“Thank you very much for the flower pot, but what are those green things sticking up out of the dirt,” Jenny asked.  “Is this more Egyptian onions?”

            “No, honey,” laughed Survival Sally.  “Those are Indian hyacinths.  Later you’ll have pretty blue flowers to look at.  Won’t that be nice?”

            “Yes,” answered Jenny.

            “If I know you and Survival Sam,” Diane said, “there’s more to these hyacinths than pretty blue flowers.”  She stepped onto the porch where her daughter Jenny and Sally were examining the container of soil and sprouting hyacinths.

            “You’re right,” Sally said, looking up from where she and Jenny were squatting together.  “They’re called Camassia or Indian hyacinths because native American Indians in the West used to bake the bulbs and eat them.”

            “Really?” Jenny perked up.  Her brown eyes were wide now.  “Have you had any to eat?”       

            “I haven’t tasted any myself,” Sally said, “but I’ve heard them described as tasting like sweet potatoes, but maybe a little more bland.”

            “My brother Bryce would have to put whipped cream on them before he’d eat any,” smiled Jenny.

            “If you’re going through really tough times, you’d eat anything you could,” Sally said, “and I’ll bet even Bryce wouldn’t care if they had whipped cream on them.  Meanwhile, everybody thinks you've just got lovely flowers, and you don't have to tell them you've got food underneath them.”