Perhaps it’s not quite like a fridge, but it was a cool place to store the potatoes, turnips, carrots, beets, and squash.
*Disclaimer – This is not my root cellar but it was on land where I was visiting. The poem is purely fictional (although probably possible).
“Go
Bring back
Potatoes,
Carrots, and squash.
The wicker basket
Is handy to carry
Everything.” — “But, Mom,” I whined,
“It’s so dark in there, and there’s bugs!”
“Nonsense! The bugs are more scared of you.”
Off I went … and of course, I proved her wrong.
wordsfromanneli 
January 18, 2026 at 12:37 am
My grandparents had a root cellar that looked a lot like the one pictured. I hated going in there, too. I can tolerate spiders up to a point but they really aren’t my thing! Ugh.
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January 18, 2026 at 2:45 am
That could be possible everywhere. Here that kind of cellars were shoveled in a slope, and the front was made of tiles with a wooden door, called earth cellars.
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January 18, 2026 at 4:32 am
My grandparents had a well-constructed one with a timbered ‘roof’ that doubled as a storm cellar when tornadoes were roaming around. I loved it. I called it my mountain, and there’s a great photo of me atop the thing. It wasn’t scary at all, as there was a single light bulb that could be turned on; it made all the canned cherries and such glitter like jewels in their jars. I always loved being asked to go fetch some sort of fruit or veggie from the place.
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January 18, 2026 at 5:37 am
I always hated going into the root cellar. Dark dank and dangerous, if only in my mind. Happy Sunday Anneli. Allan
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