At an early age, my parents instilled in me a love for gardening and homesteading. Back in the 70s before it was trendy, we had a large vegetable garden in the back of our suburban home. Every Spring, my sister and I would sit on the rock wall at the edge of the driveway watching excitedly as Dad dug post holes and Mom strung twine.
Our job on humid summer mornings was to head out to the garden and pick vegetables, but there, you could also find us playing hide-n-seek or taste-testing a few items.
Once we brought the basket inside, Mom would relegate us to the round oak kitchen table as we watched her prep the food. She did one of three things: washed it for meals later in the week, canned it, or froze it. During the winter, we considered ourselves lucky to have a little taste of summer as we opened a new jar of tomato sauce or defrosted veggies for soup.
Those memories and that lifestyle planted themselves in my soul and began to bloom once I had a daughter of my own. As she and I have grown together here on the farm, I have found myself called to do more than just garden: