Flirtations

The first time I brought my now hubby over to my parent's house to meet my Grandma, she pulled me aside from Sunday Lunch preparations while he was out on the patio with a family member and told me, "You need to have more flirtations." And then there was something along the lines of "get out there on the patio or I'm going out there." My grandmother was 93 and she's still a crazy spitfire today. So hubby and I had more "flirtations" and then we got married.

Flirting is fun.

Unless you're spring.

And then I expect commitment.
I don't flirt for kicks.

It was 50 this afternoon when I got home from visiting my Grandmother this afternoon. Great! A little nap, a little food, and I'll be out stringing up my bamboo bean tepee. And then somewhere along the line, this arctic chilly blast whistled its way across the little tundra that is my back yard, blustered it's way through the trees- making them moan and howl in protest and startled a flock of geese that was returning north to the "warmer" weather.

Evil Winter. Beguiling, evil winter-- a wolf in a little spring lamb's clothing.

But the afternoon was not a complete waste. I did get that bamboo up and strung, though the chilly air and tangly twine did nothing for my chapped hands. And I got to spend time with my Grandmother.

And I learned that I am from a line of gardeners. Though growing up in the 2o's and 30's, I suppose most people were, in a desperate attempt to feed their families.

But, I flipped through some old photo albums and dug out the few pictures I could find of my Grandfather in front of one of his smaller and later-in-life gardens.

I was small, so I don't remember too much, but I do remember green beans. Behind my grandfather is the apple tree he planted and a small little bare garden in the corner. I remember picking up the fallen apples on the ground each summer, tossing them away and dragging them to the curb in a little tin trash can. Of course, we did eat some when I was very, very young, and I remember eating pears from his neighbor, my great aunt's, property. I also remember that my Grandfather made one of the best horsies ever.

What are your reasons for gardening? Is it in your blood? Or do you just like knowing exactly where and how your food was grown? Share!