Home sweet home

Now that we've been homeowners a couple of years, this summer we also became gardeners. Well, I should say, Harold became a gardener. I have never claimed to have a green thumb. Even a light shade of green. That was my Mom. And her green-thumbness skipped a generation right to Melissa, and apparently, it seems, to London.

But Farmer Harold has been hard at it this summer and I've been amazed at what he has been able to produce from our hill-of-a-back-yard. Literally. It's a hill so steep that I have to wear certain kind of shoes or I can't even get up to the top of it. And he carries his watering can up that hill several times a day to give those plants a drink.

Now, since he's been growing the stuff, I thought the least I could do is blog about it. And, of course, when it's harvested, that's when I get into the act. I have been canning and freezing, and cooking, and pickling, and loving every minute of it! And drooling over the Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds catalog to decide what we will plant next year when we expand our little raised beds to take up more of the top of our hill.

At my age, I'm on several brand new journeys in life, and I can't imagine how life could be better or sweeter. Sweeter than blackberry cobbler with homemade ice cream.

Oh, I will write about other stuff, too. But right now, that whole grow-your-own-food mentality has sort of captured our attention.