The little one says the bok-boks are in the garney. And she’s right. They are. She says she’s going to dig for worms in the garney, too. And she does.
My daughters will never remember a time when there wasn’t a garden in their lives.
I mean, think about it. What are your earliest memories? How old were you?
Summer of ‘76. I was three and a half and it was Forth of July when my family hitched up the pop-up camper to the old brown station wagon and dragged it down to Virginia where we set up camp for a week and spent the bicentennial in Colonial Williamsburg.
I was just a little kid, practically a toddler. A little older than my youngest is now and a little younger than my oldest.
These girls will simply grow up with a garden in their hearts and dirt under their fingernails.
They’ll know how and when to start their seeds, when to harden off and put the seedlings in the ground, what to do with kitchen scraps, when to harvest, how to can tomatoes, how to make sauerkraut and pickles. They’ll be steeped in the idea that we can grow their own food. All it takes is patience and love—and hard work.
What’s my contribution to this world?
I’m doing my part for world peace.
I’m raising my daughters in the garden.