Well, I guess I really didn't have it too tough. Both parents survived the depression, and they were good at scrounging. Maybe its where I learned the skill!
There was never a time when there wasn't food on the table. Maybe not what I would have liked, or as much, but always enough.
In the 1950s, pop and beer bottles carried a 2 cent refund. Back then I really liked the Unions. They'd each have a summer picnic in the local park, and I could hike to it over hill and dale. Sure, a knapsack full of bottles was heavy, but it was also good money. And I hiked and later rode my bicycle down many of the local roads picking up bottles tossed there.
But by the time I was 11 or 12 I could mow lawns. And shovel snow, and rake leaves. Never was much good at digging in other people gardens, but I fed many a chigger picking raspberries and blackberries.
When I was a kid, I was certain we were the poorest family in town. I was just as sure we were one step away from being tossed out of town and living in a shack in the woods someplace. I felt we were that poor. Every other family around us had a new car, every other year at least. Dad would buy a 4 year old car. All the other families took what to me were pretty lavish vacations. Without exception 2 weeks a year. I looked forward to the long weekend we'd spend in Michigan or Tennessee.
It wasn't until I got out of college I realized my dad had a better job than the other folks. He worked for GM in a salaried position, was never on strike or laid off. He owned our house, never had a mortgage (and never made car payments because he paid cash for his junkers.) Dad was just cheap. Depression again.
When I was 16 or 17 I taught my dad something. He was really impressed with me and my flash of brilliance. I had the family car for something, I don't remember what. It was autumn and I was driving down a country road. And a whole line of walnut trees!
I hit a bunch of them and they bounced off the undercarriage. I stopped to look and no one had harvested any yet. So I walked up and down the road, kicking everyone I could find on to the road. Then I drove over them, hulling them. Opened the trunk, put on the old set of worn gloves dad always kept there and filled a few gunny sacks with them.
His method was always to bag them, try them, and then hull them. My way got a lot more nuts in each sack. Each probably weighted 100#. I got home and had him come look. He was amazed, an when he saw they were all nut, no hull, he was a happy man. It took the two of us to hoist them onto the nails in the rafters of the garage.
The next day I was offered - didn't have to beg - the car keys. The implication was clear, we never had enough walnuts. I've still got the steel block we used to crack them. I used it for a criminal purpose - beating on a drive shaft, a non-food use!
Other things. A while back, maybe 10 years, a buddy and I stumbled upon a Morel mushroom haven. I was never that taken with them, but I liked finding things, especially free things. We harvested most of a day and evening. Mom wanted some (dad was already dead). The buddy kept the lions share. He cooked some, and then dried the rest that he didn't sell. Then he called me and told me he needed some help. Of course I showed up, and out we went again. Maybe 35# that cycle.
We used to have a 5 star restaurant over in town. He'd taken a few pounds from our first harvest session down to the chef (he'd been tipped they were buying.) So that was the reason for the other harvest, to sell. He shared with me, 50-50. He got right at $700, cash. Tax friendly and all.
