuits baking, and coffee percolating before daylight the next morning. Typhoid would have to wait for another day!
OMG typhoid tomatoes! Great story!
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My mother was supposed to empty the “honey pot” one day and was lazy so she just emptied it off the back porch. A neighbor boy was walking by and the waste landed on his head. Guess he had a shitty day!
When I worked for a water dept. as a temporary, I learned that tomato plants grow in the sewage plant. Didn’t hear of any typhoid though. Hmmm…
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If we parents knew what some things we say do with the mind of a kid. You must have been terrified. But…. you are paying it all back… lol!
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No kidding. My kids tell me every day what I messed up.
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I already hear that too…. but we still have our moms to blaim… lol!
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Yep.
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π
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I’ll never eat another tomato again. Thanks for the warning.
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Maybe just avoid the ones on path to toilet!
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Wow ! Much of tomatoes and perhaps other vegetables are actually grown this way in parts of the world is my guess .
Funny story- so glad you made it Linda.
Susie
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And most people don’t get cholera, typhoid, or hepatitis, but sometimes……
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Some I have heard get cysts in the brain, I have heard.
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My mother had typhoid as a child. They were living in the city so not sure where from but… (mind you, it was shortly after the Spanish civil war, so perhaps things were not up to scratch…).
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It’s highly contagious and easily spread by contaminated water and poor handwashing.
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Typhoid tomatoes! What a great story. π
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Thanks.
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Thank goodness those tomatoes didn’t kill her! They do sound a bit disgusting though. LOL!!
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Hilarious. Have you written a blog on your mother? She sounds like a character! Loved the story!
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Will send you a link when I go to computer. I write about her all the time.
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Okay. Is you like her?
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I am as ditzy, but not as nice. I am outspoken.
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That should have been “Are you like her?” Lol
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But it was good!
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