Vegetables, those inanimate edible objects, are the stars of fewer stories for children than creatures with legs, antennae, feathers or fur.  Here are some interesting vege-tales In honor of the Thanksgiving holiday, in which the gigantic specimens did not meet their ends in creamy gratins and buttery purees…

“Die Ruebentante” –or Aunty Root–was the creation of  Max Froelich, who seems to be unknown except for the work he published in Heim der Jugend: Ein Jahrbuch fuer Kinder und Eltern (1905).  In this cautionary tale, a stout lady turnip of a certain age goes for a walk on a moonlit night, trips over over two potatoes in the dark and tumbles down into the mud, unaware of the moon grinning in the heavens.  “Don’t wear your slippers outside” is the blindingly obvious moral of this ridiculous story.

The next vegehero is of such majestic proportions as to inspire shock and awe.  Vladimir Radunsky’s The Mighty Asparagus (2004) was honored with a New York Times Best Illustrated Book for that year even though a child might ask a parent why the asparagus makes the little king so nervous or how come the queen likes the big stalk so much?  Perhaps the judges thought the nudge-nudge, wink, winks would be over the children’s heads and not spoil the adult reader’s pleasure in the text.  Likewise the good-natured liberties taken with the paintings of Piero della Francesca, Andrea Mantegna, Perugino, and several other Renaissance artists …   Here is the fold-out plate showing the full grandeur of the asparagus.

The Mighty Asparagus is, of course, a fractured version of the venerable folk tale of the turnip and Brian Alderson’s telling illustrated by Fritz Wegner is one of the most enjoyable  of the many versions.  A poor farmer finds himself the proud cultivator of the most prodigious, round, unblemished specimen ever seen in those parts.  Such a “right champion turnip” can only be fit for a king, so once the farmer and his family manage to pull it out of the ground and heave it onto a wagon, off they go to the castle.  The king is so impressed with this “most champion turnip” that he fills the farmer’s cart full of gold.

Now when the rich squire gets wind of his neighbor’s good luck, he is so consumed with jealousy that he must take the finest horse in his stable, who is worth more than a thousand turnips, and present it to the king, confident of receiving an even bigger and better reward.  The squire gets his money’s worth in turnips all right, as the new owner of the right champion vegetable.

With badgers in bright Russian folklorist costumes, Jan Brett gives her picture book of “The Turnip” a new twist.  By eliminating the greedy resentful neighbor, she focuses instead on the communal effort of pulling the turnip out of the frozen field.  The successful conclusion of this Herculean labor is celebrated with singing and dancing.

Taking a hint from Helen Bannerman’s Little Black Sambo, Mother Badger grabs her griddle and gets down to making a mountain of turnip pancakes to warm everyone up.  It seems unlikely that a savory Chinese or Korean turnip pancake was on the menu, so I like to imagine that she whipped up a kind of latkes, made from half grated potato and half grated turnip, which would taste equally good with butter and syrup or sour cream and smoked fish.  If you are still feeling hungry after Thursday’s overindulgence, there are recipes for either kind of turnip pancake on the Internet.

The holiday season is officially declared open!