Chapter
178
©
Jeannie St. John Taylor
Stew bubbled in a
pot on the flat top of the metal dome over the fire pit in the family area.
Shem’s mother bustled through the room and out the door with a wave telling
Atarah and Shem she was on her way to help Father and everyone else had already
eaten.
An image of
Atarah’s own mother flashed through her mind and she couldn’t help comparing
the two parents. How different their lives had been! Though Atarah dreaded the
idea of separation from Shem for even the few days it would take to find
Mother, Atarah looked forward to bringing her to a place where she could
experience peace. Atarah fretted over whether to let Shem know she was leaving.
If she told him he might try to talk her out of going. If she didn’t tell him
he might be hurt. It was a dilemma.
Atarah dished up
the stew for both of them and they sat at the table together. A little closer
than necessary. He loved her. She could tell. Wasn’t even worried about it,
though she would like him to speed things up a little.
“What in the
world?” she asked slicing off a piece of purple bread.
“Purple bread.”
“I can see that.”
She smiled at him. “I’ve just never tasted purple bread before.” She took a
bite. “Nutty. What makes it purple?”
“Taro.”
“Never heard of
Taro, but it’s nice in bread.”
“You’ll sample all
sorts of new breads here.” He took a bite of stew. “Mother’s specialty. She may
put as many as fifteen different kinds of flour and a several spices in a
single batch of bread. Her worst concoction included ground-up acorns. She
boiled out the bitterness and then dried them before she ground them, but still
. . .” He made a gagging sound.
Atarah laughed.
“Yeah, you laugh
now. Wait till the Flood starts and she has more time to experiment. We stored
hundreds kinds of seeds and nuts she wants to grind them all into flour.” He
rolled his eyes in mock dismay.
“Hundreds? I have
a little trouble believing that. Name some.”
“Barley, rice,
wheat, spelt, flax, coriander, wheat berry, chickpea, cornmeal, bulgar,
Amaranth, Quinoa, kasha, rye berries, millet
. . .” He paused and sucked in a dramatically-loud breath.
“That’s not
several hundred.”
“I know. I meant
thousands, but I can guarantee you’ve never heard of them.”
“Oh yeah? I told
you my father deals in exotic luxuries. Try to name a grain I haven’t heard
of.”
“Who said anything
about grain? Mother grinds any kind of seed or dried tuber into flour. Ever had
bamboo seeds in bread?”
“Yes.”
He looked
skeptical.
“No. I really have.” She slugged his upper arm
and reached for a peach. “I traveled with Father, remember?”
“Okay. Tell me if
you’ve heard of Masa Harina, Teff, Baobab, Lotus, Breadfruit, Pigweed . . .” He
continued to rattle off names, stopping only when she interrupted.
“Enough! Enough!
No one cultivates those.”
“Who said anything
about cultivation? I merely stated that Mother adds anything and everything
grind-able to bread.” He popped a bit of kohlrabi into his mouth. “If it grows
or has ever grown or is edible or used medicinally, we stored it on the ark.”
“Every seed on
earth?”
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About Jeannie St. John Taylor
Jeannie St. John Taylor, best selling author and two-time Gold Medallion finalist, is the author of five non-fiction books as well as fifteen books for children. She writes and illustrates in the office-studio her husband built on their beef farm ten minutes from the skyscrapers in downtown Portland, Oregon. She and Ray have three grown children. Her books include: Culture-proof Kids, Building Character in Your Children, AMG Publishers, Am I Praying, Kregel and How to Be a Praying Mom, Hendrickson Publishers
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