My elder sister related to me a story about our dad, that she heard from our grandmother. It seems my grandmother was running out of spoons very mysteriously. All winter long the spoon supply dwindled down lower and lower. Spring came and the garden was tilled and as the soil was worked spoons began to show up in the fresh earth.
Come to find out my dad was grabbing a spoonful of peanut butter every morning as he headed out to the barn to do chores. Where would you put the spoon once the peanut butter was gone? To dad it seemed good to just toss it over in the garden.
That my friends was an excellent year for the spoon harvest.