I didn't grow up on a farm. My dad did, and because he needed to, we owned some land when I was young. It was a frequent weekend adventure to escape to the farm, where we'd jump from hay bales stacked in the barn, dig for peanuts, and smash and eat watermelons right off the vines. I have some very happy memories of that place. Now that he is retired, my dad has returned to that land by way of ranching. He is a hardworking rancher with a conscience, and I am immensely proud of him.Maybe it is because I am my father's daughter that I take such pleasure in those things that come by way of a little sweat equity and some dirt under one's fingernails. But however I have arrived at this revelation, here we are. This blog is my quest for a homegrown life and our (mis)adventures in covertly turning our half acre suburban yard into our own backyard farm ... and trying to maintain our good-standing with neighbors in the process.
I have a couple of farm hands who are still young enough to think that their mother is the coolest because she bought them chickens. They love our backyard farm and enjoy it's bounty. Most importantly , they know where their food comes from, I know what is (and is not) in it, and that makes my heart happy.
I believe that life is defined by the things we do, and so I choose to do things that I believe matter. I feed my family good food. I support farmers who grow it. I attempt to grow a little of it myself. Most importantly, I do what I love and love what I do. Thanks for allowing me to share it with you!
-Christy
