Growing on the Farm

Yes, I live on a half-acre. Yes, I live in the middle of Atlanta. And yes, I've decided to call my little plot of land a farm. I mean, shoot, I have chickens in the back yard and a garden in the front yard. I think that makes it a farm. And seeing as how I grew up on a farm, I think I have the authority to declare it so.

I already knew from some of my experiences with Crop Mob that the farming community is amazing. But until I started raising chickens and growing a garden, I don't think I knew the breadth and depth of the care and the helpfulness of the farming community. When I've had questions, like "why is nothing in my garden growing?" I had several farmer friends (and my parents) pipe up that perhaps I am watering the garden too much. Apparently, watering your garden every single day, and at night, is wrong. When I needed help trying to set up my front yard garden, I had a farmer friend go with me to the nursery to get plants and then come back to the house with me and help me plant them. When I've had questions about why my chickens feathers are falling out or why their combs are looking all dry, a farmer friend gave me great tips about how to help the hens. When my tomato plants starting looking droopy and like they were dying, not only did my farmer friend tell me how to fix them, but she gave me the necessary tool to fix them (kelp meal, if you're wondering).

The really cool thing is how much more I have to talk to my parents about now that I am farming. They've been doing this for years and years, and I think they are surprised at my enthusiasm. I think they are exasperated by my constant nagging that they should be growing their garden organically, but they just put up with my hippie ways. I mean, they raised me, so technically it's their fault. But there really is nothing quite like calling Daddy in the morning on my way in to work and talking about my garden. I think he's rather proud that I've decided to do something that he loves. I go home and help my parents in their garden every chance I get. Their garden encompasses several acres and they do most all of the work by hand, so they need all the help they can get. Although, I frequently wonder if it's really necessary to plant an entire acres of just potatoes. But, in the words of Daddy, "farmers feed America." And my parents may not be feeding all of America, but they are feeding my grandmother and other widow women in the community. As my Daddy always says, "if you plant enough to share, you'll always have enough." And goodness me do they have enough. My mother has four deep freezers full to the brim of food that she has put away from the garden.

Oh and one of the really exciting parts about growing a garden in your front yard...people will stop and ask you what you're growing. And then you get to tell them about your garden. One day last week my neighbors' five-year-old daughter walked over to see what I was growing. I got to show her what each plant looked like and was able to talk to her about what would grow from each of them. Then she got to pet a chicken, which was pretty much the highlight of her day. It was pretty awesome to experience a child's first time to pet a chicken. Which sounds pretty lame, and it probably is. But this is the life I've been wanting to live. And I'm loving it.

Front yard garden, freshly planted

Side yard garden, after I stopped watering it to death

My parents' garden

You can take the girl out of the country...and apparently the country out of the girl as well.

Last week Jeremy and I went on vacation to Seattle. It was beautiful and wonderful and we walked over thirty miles in total. And I learned something about myself. I have turned into a city girl!

The first part of our trip, we stayed at a beach house owned by Jeremy's old roommate's family. It was secluded and peaceful and basically in the middle of nowhere. The closest grocery store was about a twenty minute drive, as were the closest restaurants. We were a thirty minute ferry ride plus a fifty minute drive from Seattle. We were not anywhere near the city.

Now don't get me wrong, it was a fantastic place to stay. Jeremy and I spent our days walking on the beach and reading on the patio. We didn't even turn on a television for five whole days. We were able to unwind and relax. I even had my first s'more (and probably my last one as I feel like we ate our weight in s'mores). The views were incredible. We saw a bald eagle. We had the Olympic Mountains as a backdrop for our sunsets. I mean just look at what we woke up to every day...

But after living in Atlanta for almost seven years, I have become accustomed to everything being right at my doorstep. I can walk to three different grocery stores from my house. Now granted, it's about a thirty minute walk, uphill, but still, basically walking distance. There are probably around one hundred restaurants within a ten minute drive from my house. And after three days of being in the country, I longed for the city. I longed for the hustle and bustle. I longed to be able to walk to a restaurant. I longed for the diversity of the city. I longed for stores and coffee shops. I longed to be out of the car.

And boy howdy, did I get my wish. After our three days in seclusion, we headed back into the city. We walked from the hotel to the marina. We watched boat planes take off from and land in the water. We saw the Space Needle. We walked nine miles (round trip) to eat Mexican food. And quite honestly, it wasn't even the best Mexican food we'd ever had, even after we walked for hours to get there. We walked from one hotel to another, which wound up being a five mile trip. We walked to thrift shops. We walked to antique stores. We walked to book shops. We walked to several more restaurants. We walked to and during the Underground Seattle tour. We walked to the train station to hop on the train to subsequently run to the gate at the airport to come home. In three days, we submersed ourselves in the sights and sounds of the city. And it was wonderful..

 

The interesting thing is, I will frequently find myself lamenting how much I dislike living in Atlanta. I don't like the traffic or the great crowd of people. But I guess I just needed to get away from my normal life just for a couple of days to find out that actually, I do love the city even despite all of my aggravations with it. I grew up in the country, right smack dab in the middle of rural Alabama. I spent my entire childhood in the middle of nowhere. But I found myself in the city. And I like who I've become. City girl and all.

Keep on the Sunny Side

In the past ten years, I've lost a number of people to cancer or have had friends lose family to cancer. I've had friends diagnosed with and beat cancer. I have friends who are still struggling from the effects that cancer has wrought. Shoot, I found out just this last week that a friend is undergoing chemo. Everyone and their mother knows that cancer sucks. It takes away dreams. It takes away family. It does nothing by weave a path of destruction. However, anytime I hear someone talking about cancer I always think about my Uncle Richard.

Richard is Daddy's youngest brother. He was still in elementary school when his dad (my granddaddy) died from cancer (he was 45, if you're wondering). When I was born, Richard was probably about fifteen or sixteen. I remember we all even called him Baby Richard. He was the baby after all. And he was awfully spoiled. Everyone in the family pretty much took care of him. I also remember when Richard got married my mother sat all the nieces and nephews down and told us that we had to stop calling him Baby Richard because he was a grown-up now.

But being a grown-up hit him like a ton of bricks. First, he was shot. Through the head. Accidentally. Amazingly, the bullet went right through his mouth and just took out some teeth. No real damage, you know, other than having to have some false teeth put in and having some wounds that had to heal. He dodged that bullet, so to speak, but the next one that came for him, well, he wasn't so lucky. In his late twenties, he was diagnosed with testicular cancer. I think it goes without saying, that we all know what kind of surgery is done for testicular cancer. A couple of years later, he was once again diagnosed with cancer. But this time it was lung cancer. He went through the chemo. All of his hair fell out. He lost lots of weight. My 6 foot 5 inch, almost 300 lb. uncle became my skinny uncle. The man who could still pick me up and hold me upside down by my feet when I was in high school, became weak and frail. It wasn't pretty. He came through the chemo pretty well, and was pronounced in remission. And then a couple of years later, he was once again diagnosed with testicular cancer. Another surgery later...and we thought he was finally in the clear.

But then, more bad news. About five or six years ago, he was diagnosed with leukemia. About two years into the treatments, he lost his job because he had pretty much maxed out his health benefits and was costing his employer more money than he was making them. He is in remission now, thanks to taking chemo orally pretty much every day.

Family Matters

Every once in a while, you meet a person who you just make you think, "wow, I wish she were my sister or he were my brother." I had that happen with a couple that attends my church. Brent and Kathy popped into my life probably about three years ago...it's hard to say now as the years seem to all be running together. We met at church group pool party. Two of their three children were there with them. I guess you can say I was friends with their 4 year old son, MC, first. He took to me right away, kissing me firmly on the lips upon my saying hello to him. MM was probably a couple of months old, chilling out in her carrier, not paying me a bit of attention. This would change as she got older... she's definitely my buddy now.

But what makes this family so special to me? Well, when I met them, I was pretty much in the depths of despair over my marriage. I knew it wasn't going to work and I was in that stuck point between wanting to get out and not knowing how I could. Plus, at this point, my self-esteem had eroded to the point that I just didn't think anyone could love me. Brent and Kathy just seemed to have it all together. They were, and still are, very loving towards each other without being icky. They are like a comedy duo, always cracking me up. Of course, they aren't perfect, no one is, but watching them helped me to see what a marriage should look like. They both give to one another and work together and make compromises and just love each other. Oh, and they are the most incredible parents I've ever met in my life.

You see, MC, is blind. He has been blind since he was born. Hopefully some day there will be some sort of medical discovery and he'll be able to see again. But until then...blind. And if Brent and Kathy are the siblings of my heart, MC is the child of my heart. I haven't had a child of my own yet, but I already know that you just don't know what love is until you've been loved by a child. And goodness has MC loved me. Pretty much every since I met the family, I have sat with them in church so that MC could snuggle with me. He just plops down in my lap and hugs on me until it's time to go to Children's Church. Most Sundays, I would go to lunch after church with them so that MC could spend even more time with me. If there were a couple of Sundays that we didn't get to see each other, we would meet for dinner during the week so that MC could have some "Miss Amy Time". For the first couple of years until my immune system built up, anytime MC was sick, I was too. Mainly because when he talked to me, he would put his face right against mine. And secondly, because I'm a frail flower who gets sick very easily. Despite the runny noses, what MC did most for me was patch up my broken heart. Because you know what will heal a hurting heart more than anything? Being loved by someone who doesn't expect anything from you. And being loved by someone who loves you completely unconditionally.

As an aside, I do love their daughters just as much. Their oldest daughter C, just started college, and she is one of the most delightful teenagers I've ever been around. And of course MM, she's almost three now. She is my funny girl, always running out of the nursery so she can come see me. She even looks like me. Brent and Kathy tease that she's really my child. We both have similar facial expressions and we can both roll our tongues, unlike the rest of the family. They are all three great kids and I'm blessed to know them.

Oh, and what I was saying about their being the best parents ever...despite the fact that they have a child who needs them more than the other two, they have somehow been able to structure their life so that their two sighted children aren't slighted. They have to spend lots of time with MC, either going to a center for visually impaired people every week, or taking special swimming lessons, or helping him do things that their other children can do on their own like navigate around their home. However, they have somehow been able to structure their lives so that their daughters get an equal amount of time with them. I don't think either of their girls will ever wind up in therapy saying that their parents loved their brother more than them. I've watched them for three years now, and honestly I don't know how they do it. Jeremy has been around them too and even he is astounded at how they manage their family. I just hope some day, when I become a parent, that I will be half as good a parent as Brent and Kathy are.

Peaceful, Easy Feeling

Peaceful, easy feeling...yeah, that's not something that can frequently be used to describe my state of being. I'm kind of always ramped up, wringing my hands, worrying. Jeremy is wont to admonish me that I worry too much. My worrying nature comes partly from genetics, as I come from a long line of worriers, and partly from the fact that I'm the firstborn, the high achiever, the one who has to be in control. Being in control is good and all, but there sure is a lot of pressure to keep all the balls in the air at one time.

On top of worrying about anything and everything, I also probably put too much pressure on myself to take on projects and to do things. If you don't count the Peachtree In-Training (it's a 10K training program), I have the next five weekends booked. If you do count the training, I have the next twelve weekends booked. On top of all the stuff I'm doing outside my home (board meetings, volunteering, family,church, etc), I also have my chickens (that I still love) and I've gotten almost everything together to get my garden going. I have peppers and tomatoes in seedling cups in the house. But I only just started them last weekend, so I'm overly anxious that I've started too late and they aren't going to grow and I basically stand over the seedling cups every day just willing them to sprout. Jeremy's cousin was nice enough to give me some seedlings that have already sprouted, so I have a backup plan. Last night, I told Jeremy that we needed to bring them in the house because it was supposed to get down in the 30s overnight. He brought them in and asked if I'd been watering them. I hadn't been watering them...and one of those balls I was juggling dropped. Days earlier, another one of the balls dropped when I came home to be told that I'd forgotten to water the chickens and they'd gone a day without water and therefore didn't lay any eggs.

Last night as I was trying to go to sleep, I was just too anxious to sleep. I tossed and turned a little bit, and finally I said to Jeremy, "I'm not happy with myself. I'm failing at everything. I'm not taking care of things". He told me that I was in fact doing a great job and that I wasn't failing. I laid there a little longer, and I don't know if he prayed for me or if he was just sending me some good vibes, but I did start feeling a little better. A little more peaceful. Which was really kind of awesome. And made me feel a lot more thankful than I had being. I was thankful that I had someone that I could be honest with about my feelings and that I could lean on for support. And I was thankful that he was so willing to give me a good word. He could have scolded me for trying to do too much or for failing to do what I was supposed to be doing. But he didn't, he just encouraged me. And then I had a peaceful, easy feeling, at least long enough to fall asleep.