The root cellar was dug into the ground behind the building. A hole with a door. Stone walls and a dirt floor and a ceiling low enough to make you duck. The root cellar was cold in summer and warm in winter because the earth is the original thermostat. The earth does not need electricity. The earth regulates itself. You put the potatoes in the root cellar in October and the potatoes lasted until March because the ground kept them at exactly the right temperature without being asked.

The root cellar stored everything that needed to survive the winter. Potatoes. Turnips. Carrots. Apples in bushel baskets. Jars of preserves lined up on wooden shelves. The root cellar was the supermarket before there were supermarkets. You went down into the ground and you came up with dinner. The root cellar was a pantry and a savings account. The food in the cellar was money you did not have to spend.

The root cellar smelled like earth and apples and time. A smell you cannot replicate and cannot forget. The smell of food waiting. The smell of patience. Everything in the root cellar was patient. The potatoes waited. The turnips waited. The jars of tomatoes waited with the same patience they had when they were on the vine. The root cellar taught food to wait and the food listened because the alternative was rot.

My grandmother's root cellar had a padlock. Not because of thieves. Because of children. We wanted the apples and the jam and the pickled beets and if we got into the root cellar we would eat our way through February's dinner in an afternoon. The padlock was not security. The padlock was planning. The root cellar understood that survival means saying no to today so tomorrow has something.

The refrigerator killed the root cellar. The refrigerator sits in your kitchen and hums and keeps the lettuce cold and you never go underground. You never duck through a low door into the dark. You never smell the earth holding your food. The refrigerator is better. The refrigerator is always there. But the root cellar made you earn it. You went down and you came up and the coming up with food in your hands was the oldest feeling in the world. The refrigerator gives you food. The root cellar gave you the trip.

See also: Coal Cellar, Ice Box