When I think of collards, images come to mind of porcelain sinks stuffed to the brim with large, dark green leaves, huge pots simmering on the stove, apple cider vinegar, and brisk days made for Gramma’s quilts. The smell of collards cooking makes my mouth water in anticipation of the deliciousness to come – for surely, they have been cooked with some good ole fatback or a ham hock or maybe just some bacon grease. And I know there’s bound to be some kind of peas on my plate – field or black-eyed, maybe. And, of course, there has to be corn bread to dip into the savory pot liquor swirling around in that giant pot.

            As a child, one of my favorite things was for Mama to offer me a mug of pot liquor to wrap my hands around as I sat on the kitchen step stool watching her fry cornbread. The heady smell rising from that cup was almost as good as the rich liquid tasted. It was the appetizer for the feast to follow – only we weren’t fancy enough to call it that.

            Some folks hate the smell of collards cooking as they release a sulfurous odor that can linger long after they’ve been cooked and eaten. But I’ve always figured those folks just plain didn’t like the taste of collards or they’d certainly never eaten any of my mama’s or my gramma’s. ‘Cause if they’d ever tasted any of that goodness, they’d have reminders of pure heaven and could only love or forgive the remaining essence.

            Now if you’ve never eaten collards, I’m just sorry for you. And what I want to know is what in the world do you eat on New Year’s Day – ‘cause everybody here in the South knows you gotta eat collards, black-eyed peas, and cornbread?  How else are you gonna survive?

            I used to stuff myself – thinking I was going to get rich – seeing as how the ingredients in that meal each symbolized prosperity. Black-eyed peas were coins, the green leaves were money, and corn bread was gold. After a while I figured out that having a “prosperous new year” just meant you were going to have enough – like the daily bread we ask for when we pray the Lord’s Prayer. And somewhere along the way I realized that forgiveness figured in there, along with the bread.

            That’s the way of things, I suppose – coming to deeper understandings along the way. As an adult I know that meal of collards, peas, and cornbread is nutrient-rich. One that provides sustenance – especially in a time of shorter days, longer nights, and cold weather. I have also learned that eating collards was something that originally belonged to the poorer class which was quite a surprise given that I never saw myself as poor – even in those days when I was longing to be rich.

            Perhaps the most enlightening fact I have come to know about collards is that this variety of cabbage is not indigenous to the South. Rather, they came to us from the Mediterranean – most likely as seeds brought to us by enslaved people. Those hearty plants offered nutrition and comfort to a people who were treated as chattel. What a particularly stirring perspective for a white Southerner to learn – that through such tragedy these resilient people were able to bestow such a gift. I’m brought once again to that prayer about daily bread, forgiveness, and trespasses. I believe we are surely in that glorious kingdom. After all, we’ve got collards and I’m mighty grateful for that. Amen.