Nikolai Ivanovich Vavilov was a Russian botanist and geneticist who devoted his life to understanding crop failures and ending famines.  A brilliant scientist, he discovered that all cultivated plants derive from certain “rough” ancestors, and these “original” versions of our modern-day foodstuffs began and first took root in a very few centers of origin located around the globe.  There may only be 8-12 of these Vavilovian Centers, and most everything we eat derives from one of these critical crop locations.

Wheat is from the Central Asiatic Center.  Potatoes and tomatoes are from the South American Center, which is amazing to me.  This means that there were no potatoes in Ireland and no tomato sauce in Italy until after Columbus discovered America.  From a culinary standpoint, you begin to taste how important these centers are and what a contribution to crops and cooking Mr. Vavilov has made.

Thank you, Nikolai Ivanovich.

As a post script, the Crepe Myrtle, though not listed as a crop, derives from the Indian Center, as does rice, which paints another fascinating picture.  There was no rice in China until after it first sprouted in India.

And as a footnote, why are these centers so important?  Consider that, with the incredible productivity of modern manipulated and custom-designed grains, there may also be sometimes hidden genetic weaknesses.  With a turn in an environmental circumstance or some other untoward catalyst adversely affecting the predominant strain of a grain, say wheat, the entire crop could be lost and the seed stock rendered worthless.

This is when the modern day Vavilov’s will scurry off to that ancient center for wheat, which is in the region of northern Iraq, southern Turkey and eastern Syria.  There, on their hands and knees with magnifying glasses, the scientists will scour the grounds of graveyards and ancient ruins, because these are often the only plots left untouched by the intrusions of modern man.  A tired researcher will find a seed of some surviving dwarf version of wheat, raise it in the air and shout with joy, because that ugly old hardy plant and its seed will likely be resistant to whatever weakness destroyed its modern cousin.

The farmers will be happy and make another wheat crop.  At home, we will be happy and make another sandwich, not realizing that we owe our lunch to a Russian scientist who just wanted to make the world a better place.

Enjoy that sandwich and have a productive day,

Grandpa Jim

Today is the U.S. Holiday of Memorial Day.  The paper said it well this morning: “On the last Monday in May each year, Americans pause to pay tribute to the men and women who have given their lives in our nation’s defense.”  Yesterday, on Sunday, over a 1,000 volunteers of all ages and backgrounds spread out across the Dallas-Fort Worth National Cemetery to decorate each and every one of the 28,000 graves with a flag.

My parents served in World War II.  Mom lost her first husband in the Pacific.  She wanted to help and she joined the Red Cross.  Dad was in the artillery in Europe until they discovered he could sing and play an instrument.  He was sent to Nice in Southern France to entertain the troops, where Mom had been assigned as a Donut Girl.  The story goes that they first met on the steps of a casino, which was now a theatre, where he promptly told her that he would marry her.  She slapped him so hard that he fell the rest of the way down those stairs.  Apparently it didn’t work because after the war I was born with the first wave of baby boomers.

In the US, our summers are framed by the two holidays:  this day, Memorial Day, near the end of June and the end of the school year, and Labor Day near the beginning of September and the start of the next school year.  I admit I could never remember which was which, until I realized they are in reverse alphabetical order, “M” first before “L.”  I need little helps like that.  Perhaps, you can use it too.

Today is a time of transition and of tradition, of remembering those to whom we do owe so much, who have gone before us and are with us still.  I think I’ll give Mom and Dad a call.  They are in their nineties, with the challenges that accompany growing older.  People notice that they still hold hands and smile and joke with each other.  Admittedly, it is more difficult when one is in a wheel chair and the other a walker.  Their lives have changed, but I don’t think they’ve changed.  Dad still has to be careful what he says or he might get knocked down the stairs again.  Just kidding, she’d only throw a cough drop at him.

Thanks for listening and do enjoy your day,

Grandpa Jim

Good Day and Hello,

A warm wind blowing this morning.  Thursday is here and tomorrow the weekend starts!!!

I spent yesterday afternoon and part of the evening working on the next Uncle Joe story.  It is a story that has been told but never written.  Ms. Mary suggested some changes and I will work on those today.  Tonight, I will tell the revised story to my granddaughters, Katelyn and Finley, and receive their critiques.

In some ways, writing a story is like making soup.  You start out with your soup and ask some people to taste it.  One suggests more spices, another more vegetables, this one a bit more thickening, over here a sweet touch, and that one slips something into the pot when your back is turned.  You look at the soup and it looks the same.  You taste it and it tastes, well, different, but good, Ok?  You taste it again and smile and realize that this is a better soup.  Then, you invite some friends in and have a party.  I like to think of writing that way.

Oh, Uncle Joe is combining and working on water leaks.  He’s a busy guy, but  he promised to read  “Who is  Uncle Joe.”  So, hopefully you will see that blog post article soon.

Have a wonderful Thursday,

Grandpa Jim