The Radish: 

A first time summer camp experience and a heartbreaking ending.

I waved goodbye to my parents through the window as the school bus pulled out of the parking lot. I was officially away from home for the very first time. It was a boisterous, hot, and congested ride. Not much time went by until one of the teenage kids on the bus started “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall”. The packed bus full of boys sang, more like shouted, this traditional school bus – long drive – excursion - must experience song. There was still a little more to this trip once we hit “1 bottle of beer on the wall” milestone. Now what? – it was too quiet until someone shouted out “100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” for another round. I think we arrived at our destination at around 67 bottles. The bus pulled off the main road and onto a dirt road and finally came to a full stop in a sandy field. We sat on the bus for a few minutes as some of the teenagers got off to meet some other teenagers that were waiting for us in this grimy place.

 

Popular Song for Road Trips

I looked back at the dirt road we had turned onto. It looked like a sandstorm from the Sahara Desert. We were instructed to start getting off the bus and as I got out of my seat a “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” ear worm that would last for days to come had started already. I heard someone call out instructions to find our belongings next to the bus behind us and to take our places in groups as they called our names. This was 4-H Camp!

 

The 4H Logo

4-H (Head, Heart, Hands and Health) is a youth development program that helps young people develop skills and values through fun activities that focus on the outdoors and agriculture. Aside from my mother and grandmother always loving plants, and being Italian, and a natural green thumb this adventure and experience would inspire my love of gardens, gardening, plants and the outdoors for the rest of my life. But I digress….

The sweet smell of decaying pine needles greeted me as I stepped off to find my stuff. The groups that were being formed were the kids I would be bunking with for the next 2 weeks. I was probably about 9 years old – the summer between fourth and fifth grade - and I was somewhere far out on the North Fork of Long Island. I later learned that we were only within a short walking distance of the Long Island Sound. It was all pine barrens and dusty dirt roads. I lined up with my group and 2 teenaged boys who were our camp counselors. There were about 12 kids around the same age as me and about 10 groups in total.

The counselors were making small talk with us as they led us from the dustbin parking lot down a path through thick pine trees. It was a short walk, and we reached a clearing and behold, there was a small town of cabins lined up next to one another and another group of cabins just across from them. There was a dirt road in between and it reminded me of a town from an old western movie. The cabins had one step up into them and there were screens for windows. The inside smelled like an old musty attic. There were metal bunk beds lining the 3 walls of the cabin and 2 bunk beds lined up head-to-head down the center. Some of the bunks had very rusty springs.
 

​These cabins resemble 4H Cabins

The counselors told us to pick a bunk and get our sleeping bags set up and our belongings tucked under each bunk. I picked a top bunk, and I can’t remember the kid’s name who was below me, but we bonded well and perhaps not surprisingly to anyone who knows me, I quickly became the little alpha of the cabin.

Introduction followed. We learned the names of our counselors and we all had to introduce ourselves to one another. Once the introductions were done, we headed to the “mess hall” for lunch. The counselors showed us where the bathroom and showers were along the way. We also received simple and politely delivered instructions about our conduct as a group and the expectations of our behavior. We were taught how to travel as a group so we wouldn’t lose anyone. One counselor always led the group, and one always trailed.

The mess hall was nothing but a very large building with a lot of fans running, in other words no air conditioning. There were long wooden picnic tables that could easily seat 15 young boys. There were 3 rows lined up end to end with only about a foot separating each table. The mess could seat everyone at camp. Between the hum of all the fans and 150 young boys talking at once it was loud in there. Worse than the bus.

It was easy to figure out how this was going to work. To the right as you entered there was a school cafeteria-type set up. You grabbed your tray, plate and utensils and got in line slowly walking past a few food stations, not unlike a buffet. Ladies with hair nets and aprons ladled, spooned, or placed the meal, sides, fruit, dessert, and drinks on your plate as you went by. We were told to “…take all you want but eat all you take…” The counselors guided us to one of the long picnic tables with a number on it. The wooden tabletop had the stains of years of spilled camp food and drink that turned various shades of black and brown. The seats and table edges had splinters in different places. This is where I would eat every meal at 4-H camp.

After lunch we headed back to the cabin, told to change into our bathing suits and get ready to go swimming. There was no pool – we would swim in the Long Island Sound. Now, all of us were from Long Island and all of us swam in the ocean at some point. I grew up on the south shore, so the ocean was Jones Beach for me. I had never swum in nor seen the Long Island Sound. What I found the most fascinating about the Sound was that you could see the coast of Connecticut from the shore.

I stayed in Southold. Across the Sound is Connecticut.

 The south shore of Long Island is flat, and the sand is very fine. The north shore is very different. There is no sand, it is rocky and rough on your bare feet and the terrain is very hilly. At the risk of boring my reader, the reason for this geological disparity on such a thin island has to do with the furthest extent of the ice sheets during the last ice age around 21,000 years ago. As the ice receded Long Island was formed with a flat fine grain sand south shore and a hilly, pebbly north shore. The Sound is much calmer than the beaches of the southern shore and the sea air is very thick. But I digress once again….

 

     Rocky Shoreline

 So, after our swim we showered. This was my first, and likely all the other kids’ first time in an open shower. But boys will be boys and after a bit no one cared that we were all naked. We were told to be sure to clean our butt holes to make sure no “Sound Worms” got up there. I think the counselors were messing with us however I do remember my father always telling me to make sure I washed well after we went to the beach. We then had a little down time in our bunks, some went out to stroll the “Camp Town” and then dinner, and a campfire. It was the first day at 4-H Camp, but the fun was only about to begin. Everyone was tired and it was time for bed. I crawled into my sleeping bag, closed my eyes and started to doze off…in my head rang ”37 bottles of beer on the…….”

The next morning, we were aroused from our sleep by trumpets sounding revelry that boomed through a loudspeaker perched atop a pole that was situated in the center of camp town. After breakfast the entire camp was brought to an outdoor amphitheater and each group of counselors took turns giving a presentation of the “classes” they would be running over the next two weeks. There was a total of eight classes presented and each one sounded more interesting than the previous one. Each day we were going to participate in four 90-minute programs for one week and another four the next week to cover all eight. It was like school. There was Nature Walk, Sheep Grooming, Farm, Chicken Care, Indian Trinket, Horse Back Riding, Woodworking and Shore Walk.

Our names were called again, and we were assigned to our classes and classes started immediately. Each class had boys from all the different bunks. The classes were all interesting. Nature Walk was just that. As we walked dirt trails through the pine barrens the counselor leading the class would point out species of trees, what made them different from one another, identify any animals we might have encountered, and it was great. Sheep Grooming and Chicken Care were cool. We learned how to capture sheep, sheer them and feed them. Chicken care was fun. We learned how to clean a chicken coup, feed the chickens and hypnotize chickens as well.

Hypnotizing chickens was an old farmer’s trick. You had to capture the chicken first, which was no easy task, lay the chicken down with its head on the ground and its beak extended. With a stick or your finger, you slowly drew a line on the ground from the chicken’s beak to about one foot away. After a few strokes the chicken was completely immobilized, and you could pick it up without it flailing about, presumably to place the chicken on a chopping block to prep it for “dinner”.

​Hypnotizing a Chicken

 We learned how to saddle a horse, clean stalls, and groom a horse and in Indian Trinkets we made cool little things like a leather bag to hold stuff and a walking stick. Farm was my favorite. We learned how to prep soil, till, fertilize, water and we planted 3 vegetables that would start to sprout before we left in 2 weeks. We planted 3 types of vegetables on a little plot of the farm. We also planted one of each in small cups to take home with us when camp was over.

After the days classes we would head back to our bunks, change into our swim suites and head to the Sound to swim. Some of the kids had to take swimming lessons. The rest of us had swimming races and contests like swimming underwater the furthest. We were also preparing for swimming awards that were to be handed out at the end of camp. One thing I wanted to note here is that we went to the Sound to swim every day no matter what the weather. Long Island in June can still be a little chilly. There were several days that it was just too cold for some to go in the water. The counselors never forced anyone to go in. I was one that always went in of course.

The two weeks flew by, and I had such a memorable time as you can see by how vividly I can recount this over a half a century later. The last night of camp we had our dinner and rested in our bunks until dusk. As daylight dwindled the counselors called us out of our bunks and we were led to the outdoor amphitheater. No one knew what was going on. Just about 100 feet from the open part of the amphitheater was the biggest pile of wood I had ever seen. I must have risen 20 feet and to a 9-year-old that was big.

As all the kids in the camp filed into the bench seats in the amphitheater and everyone was talking, we started to hear “shhhh’s” making its way around. The bunch of boisterous boys began to hush. Once the din quieted enough, we all turned to see a figure emerging from the darkness. It was a man dressed in full Indian garb (Native American for you younger readers). He wore leather pants, a full headdress of feathers, a tomahawk in his hand and something else dangling from his side. He addressed us with a fake Indian accent “…me here to talk peace and fun for boys and give presents for good things…” or something like that – you get the idea. The “Indian” raised his arms to the sky and stomped his foot on the ground and we saw a small flame begin to flicker at the center of this huge pile of wood.
 

A Bonfire

It remained quiet for a short while as we all watched the little flame come to life and engulf more wood. As the flames spread the amphitheater brightened with that orangey- yellowish glint that a fire throws. I also remember the steady increase of the heat. It was like moving closer and closer to a radiator. As we all became hypnotized by the flame the Indian disappeared. One of the counselors came to the center and announced that the “4-H Summer Camp Awards Ceremony” was beginning. Each counselor took turns speaking and presenting certificates of achievement to the campers that excelled in each class through the 2 weeks. Yours truly received an award for all classes except Indian Trinkets and I won the Top award in Farm and Sheep Shearing.

I was also the only camper to earn a swimming award. The day before was the swim test. It was cold, misty, windy and the Sound’s surf was unusually rough. We all sat on our towels and the counselor asked who was ready to take the swim test. It got very quiet. I looked around and realized everyone was looking at me. I was the only one to raise a hand. It was then I realized I made a mistake but now my 9-year-old pride was on the table, and I couldn’t back down. Off I went into the rough surf, and I passed the test with flying colors. When I staggered out of the water and neared the campers still sitting on their towels they began to cheer for me. I was Poseidon, the Swimmer of the Sound, the Neptune of the North Shore!

The Award’s ceremony ended with several counselors doing a fake Indian dance and we all began filing out of the amphitheater. The bonfire’s inferno continued. I recall my face feeling very hot and as we headed toward our bunks, you could feel the heat on your back as we walked away. The heat gradually diminished as we moved further away from the amphitheater and headed toward our bunks and our last night at camp.

The next morning, we were roused with our last loudspeaker revelry, had breakfast, went back to our bunks to collect our stuff and marched to the dusty parking lot we arrived at two weeks prior. The school buses were all lined up with numbers in the windshields. Our names were called, and a number followed indicating the bus number we were to board. We said our goodbyes, stepped onto the bus and off we went. It was a quiet ride. There were no bottles of beer left to sing about. After an hour or so ride the bus entered the parking lot of a school, I spotted my parents in a crowd and that marked the end of my first time away from home by myself.

We disembarked, waited for our stuff to get off loaded from the other bus and I handed my father the 3 little cups of plants that had sprouted. He asked what they were, and I proudly said we grew them - it was a corn plant, a bean plant and a radish plant.
When we got in the car to head back to our house, the first thing I said was that I wanted to grow a garden!

We got home, my mother prepared pasta even though it wasn’t Sunday, but she knew it was my favorite meal. The family peppered me with questions, and I recounted my adventure with likely painful detail.

The next day over breakfast, I asked where I could have my garden. My father was a little hesitant. Being a new homeowner and very proud of his lawn he probably didn’t want to give up any precious real estate to a garden in the backyard. We went outside and walked about, and he turned to me and said here, pointing to the side of the garage. We had a detached garage, and it ran about 20 feet long. My garden would be about that long, and he gave me 2 feet out. I was excited and I couldn’t wait to start digging but first we needed to get rid of the grass. My father went into the garage and grabbed a large spade and began cutting little squares in the lawn that made an outline of the soon to be garden. My job was to pull the grass up, shake the dirt out of the roots and throw the leftover grass in the garbage. This was not easy work and not fun at all.

The smell of dirt is heavenly and is special and wonderful to certain people. Lovers of the outdoors, planting and gardening. All throughout my childhood I played in the dirt. I loved it. I can smell it in my mind. Long Island is blessed to have very fertile land. The soil is dark brown bordering on black. It is moist and rather loose as you break it apart. It does not remain clumpy. It is ideal for plants and Long Island’s history of vast farms attests to the wealth of nutrients in the soil.

Rich Long Island Soil

Long Island was historically known for potatoes and corn. To this day you can drive east to the north fork in September and October and pick up bags of freshly picked sweet corn from farm stands along the road. Some of the farm stands also have fresh baked pies, homemade jams, fruit, especially apples, and other vegetables for sale. It’s a fun experience.

Several decades ago, a man named Herodotus Damianos believed that the north fork of Long Island was ideal for grapes. Great fertile land near the ocean and relatively stable temperatures were ideal for the vines. He planted Long Island’s first vineyard and that became Pindar Wine. More followed. Now Long Island is renowned for its quality wines. And there are more than two dozen vineyards along the north fork.
 

Pindar from Long Island is World Renowned

 Finally, all the grass was removed, and the next step was to loosen the soil and get it ready for planting. I dug into the brown ground and turned it. My father helped level it off with a rake and within a few hours it was ready to plant. I ran into the house and got my three cups. I sectioned off three strips of my little farm and planted each vegetable in its own section.

That afternoon, my father and I went to one of the many nurseries in our town to get seeds. Back then there were no Lowes or Home Depots or Pikes. All the nurseries were family owned and this is where you bought your fertilizer, potting soil, lawnmower, garden hose, sprinkler, pesticides and anything having to do with growing something. I loved going there. To this day I enjoy roaming the garden section of the big box stores and especially Pikes. My father bought a pouch of corn seeds, beans and radish seeds. This would go along with the plants I started two weeks ago at 4-H camp. 

Using a small stick and I carefully poked small holes side by side in each section of my little farm and placed the appropriate seed for each section, gently covered them all and then watered them with love. I remember standing there looking at my farm fully expecting to see the plants start rising like the beanstalk in the famous story with a character named Jack.

Each day I went outside and watered my farm waiting for little sprouts to appear. After about 10 days I began to see little specks of green making its way to sunlight and within a few days of that discovery my farm had come to life. Thin stems and tiny leaves were now taking shape from each little hole I had dropped a seed into just two weeks ago. It was magical and I can say that my defining moment at 4-H camp when I realized I was a lover of all things’ plants would forever be a part of who I am when I saw my first garden come to life. It touched my soul in such a way that I still have that feeling inside when I replant a houseplant, start a section of a plant rooting in a cup of water and work in an outdoor garden.

As I said, it is only for a certain type of person. There is such a gratifying feeling seeing something that you planted and nurtured come up out of the ground and become a plant that gives back to you either in fruit or vegetable or in beauty that pleases your eyes and mind. I take a lot of pride in the fact that I have had plants survive and descendants of plants survive for decades. I have a plant today that is a descendant of a spider plant that my grandmother gave to my mother and my mother gave a clipping to me. I like to think of it as a great, great grandchild of a plant.

Back to my farm. It was late August, and all the plants were mature and ready to yield their gifts. The corn had cobs about a foot and a half long and silk poking through the ends. They would be the last thing to be harvested. Corn growing season is among the longest. The beans had many pods all over each plant and the radishes were, well, little bushes. I had no idea how they were doing because radishes are a root, and the vegetables are underground.

I decided to pull a few out to get a look at them. I pulled the first one and up through the soil came a beautiful crimson ball with a long thin crimson-white root extended from the bottom that resembled a tail. The top of the ball met the green leaves to form the entire plant. The radish was about the size of a nickel. I pulled a few more and they were all about the same. I concluded in my mind it was a success, and I refrained from pulling more but I couldn’t resist one. It was the plant I started in the cup at 4-H. It was fuller and had more leaves than other plants because it had a full 2-week head start over the rest of the garden. This one was a little tougher to get out of the ground. I wriggled it from side to side loosening the soil and finally extracted it like a dentist would a tooth. As it emerged from the fertile black earth, I saw a radish that was easily the size of a half dollar. It was huge and my heart raced with excitement.

The Radish is in the Mustard Plant Family

I felt like the farmer with the largest pumpkin at the state fair as I ran into the house to show my prize veggie to my parents. As soon as I went into the kitchen my mother yelled at me for bringing it into the house and warned me that I better not get any dirt on the floor. Did you ever see someone blow up a balloon, not tie it off, then let it fly deflating rapidly. That was me. Anyway, my father would be more excited, I was sure. My father looked at the radish and smiled, handed it back to me and told me to wash it off along with the others and put it in the refrigerator. As I turned away to follow his instruction he said, "Don't get any dirt on the floor." Uggghhh....I was so proud of my prize. I checked it every day, I was worried it would shrink.

The following weekend my father’s parents were coming to stay with us for a few days. It was my father’s birthday, and my grandfather always made onion bread. Onion bread is a traditional Hungarian breakfast and will be the subject of another story. I always loved it when they visited. My grandmother was always a happy person. She would bring sprinkled donuts that my grandfather would always tell us he got in Hoboken along with the huge loaf of sour dough rye that would become the Onion Bread. I couldn’t wait to see them.

 

Hungarian Onion Bread

 Early Saturday morning the 1966 royal blue Buick LaSabre pulled into the driveway and my grandparents had arrived. I ran to the refrigerator to get my prized radish to show my grandfather. Of course, I had no concept of anything whatsoever and wanted to show off my super veggies as soon as they got out of the car. I ran up to my grandfather with my hand extended and the oversized radish between my fingers. “Look grandpa, I grew it and look how big it is. It’s monster!”, I cried. He gently took the radish from my fingers and held it up to get a good look and before I could blink an eye, he deposited into his mouth and began chewing it. I stood stunned! My trophy was on its way to my grandfather’s stomach. The radish was gone.