Lily Bug's Tea Party

Spring is wonderful. It’s a terrific time for getting outside, enjoying the sunshine, working in the yard, and what else? Having a tea party, of course! Yes, you heard me right, a tea party! I guess I should explain before those of you who know us well start picturing Don sitting at a little table, drinking out of a tiny cup, and eating petit fours… and before you die of oxygen deprivation due to hysterical laughter.

"I love crumpets, but I simply detest scones. Meh meh meh."

A little while ago, our good friend, Melissa, mentioned that she wanted to bring her kiddos over to the Homestead. The weather was getting nice and her little girl, Lily (aka-Lily Bug), had been after her for some time to take them to the petting zoo. Now, for those of you who live in the St. Louis area, you know that we have a wonderful zoo here in the city that is very family friendly and a great place to spend the day. However, this is not what Lily Bug was talking about. Nope. To her the petting zoo is Mr. Matt’s and Mr. Don’s house, and that is fine by us because we love when they come over and spend a morning or afternoon with us. So we made plans for the very first Saturday after Spring announced that it was here to stay. 

I knew that the little ones liked the bunnies and chicks. Well, "like" might be too strong of a word. They love the rabbits, but as for the chickens... let's just say that Lily is intrigued by them (from afar), and Connor looks at them as one would appraise a funny looking alien that hasn't yet shown interest in world domination or body snatching - a curiosity that warrants nervous laughter, feigned indifference, and then beating a quick path in the opposite direction. Lily loves the IDEA of the chickens though, and has me chase down each one in turn so that she can pet it. When presented with whatever chicken happened to be the slowest, however, she gives them a couple "air pats" and then immediately requests an audience with the next one in the queue. Both adorable and a good form of cardio...for me and the chickens, that is.  

Since I knew they were coming over, I thought, "Why not make it a special occasion and throw Lily Bug her very own tea party?" So I started thinking up just what I was going to make. I was already baking something special for a friend of ours who recently celebrated a huge milestone when her son, Nate, learned how to tie his shoes (you know who you are, Stacey, and CONGRATS!!! again), so I knew I could make extra. "Extra of what?" you might be wondering. I’ll tell you! I came across the coolest Spring themed sweets I had seen in a while in the form of cupcakes topped with sparkly sugar mums made out of marshmallows (definitely NOT paleo, but these were for Lily, not Don, so it was ok).

Marshmallow Mum Cupcakes

You can use any cupcake recipe you want and then go to town decorating them. I would say they are quick and easy, but really, they’re just easy… cutting, dipping, and placing those little flippin’ marshmallows takes a fair few minutes. Here are two links that describe how to make the flowers if you’re curious—http://www.ivillage.com/mums-word-cupcakes/3-r-139100 and, of course, http://www.oprah.com/food/Mums-the-Word-Cupcakes (because how could anyone come up with something cool and not see it pop up on her website?).  I added to these gems a Lily-Bug-sized pineapple upside down cake, and a fresh berry and Amaretto custard parfait-thing, and called it a done deal. 

The Tea Party Spread

Melissa asked if her mom could come, too, because she wanted to pick our brains about raising chickens. She is seriously considering adopting a few of Hazel’s babies and wanted to witness this spectacle for herself before plunging head-first into the crazy and addictive world of chickens. SURE! The more the merrier, plus I would love to see Hazel’s chicks go to a good home.

Saturday rolled around and in between kickball and yard work, Don and I got everything set up. Melissa had said they would get here somewhere around noon, and if you know the bestie at all, you know that they arrived promptly at 3. :) The guest of honor was accompanied by her handsome and charming escort (little brother Connor), Nanoo (that is what grandma LeBrot is called since Connor can’t say Nana yet), and the bestie (Melissa). They walked into a scene that was not quite as exciting and whimsical as the one that awaited Alice after falling down the rabbit hole, but I like to think that it was quaint and charming in its own right (hey, what do you expect when you’re dealing with the "Matt Hatter" and the "March Hair-less"). We didn’t even have tea, but found out that water and juice work just fine in a pinch. Lily loved the cakes (well, the marshmallows anyways) and Connor gave the custard 2 thumbs up.  Nanoo's favorite was the pineapple upside down cake and informed the bestie that it was going home with her!

The cuteness factor is off the charts! Ridiculously adorable.

"Why yes, I would like some more custard, please and thank you.
And don't be skimpy with the strawberries!"

Nanoo getting a picture taken with HER cake.

"Tag, Gussie!  You're IT!

We enjoyed the blue skies, ate tea party goodies without tea, talked about school, family, gardening, kickball, and of course…chickens.  Nanoo is wonderful - so sweet and kind, and it was great to have someone to talk with about the chickens who was excited to learn. Normally, after a few minutes, Don’s eyes sort of glaze over and I know he has been chicken-ed out. The kids got to hold (or at least I got to hold for them) each one of the new chicks, as well as a few of the big girls. Lily played tag with Whoopie (one of our bunnies), and picked daffodils, while Connor and Gussie (our other bunny) became best friends. All in all, it was a full afternoon of visiting with good friends, eating good food, enjoying the outdoors, and watching the little ones run (well, run and wobble) around and play in the yard. In my opinion it was just another perfect day here at the Hartford Homestead. 

Monsoon Season

If April showers truly bring May flowers, than I am convinced that every one of the million seeds I scattered around the yard are going to sprout and grow. For the past week or so (on and off), we have had rain (and when I say rain, I mean RAIN… light rain, drizzly rain, sideways rain, torrential, Amazonian rainforest rain, and big, fat, ploppy rain) as a crazy couple of storms have passed through the area. It got a little hairy for a minute, and while I’m as big a fan of midnight tornado siren serenades as anyone else, enough is enough already. Everything got soaked. But, at least it’s better than snow, right?

I personally love the rain. I love the sound it makes when it hits the window, and I find it rather hypnotic to trace the meandering path it makes in rivulets down the glass. I love how it feels on my skin and I also love how everything looks after a nice rain.

 

It lends a certain crisp freshness to the air, like a bright green apple that you breath but cannot eat. Things around the Hartford Homestead are really starting to perk up. The grass is sloughing off its winter coat and is beginning to look verdant and lush. Well, maybe lush is still a bit of an overstatement, but its on its way. The forsythia have burst forth in a profusion of gold to be rivaled by none, and here and there buds can be seen on everything from the lilacs to the blueberry bushes.  

"Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors,
there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night."
~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke

I dared, against my better judgement, to pull off the hay “blankets” that have hidden everything, fearful of finding out that nothing has decided to grow. Much to my relief, I found so many little green sprouts that it looks as though someone has coated our drab little seed beds with tiny emeralds, sparkling in the rain. 

The mixed use sun garden off of our patio is also showing signs of stirring. The kale is popping up here and there; and while there is still only a scant peppering of carrots, beets, and spinach, it seems as though the radishes have finally decided to make an entrance en masse, much like the guests who never RSVP’d to your party at dinnertime. The cabbages are turning brighter purples and greens, and the lettuce is stretching its arms up to welcome the much longed for sun.  

Radish party crashers!

If rain is great for the yard, it is less that wonderful for the animals. The rabbits simply refuse to go out in the stuff, no matter how many cute jackets and leashes I buy for them (maybe they need raincoats... hmmm). In the past, when they have been all "Gussied" up for a walk, they simply sit down and begin to take a bath, indignant about the whole affair, and they refuse to take another step. Rabbits do NOT enjoy rain.

"Pink is not my color and my feet are getting muddy! Hmmmph!"

The chickens are another story. They never need an invitation to fly the coop, but once they are out, they are not thrilled by this wet stuff that is falling on them from the blue-grey ceiling. They run around, they shake, they get soaked, and they look singularly bedraggled and half drowned. They huddle under the nest box, which provides about 1 ft x 2 ½ ft of coverage and mutter to each other, looking just plain miserable. 

Poor Miss Money Penny, going through a particularly difficult and prolonged molt,
watching what little dignity she has left go out the window as some
unscrupulous paparazzi clicks her pic, moments after a torrential downpour.

Which came first, the chicken or the umbrella?
The answer... clearly, the chicken.

However, they never figure out that if they go back in the coop, they will be able to stay dry and warm. Well, I guess I shouldn’t assume they haven’t figured it out. Perhaps they approach this time much like a prisoner would view his or her time in “the yard”-something to be taken advantage of, whether they enjoy it or not. Well, except for Mama Hazel that is. She jumped out of her cage, babies in tow, took one look out the garage door at the rain cascading out of the eaves, and turned right around. She went back to her warm, cozy nest, clucking disappointedly, and reassumed her role as heater and baby-chick jungle gym.

Everyone thinks chickens are dumb, but I can’t agree. About some things, sure, I’ll go with that (I mean, everyone can’t be good at everything, right?), but as a blanket statement, “chickens are dumb”... nope.  I’m not on board. Our chickens are fast, FAST learners. They know where the food comes from, who gives it to them, the sound it makes when it is being opened, and where it is stored. They know that when “He Who Feeds Us” is working in the yard, there are almost always delicious little things unearthed and ready to be enjoyed. They can distinguish in the blink of an eye between a dandelion, growing wild in the yard, and a $15 echinacea plant, knowing full well that the more expensive something is, the better it must taste. They know the best places to nap and take baths, and they know exactly who the push-overs are and are not ashamed to monopolize on it (regardless if they have already had treats 4 times that day or not). But, enough of this tangent; the point is that for all they may know, coming in out of the rain is not one of them.

The lesson from this past week is that into every life, a little rain must fall. If you get more rain than you were planning for, you must simply throw on the galoshes and wait for the sun. In our opinion, the sun cannot get back fast enough. We are really excited to watch things SPRING to life and burst into blossom, eagerly awaiting all that the season has to offer here at the Hartford Homestead.

Mama Hazel

Woohoo! Hazel has finally done it!!! Oh, wait, let me back up a minute... For those of you who haven’t met her yet, Hazel is one of our smallest chickens here at the Hartford Homestead, both in size (4 lbs-ish) as well as age (10 months old). She is a terrible chatterbox who, on most days, likes to wear a little smokey grey number with a big bustle... that is unless she is in the middle of a molt, when she prefers to go “au naturel.” Her feathered stockings match her beard, and her wonderfully friendly personality can almost cause one not to notice her shocking lack of a tail. 

Hazel, giving me the eye for daring to eat
an apple and not offer her a bite.

Hazel (left) and here little "sister," Sipsy.  

Every since she turned 4 months old and one week, she has laid a vivid olive green egg almost every day, and that, in my opinion, has caused quite a lot of resentment in the coop, particularly from Ethel. Ethel is even smaller than Hazel and lays a very pretty pastel mint green egg that, in her opinion, is the only green egg needed here at the Homestead.  

I've heard of keeping getting your ducks in a row,
but eggs?!?!

Our totally cool egg skelter.  It helps us keep
track of which eggs need to be used first!  Can you pick out Hazel's?

Now, being young and small, Hazel has always been toward the bottom of the pecking order. However, the only one who really abuses the power of being above her (by a single rung, no less) is Ethel. She uses any excuse she can to give Hazel’s beard a tug, or chase her away from the spa (aka-a big hole of dusty dirt they have excavated in the yard in which they like to “bathe” at their leisure). But Hazel has an insurmountable spirit and big dreams that not even a bullying older sister can keep down.  

Ethel, the bully... "What's it to ya, bub?!"

Hazel’s not-so-secret wish, every since the age of 6 months old, has been to be a mama hen. After laying eggs for about 2 months, Hazel stopped last November and refused to venture out for her daily foray into the yard. I thought she might simply be laying an egg, but she never came out all that day, plus there was no olive egg in the box that night. The next day, the same thing. I opened the door and out the girls came… but no Hazel. That night, no olive egg. Now, I don’t know how long this hermit-like behaviour was going on before I noticed it, what with work and such, but once I did, I began to worry. I know, so unlike me, right? I had noticed that she hadn’t been laying any eggs for that past week or so, but then again, she was young and I had read that they will sometimes start and stop and start again, while they are working out the egg assembly line kinks. Now, however, she wasn’t leaving the coop or even getting out of the nest. Was she sick? Was someone eating her eggs?? Was she egg bound??? Oh Lord, please NOT that. Not only can hens die from this, the only remedy I found on the Youtube involved an egg bound hen, her devoted owner, a rubber glove, and a jar of Vaseline. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination while I reiterate,”OH LORD, please NOT that!!!” Finally, on the third day, I lifted her out of the nest to set her out with the other girls in the run. Now, Hazel has always rushed to me and let me pick her up and she’ll chatter with me while we walk around the yard. This. Day. Was. Different. As soon as she felt the breeze under her petticoat, she puffed her feathers up to twice her usual size and let out a screech letting everyone in the neighborhood know I was committing bloody murder. I set her down, HASTILY, on the ground outside of the coop only to watch her dart around to the door, jump in the coop, and climb back in HER nest box, all the while making clucks that were a scornful mixture of chastisement and indignation. 

"Would you mind putting out that light?
I'm trying to work here."

Okay, this was something new. After returning to my go-to source for information (Google), I found out that the behaviour she was exhibiting was typical of a broody hen. A broody hen, for those of us not hip to the world of urban homestead/farm jargon, is a hen who is trying to hatch out some baby chicks. When they are broody, a hen will not leave the nest more than once or twice a day (and then for only less than an hour), during which time she will eat, drink, and, uh, ahem... poop. She stops laying new eggs and will sit there and wait until her eggs hatch before coming out. This can go on indefinitely. OH boy. Now, I know we don’t have a rooster, and I’m pretty sure Hazel knows we don’t have a rooster, but that in no way was going to dampen her mothering instincts. For fear of her starving, and also to get her back to work making lovely and delicious eggs, we had to “break her” of being broody. There are a lot of theories how to do this, but that’s not what this post was supposed to be about. So, I’ll suffice it to say that it took me about 4 weeks to get her back to “normal” and earning her keep (I know that sounds harsh, but hey, this is an “urban homestead,” not a flophouse… well, that is unless you’re an adorable rabbit… or two).

An adorable rabbit... or two.

With things back to normal, we got through the rest of Fall and stayed strong through a very long, cold, snowy Winter. Finally, the weather broke, the temperatures rose, and two weeks ago… Hazel went broody again. This was the second time in 4 months, and she’s still not even a year old. Talk about drive and determination. I thought back to the last time I had to break her of being broody. It was a frustrating experience for both her and I that involved taking her eggs away from her, solitary confinement in a drafty wire cage, hunger strikes, and clucks that, in my mind, were lamentations for her missing babies-to-be. It was enough to break your heart, and for a soft-touch like yours truly… well, it was a long 4 weeks for us both. See, Hazel’s passion to be a parent is something to which I can strongly relate; here at the Homestead, after two years of searching, we are still looking for a surrogate to help us make our lifelong wish of being parents a reality… but I digress.  

I started thinking to myself. I said, “Self, it took you 4 weeks to snap Hazel out of trying to do something that she is clearly destined to do. It only takes chickens 4-6 weeks to raise up chicks once they are hatched and start laying again. That’s only 2 extra weeks, and think of how happy Hazel would be to finally be a mama hen.” Since I always make perfect sense, I knew there was no denying the logic in this. So, off to the feed mill I went in search of some fertile hatching eggs or day-old chicks to squirrel away underneath her. That was last Tuesday, and by Friday... You guessed it!  

Hazel getting used to her new "maternity ward" cage and nest.

Woohoo! Hazel has finally done it!!! She is now the proud mama, fierce protector, and doting teacher of 5 little balls of fluff that cheep, peep, and poop. For the first three days, she stayed with them in the nest that I made for her in a cage in the garage (with chick feed and a readily available water source), but in the past few days she has been taking them for short field trips to the yard where they scurry after her while she scratches happily in the dirt, stretching her wings and calling them over anytime she finds a delicacy: a wriggling worm, a tender blade of grass, a juicy little grub. 

Hazel and one of her baby chickies.

Proud mama Hazel with 4 of her 5 babies.

Showing the babies where the food and water is.

Babies first foray into the yard.
Mama is all puffed up, looking fiercely protective.

Nap time!  Taking a break from their picnic in the garden.

Like all little ones, the baby chickies love scratching around in the dirt.
Mama Hazel is looking over my shoulder, giving me
instructions and directing this photoshoot.

Now, I may be a little too proud of myself for thinking up an idea that Hazel clearly had long before I even realized what was going on, but I can't help but to stand back and smile every time I see this perfect little family, knowing that I played a small part in this miraculous new beginning here at the Hartford Homestead.

Spring Planting at the Hartford Homestead

Well, it’s that time of year when I start getting the urge to play in the dirt. The mornings are still chilly, but the afternoons are getting wonderfully bright and warm. I’m excited to get out and start working the soil, getting it ready for the garden that I have been planning (at least in my head) for well over a month now. I was brought up in a family that always put out a garden in the spring, so I have loved growing things for as long as I can remember. This is proving especially useful now that we are trying to embrace a more natural, sustainable, and healthy way of living, which includes growing a lot of our own produce (hopefully). Living in the Midwest, it’s always a gamble how early to start the garden without Mother Nature throwing me for a sore trick and frosting off everything the weekend after I plant it. But I figure, “What the heck!” I like to live dangerously. I laugh in the face of frosty mornings and 19 degree nights. So, what did I do three weeks ago? I went to Home Depot, Lowes, and our local feed mill and bought more seeds than I care to own up to and came home and started tilling. Actually, tilling isn't the right word. More like spade-ing and hoeing and raking. I should really think about getting a tiller, or at least a garden weasel or something. My method was NOT the most effective. But two and a half weeks later, I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of my first seedlings of the year.

          

Here in the city, we don’t have a lot of room for things like gardening (and chickening and rabbiting), so we have to learn how to squeeze in as much in as little space, as well as making that space as functional as it is pretty to look at. That is why we are trying to combine different methods of planting this year. We have a small plot right off of the back deck where we had a flower garden last year. This year we are using that space and trying to blend ornamentals like coreopsis, coneflower, echinacea, and violas with early season edibles, like kale, cabbage, beets, carrots, and radishes.  

I love the homemade pie tin scarecrows.  They give the
space a little something something, don't you think?

What can I say, our trip to Monticello last summer inspired me to think more creatively about the way we used our gardening space. If you have never been, go. Seriously, it is crazy awesome. I mean it. GO! 

 

  

   

See what I mean?!?! This place is Uh-MAZ-ing! Serious case of garden envy!

Back by the chickens (aka-the hoodlums that are required by some unspoken chicken law to either eat or unearth any green thing that dares cross their paths), but well outside of their reach through the fence, is a small area where we have containers and planters. Previously, we have only planted flowers and the occasional basil plant in here, but this year I think we are branching out. I’m really excited to try some companion planting and incorporating some trellises. Maybe more herbs, but also beans, peas, and perhaps some other vining thing, like squash or melons. My only concern is the watering issue-those things need water like every day… sometimes twice a day. We’ll see. I think it can be done, and as I said earlier, I like to live dangerously!   

Here, one of the villains is caught in the act!!!  Alas, she was thwarted 

 because our plants are tucked away safely out of reach in their pots.

We also have a pretty decent lawn (although you wouldn't know it to see it now) that is lined on both sides by low hedges of some variety of shrub that would like to remain anonymous. I am planning on running a row of beans (Yep, just ONE!) along one side, and a row of something decorative, and possibly edible (I’m thinking nasturtiums), along the other side. I know, I know… this idea sounds good in theory; I just hope that it works out as well as the picture in my head-you know, with morning sunlight sparkling on the crystalline dew that’s lightly covering plentiful golden, red, yellow, and orange flowers while bees buzz away happily and choirs of angels sing...

ET helps scan the terrain and think up ways to best utilize our space.
He thinks the grass should hurry up and and get green for its big Spring reveal...
And I wholeheartedly agree.

In the areas of the yard where we don’t get too awful much sunshine, I’ve decided to take a laissez-faire approach.  Before, I would always research plants that liked the shade.  I would plot out how and where I was going to plant this and that.  Finally, after many hours spent reading, drafting, digging, and planting, come July, everything except the hostas and daylilies would have long since shriveled and died.  Disappointed, I thought to myself, “Well, at least the hostas and the lilies are doing well.  They can always spread and fill in these spaces.”  And that might have been exactly what happened... that is, if the backyard hoodlums (aka-the scourge of flower beds and vegetable patches) wouldn’t have come along and turned my hosta and lily garden into a recreation of Kansas in the 1930s, without so much as a backward glance or a “Thank you for the delicious gourmet salad bar!”  So, this year, I bought several different seed packets (and by several, I actually mean way more than several) that contain a mixture of annuals and perennials that “love” the shade.  I tilled the plots.  Well, not tilled…  I spade-ed, hoed, and raked the plots, scattered what probably amounts to somewhere in the neighborhood of a million seeds, and scattered some straw.  I watered them and said a little prayer for the best.  Cross your fingers!

Ursula likes to try her hand at multi-functionality from time to time. Here, she
can be found re-purposing a planter that once contained basil, marigolds, and vining sweet potatoes into a favorite bath and meditation location.  "A little privacy, if you please!"

So, this year, I bought several different seed packets (and by several, I actually mean way more than several) that contain a mixture of annuals and perennials that “love” the shade. I tilled the plots. Well, not tilled… spade-ed, hoed, and raked the plots, scattered what probably amounts to somewhere in the neighborhood of a million seeds, and scattered some straw. I watered them and said a little prayer for the best. Cross your fingers!

  

                        Here are some of the areas tucked away under their straw 
                 "blankets," and by blankets I mean a few metric tons of hay that 
                      are scattered willy-nilly about the yard, covering anything 
              and everything that might get frosted off here in the next few weeks.

Speaking of straw, the yard is covered in it! Three weeks ago, we spent the better part of a Saturday (or maybe a Friday) raking up leaves, gumballs, shrub trimmings, and walnuts that had accumulated in various nooks and crannies over the past Fall and Winter. We filled up two yard waste dumpsters, stood with our hands on our hips, and admired our handy-work, quite pleased with ourselves and thinking we were the kings of the early Spring time clean-up.  

 

It was the same warm weekend that I decided to plant some of my early spring veggies, as well as over 100 violas and a few random bulbs that had started sprouting. That following Sunday night, Mother Nature was up to her old chicanery and the temps for the coming week were to be no higher than 30 degrees, with lows in the teens.  #&%^#&*!!! So, off I went to the feed mill to buy three bales of hay to cover up all the little sprouts, shoots, bulbs, buds, and anything else that dared poke its little green self above the ground.  

           

                       Apparently, these guys like to live dangerously as well, popping up 
                        well before the last frost date for the Spring, April 15th 
                                (according to Ye Olde Farmer's Almanac).

Now, three bales of hay may not sound like much, and while it is still baled, it really doesn’t look like that much either. But let me tell you, balers these days must be a true feat of engineering to be rivaled only by a sausage maker that could fit 10 pounds of meat into a 3 pound casing. And of course, I didn’t open up one bale at a time. Why on Earth would I do that!? Let’s open them all up at once and throw away the twine! And that’s exactly what I did. So, after I covered up all the things that I felt were in danger of freezing, I stood and contemplated what to do with my remaining 2 ½ bales of straw. Why not just leave them here, and if I need more, I can get it and use it? That sounds like a terrific idea-right? Well, it would have been… if I hadn’t missed the part of the weather forecast that warned of 90 mile an hour wind gusts that night (Ok, maybe 90 mph is a slight exaggeration, but if you saw the straw that I had to clean up, you would wonder why you didn’t hear on the news about the tornado that ripped through South City and only touched down in only one family’s backyard).  

Oh well, it has given me something to do for the past two weeks while I’ve been eagerly awaiting the emergence of my seeds. I have been checking on them every day. Occasionally, I give a little pep talk, words of encouragement, a few threats… but so far, they have been reticent in their desire to stay hidden. If a watched pot never boils, a watched radish seed will sprout just to spit in your eye before going back underground and refusing to grow many further. But this morning, guess what I found!?!? You guessed it! My proclamations that my seeds must have been no good, that I must have over-watered them, that Mother Nature murdered them in cold...blood (?) have finally been proven wrong. Now, to sit back and wait for the rest of the little dudes to show up to the party.

This time of year always makes me think of my grandpa. Every Spring, after he would get home from work, he and I (and grandma and mom, too!) would be out in the backyard, tilling up our garden, getting it ready for the plants that we put out every year: tomatoes, beans, zucchini, beans, cabbage, beans, peas, carrots, beans, radishes, spinach, beans, squash, and sometimes, even corn!  Did I mention beans?!?! (The second thing I remember about gardening growing up was that every day or two from about mid-July to the end of August, you have to pick beans. Now if you have a one row, you might think to yourself, “Easy! I got this!” But if you have three, four, five rows of beans or more, “Easy!  I got this!” quickly becomes, “Why did I plant all these &#^@#$! beans?!” after about a row and a half in the blinding 95 degree sunshine. But I digress…) While Spring has never been my favorite season, it will forever hold a special place in my heart because of the time I spent with my family planting our garden. I learned so many things, not just about plants, but about my family, and also life: family stories about this great-grandfather, or that great-aunt; old-fashioned wisdom passed down to me from my grandparents, who both grew up on farms during the Great Depression; extra time with my mom, who worked a lot when I was growing up; and a love for the outdoors and seeing our hard work turn into something rewarding that we could be proud of. It means so much to me that I got to spend this time with them, especially now that grandpa is no longer with us and I live 5 hours away from mom and grandma. I am thankful for everything that I was taught and am excited to use it to help us live a little better, a little healthier, and a little more sustainably here at the Hartford Homestead.