Rhubarb | Grandma | Summer

Childhood memories are fascinating. I know these events took place and in what order, but my memory of the events are only remembered because at the end of the experience I could then apply knowledge to the whole time, at which point the memory became focused.

One particular summer day when I was very small, my Grandmother was telling me about something we were going to do, though I didn't understand at the time I could remember that it was to be special. Following her around the kitchen, she gathered a bowl full of sugar, a paring knife, and a kitchen towel.
None of that would have had any impact to form a memory if the next thing hadn't happened.

Grandma walked us out to her yard and stopped at a big red and green bush. It looked like celery but it was bigger and it had fluffy leaves. She told me it was called the Rhubarb and it was very sour like the sourgrass or a lemon.
She had us sit down in the dirt next to the bush and she started to cut the stalks near the ground and prune the leaves off, once she had cleaned it off, she dipped it in the sugar and took a big bite.
She asked if I wanted to try it, and trusting her completely I said yes.
I don't recall if I liked it immediately, I imagine I needed a few tastes.
I can still taste it from that experience right now just thinking about it.
Rhubarb is one of my favorites today.