I come from a family of farmers on my dad’s side. Y’all have seen pictures of my dad at his grandpa’s farm. I have so many happy memories of that place. Drinking water from an old hand pump well, playing in old barns, picking rows and rows and rows of strawberries and eating them warm, running through the apple orchard, playing on an antique wood stove, watching my great-grandmother cook, walking in the cow pasture with my dad. To this day, one of my favorite smells is an old barn. The musty hay/rotting manure/animal smell delights me to this very day.
That is why, what I have to show you is so sad.
You see, my great-grandfather had a 118 acre farm. My grandmother had a huge garden, my dad has always had a garden,
and I have been reduced to this.
I told you it was so very sad.
You might wonder why the last photo is blurry. That is because I had to stand on my tippy-toes to snap that shot. I wasn’t about to step out in the rain for it, not even for the blog. My hair might have been compromised, and that wouldn’t do.