I've never had much of a green thumb. Or rather, maybe I had the teeniest hint of a green thumb that never saw the light of day because I was too lazy to try. Regardless, I tended my own little plot of soil in the family garden this year. I watered and babied my plants faithfully and my efforts were soon rewarded. There is nothing like picking sun-warmed blackberries off the vine, popping cherry tomatoes like candy, or biting into a freshly pulled carrot, dirt still clinging to the crevices. Then there's the magical feeling of soil sifting through your fingers, rich and damp, the proud sensation of seeing tiny jewels of color poking up amid the green, and the pure elation of harvesting produce grown by your own hands. It takes work and dedication, but it's worth every moment. Though the idea has been brutally romanticized over the years, there's a part of me that aches to move to the country and work on a farm. There's a certain beauty in hard work and in the act of growing, producing, and eating your own food. I could probably never be a proper farmer, but sometimes it's so very appealing.
Do you garden?