As I continue to share inside stories of my journey as a child Cajun traiteuse, I've thought a lot about everything that this entailed, and wrestled with what I was taught to tell others and what don't you tell.

As a girl, I remember thinking time and time again -- "What does all of this have to do with being a faith healer?" as my Grandpere would have me doing tasks, that seemed to have nothing to do with folk remedies and helping people get well. I also wrestled with myself over, "If you have knowledge that can help others, why keep it to yourself and only share with one other person (ie. the one you train to replace you)?"

Two key two key alternative medicine practices of his -- haunt and follow me to this day. The first, was the very involved process of seed saving. This is something that people have been doing all over the world for tens of thousands of years out of necessity. The other passion had to do with making various homemade wines. These practices haunt and follow me, because I lived long enough to know how important knowing how to do both are to being self-sufficient.

The day Hirma decided I was old enough to learn to do the laundry, was the day I first knew about saving seeds. As she turned out the contents of each of Emile's pockets in his overalls, prior to putting them in the wash tub -- I was amazed to see tiny bundles of flannel and cotton, all neatly tied with string -- looking very much like miniature beanbags or packets.

She said nothing, but gave me that look -- the one that was reserved for a special lesson that she was about to plant inside my mind. Today, my eleven- year-old granddaughter, sees the same phenomenon coming on in advance -- just as I did.

Only she has a name for it, "Oh, no....grandma....you're getting ready to give me more grama TMI" -- her text messaging shorthand lingo, for grama's too much information (that she's not the least bit sure she wants to hear). Like her, I'd protest, but knew I too was in for a long great grandma to great granddaughter session.

Just about every pocket of Emile's several pairs of overalls had something in them. Some objects were the ones women folk are accustomed to finding -- nails, nuts and bolts, pennies, and whatever else that old men gather up like prized possessions. The rest and the most numerous of Emile's treasures were the peculiar flannel and cotton packets. The flannel was recognizable as left over fabrics from one of her many quilting projects, the cotton was a re-purposed work shirt.

My job, she explained was to write a name on each one, as soon as she and I figured out what it was in English, translating from her Cadien French. Not knowing any better, I quickly started to untie one of them. She just as quickly yanked my ponytail and launched into some Cajun that I wasn't supposed to be old enough to understand.

The contents were to remain inside the packets, she explained -- they were the seed crops for future years. They were to be labeled, so that when Emile had time to tend to them, he didn't have to worry about them being mixed up. Once they were labeled, they were placed inside an old cracker tin underneath a piece of bread. The bread was to absorb any moisture trapped inside, until he had time to properly care for them.

Later that night, I realized that I must be growing up in the eyes of my great grandparents -- I was allowed to stay up after dinner and invited to sit at the old kitchen table on the back screened porch with them. There, Hirma turned on the radio, and poured two large wine glasses of chilled strawberry wine and one very small demi-glass (after much discussion with Emile) for me.

I braced myself for that all important, very grown up first sip of strawberry wine, remembering my Pepere Vernon's laughter at my sour face, when he once gave me a sip of his Mexican tequila. Additionally, having watched and help Hirma make homemade wines, my stomach almost churned in remembrance of the fermenting crocks.

Surprisingly, it absolutely still tasted like strawberries, not at all like I imagined it would taste. It wasn't too sweet and it also didn't make my mouth uncontrollably pucker. I daintily sipped, just like I watched Hirma do, holding my pinky finger out in the most lady like manner I could muster.

I was elated! I had arrived and I had visions of all sorts of previously forbidden activities now be allowed. My elation was short lived, when she explained to me, that because I had done such a good job helping her with the laundry -- that now I had graduated to getting to help do the wash on a regular basis and even more chores. My little graduation party, only meant that I got to stay up an extra hour that night to help them -- count seeds and package seeds!

Not exactly what I had in mind, sitting up with two old people (although beloved), counting out 40 seeds over and over and repackaging them. I would learn that apparently, 40 is a magic number in seed saving -- it's enough to plant the next crop, enough to share with a neighbor, and even reserve some seed for a future year (just in case your crop fails).

I was an adult before I ever heard the term "heirloom seeds." The practice of harvesting and saving seeds was something I assumed everyone did. It was as natural as breathing.

I may have been a teenager by the time I noticed that some people actually bought seed packets at the feed store, and that not everyone grew at least part of their food. I remember questioning my great grandmother as to why people would spend money on seeds, when they could easily get them for themselves. It didn't make sense that what God gives us for free, would be sold.

Her answer didn't make a lot of sense to me at the time. It was a long lecture about the quality of taste, differences in flavors, aroma, and looks of various fruits and vegetables. I hadn't lived long enough to understand the difference between corn-on-the-cob, picked fresh vs. corn-on-the-cob that had been bought in the grocery chain store.

Hybrid seeds come from hybridized plants. Hybridized plants are plants that have been commercially developed as a result of crossing two plants.

For example, one plant may be more resistant to a certain disease, the other plant may produce better fruit. The cross between the two plants results in a plant that cannot reproduce itself -- because the new palnts will revert back to the traits of one of the parent plants.

To qualify as true heirloom seeds, however, seeds need have to meet the following criteria:

1. Obviously, it needs to be able to reproduce itself either by self-pollinization or open pollinization;
2. The variety needs to have been around at least 50 years ago (depending upon which definition of heirloom seed age you accept);
3. It might have a special history or tie to a particular region of the country, or be able to be traced back to an outside originating country.

As we turned out his pockets, Hirma explained that tomato seeds require special handling. She told me the tomato seeds had a gooey jacket on them that had to come off. The best way to do this was to squash the fully ripe tomato into a bowl to help release the seeds. Then, add water and cover lightly with a dish cloth and let it set for three or four days. remembering to stir each day.

Pretty soon, mold (fermentation) would settle on top of the water. This was both a combination of mold and tomato pieces. Then, we would add more cool water, scoop off the mold and repeat rinsing the seeds until they were clean -- sometimes over and over to get rid of the mold. Then, we'd let the tomato seeds drain and air dry on a cloth for at least a couple of weeks.

NOTE: I should point out that this process didn't exactly make the house smell wonderful. It's not unpleasant, but for a couple of days, you do know it's there.

Hirma would always get excited about the tomato seeds that sank to the bottom as they were the "good seeds." The seeds that floated were thrown out with the mold and left over tomato pulp.

We always had to save at least a small portion of the best seeds to share with the local priest who would bless our crops. She also would stress to me that, the tomato seed is not ready for storage or sharing, until you can snap the seed in half and hear a small sound.

The final result of our efforts were seeds that were put into small Ball glass canning jars and placed in a dark place for storage until use. Hirma kept hers in the bottom of her closet in a wooden trunk, but some of the other women in our family kept seed saved in their refrigerators. She also taught me that seeds are probably only good for about four or five years, although some of her seeds were kept for longer periods of time.

Not everyone was blessed to have been taught about saving seeds and had the fun of harvesting, growing, and collecting heirloom seeds. It's a great hobby, as well as a way of helping to preserve plant heritages. It doesn't take up a lot of space or take all that much time. There are many heirloom seed organizations and groups that can help the novice seed saver get started.

It would shock most people to that multi-nationals and corporations, now own the rights to many of the world's food seed varities. Companies like, Mansanto, Cargill, and ADM -- make huge profits in controlling and being the sole distributor of seeds.

Historically, there have been times, when whole populations were forbidden to save seed and grow food without governmental permission. During the Vietnam War, whole towns and villages were strictly regulated to ascertain that no one owned any seeds, and could plant any food that wasn't provided for them. This wasn't the only time in history that this has been the norm.

There are a number of organizations encouraging the promotion of starting community seed banks and by only using heirloom seeds. Seeds are necessary in order for mankind to eat and survive.

Just this one fact alone should be enough to convince anyone -- 97% of all genetic diversity vegetable crops have been lost in the last eighty years alone!

Long before that first sip of strawberry wine, I was tremendously aware that making wine from strawberries, wasn't the most pleasant of homemade wine making jobs. Strawberries are both a slimy and dirty to press off the pulp and making strawberry wine is time consuming. However, that was the prospective of a child, the woman I grew to be understands that with quality and all good things -- effort and minor adversities -- pay off.

Making homemade wines can be fun and interesting, and even a good learning experience for children, if for no other lesson than that of what fermentation means.

Ingredients and supplies needed:

• 2 quarts of strawberries (cleaned, hulled, and sliced)
• 1 package of active yeast
• 3 cups of brown sugar
• juice of two lemons
• 1/2 cup of brandy
• Boiling water (enough to cover)
• 2 glass crocks or jars
• Colander or cheese cloth
• Funnel
• Wine bottles with fermentation locks (or corks)

Instructions:

• Mash the clean, hulled and washed strawberries with old fashioned potato masher, followed by more mashing with a fork (today, I sometimes use a food processor).
• Add the lemons, active yeast, and cover with boiling water, and place in a clean glass crock or jar, and cover with cloth
• Each day for the next five days, stir the container to remix everything.
• On the sixth day, strain the mixture through a cheesecloth, and discard the strawberry pulp.
• Combine the remaining liquid with the brandy and sugar, place into a clean crock or jar and recover.
• Again, stir the mixture once a day, for the next seven days.
• On the eighth day, pour the strawberry liquid into wine bottles. If not using fermentation bottles, cork loosely.
• Store in a cool dark place and store for 90 days. When the strawberry wine looks clear and is no longer bubbling, rebottle into new clean wine bottles, and cork securely.
• Age for 1 to 1 1/2 years before opening and sharing this delicious strawberry wine.