There are a lot of things I’m looking forward to as I move back to my hometown this weekend — more time with family, going back to my home church, seeing my dogs. But getting my hands dirty in my parent’s garden is definitely at the top of my list.
Garden-planting time was so essential to my childhood, it’s hard to imagine someone growing up without that experience. When I was a kid, I’d run out to the garden in my bare feet (ick!) and play sort of a hopscotch game where I would jump into the footprints my dad would make as he tilled the dirt.
Naturally, I’d be a filthy mess by the time we’d go in for supper, but I didn’t care too much. I had a fascination with dirt growing up. And the smell of freshly cut grass. And running in the yard barefoot. I’m pretty sure someone dropped me on my head when I was a baby.
My dad would try to get me to steer the tiller, but it’s a bit loud, and I was always afraid I’d cut my feet off. I obviously wasn’t extremely logical, being that the blades were toward the front of the tiller, and one’s body is shielded by the encasing. Duh.
So, naturally, the first thing I did when I stayed with my parents a few weeks back was jump out of bed at the crack of dawn and take pictures of my dad tilling. Except he didn’t offer to let me till this time. He did, however, offer to get rid of my camera if I didn’t stop taking pictures of him. Silly man.
Another thing I ABSOLUTELY loved (and continue to enjoy) about gardens is that they tend to attract frogs. Well, I think they’re actually toads, but who cares? I sort of squeal (literally) with joy over each one I see. And I must, absolutely must, pick them up. I’d kiss them if I didn’t already have my prince!
So, fair warning: There will be multiple recipe postings in the future consisting of ways to use amazingly fresh and delicious veggies. And possibly more frog (er, toad) glamour shots to come.
Until next time,