Dread of Circumcision, Dreams of Cabbage

A few weeks later, my frightening circumcision ceremony had become a distant memory. Over the years, I added a lot more cash to my burlap bag. By age fourteen, it was bursting at its seams. One thing that started bothering me was my weekly allowance.

My dad had been helping Crimean Tatars escaping from Russia. They kept coming and coming. Some days, his office looked like a refugee camp, save for tents. I no longer wanted to be a burden to my dad, I did not want his money. It was at this point in my life that my dreams of financial independence, my burlap bag and the humble cabbage crossed paths.

We had a farm an hour’s drive from Istanbul, about one third of the way to Gallipoli. There, we kept a small flock of sheep, goats, geese, a dog, a few stray cats and the neighbor’s donkey. My brother raised chickens during the summer. I looked after our beehives.

In winter months, the dirt road between the nearby village and our farm turned into deep mud. My brother and I borrowed horses from a guy in the village, half an hour’s trail ride to our farm.

Our resident caretaker was Ali, a hard-working Pomak refugee from Bulgaria. One day — I don’t know how it started — I found myself discussing the merits of cabbage with him. He mentioned that cabbage, unlike okra, is a hardy plant, easy to grow, easy to pick, easy to sell. I started thinking about it. I calculated the cost of planting cabbage and its yield. My eyes opened wide when I realized I could make enough money in four months to stop all allowance from my dad, forever.

In my next visit, I shared my thoughts with Ali. Seeing my enthusiasm, he tried to cool me down, “You’ll never know how much money you’ll make until it is in your pocket. You’ll lose seedlings to birds and sheep. Then there is the donkey. Cabbage is poison for him; he may break his rope and eat cabbage, then die. There are the passersby. They will steal a few. On the harvest day, the local deputy will show up and he’ll want to fill up his car with gifted cabbage. In the end, you can lose money!”

I didn’t like what Ali was saying at all. “These farmers are so stupid” I said to myself. “That is why they are so poor.” With my Taurean stubbornness, no way was I going to listen to him.

When I returned home, I emptied my burlap bag and counted my life savings. The next day, I went back to the farm with all my money. Ali and I went to the nursery and bought seedlings. I got a truckload of cow manure delivered to the farm. I bought a second-hand wire fence from a farmer nearby and installed it. Finally, I spent the last bit of my money on a new rope for the donkey. My risk management was complete. The money I had saved in my burlap bag since my circumcision was now fully invested, ready to fulfill my dreams of financial independence.

Our hard-working caretaker Ali with our flock of sheep, 1966.