Growing up this backyard was my playground. It was also the site of many arguments over the weekly torture exercise my dad would put my sisters and I through, otherwise knows as mowing the lawn.
Being a girl was no excuse. And my mother was of no help since she frequently told us how she mowed the lawn even when she was nine months pregnant with each one of us.
My sisters and I grew up with gardening being a natural part of our life. I don't remember a time my parents weren't planting, weeding, tilling, soil testing, preparing a bed or cleaning up a bed. It was a normal part of our lives. Some parents played tennis, some golfed, ours gardened.
Compost piles and organic gardening were terms I knew way before it was all the fashion. I really wish I could fully explain what it was like driving the 5 hours home from my uncles dairy farm in the family Volvo with a few bags of cow manure in the trunk. Oh, those were good times.
My parents canned, preserved and pickled everything they could. I'm pretty sure we were the only family in the neighborhood with our own crock for making sauerkraut, of course from the cabbages we grew.
As a young girl I couldn't wait to grow up and leave my childhood home. Today I live six blocks from my parents. My kids go to the same schools that I did and there is a feeling of continuity and community that I never thought I would crave so much.
I love that my children love to play here and visit with my parents. I love remembering the parties that have been thrown and the conversations that have been had over ice tea and plantings.
But most of all I love that my dad took the time to take pictures of his garden just because I asked him too.
If you are dropping by from Bonbon Break welcome! So glad to have you here.
