Foggy morning walk

Walk in the mist

Dewy moss on the broken road

Sun reflecting the glistening dew drops on a feather

Lemon drops

So much dew so many bristles

Sun breaking through

Line between fog and not

Remember Me

In this season of blazing reds, yellows, oranges I give to you to remember

When my leaves are gone

Remember the coolness you treasure under the covers of my boughs from the heat of the day

Remember the shelter given when the storms gather and threaten

Remember this beauty of color that delights

Remember during the season of quiet to watch for my gentle unfolding

But if this be my last season, remember me

Hands

I have completed two difficult but different tasks recently in my life.  Both require the importance of a hand. 

The first was a descend and ascent of the Grand Canyon to the bottom (17 miles round trip) in a day.  This task taxed pretty much all my physical strength, hiking for 12 hours with the last half all uphill. The last 3 miles my husband Craig held my hand.  It give me strength, encouragement, guidance, and comfort all from his grip. I don't believe I could have made it without him and his strong, loving hands.

 

 The second task was a short but tricky "walk/crawl" through a narrow passageway in the red rocks of St. George.  This crack in the rocks test more of your mental strength than physical, a moment or two of panic stepped in as I felt I could not move forward or backward.  As I made my way through extremely narrow areas where I barely fit, I used my hands to grab a hold of a spot or handhold in the rock to pull myself along.  Each of these handholds allowed me to move forward a few inches but they gave me the strength, encouragement, and guidance again that I needed.

I have other hands in my life: a "helping" hand outstretched to me from my loving Heavenly Father ever ready to give me all the physical, mentally, encouragement, guidance, and comfort I need.  Hands from my Savior, Jesus Christ, that hung on the cross to accept all my pain, sins, and sorrows.  These hands just ask a few things of me, but one is that I give my hands to others when it is placed before me; to help them when they need a moment of encouragement or strength or comfort or guidance. 

All Dogs go to Heaven

Yes, I know that is the name of a cartoon movie from about 25 years ago but you know it is true.  Your dog is your companion and friend.

My sweet Natasha went to heaven about 6 weeks ago and I still miss her and think about her.  I think about her whenever I look out the kitchen window and expect to see her waiting for me wagging her tail looking anxious for our morning walks. If I do anything outside, I keep thinking Natasha would have enjoyed this; from taking the garbage cans to the corner - she just seemed to know Wednesday night was the time and would run freely to the corner and back  while we hauled our cans there, to mowing the front lawn where she would find a pine cone to chew on while I pushed the mower around the yard, to watering the front yard while she chased rabbits throughout the neighborhood.  But it was mostly the walks, she would go around the block with me every morning.  She was as much my inspiration for losing 40 pounds over the last 2 years as anything else, I just knew how disappointed she would be if we did not go.  We started slow and short together traveling around 1 block that would take about 30 minutes to finally extending ourselves around several blocks to the tune of 1 hour.  In the end, her and I were back to the one block in 25 minutes or so - that was all her sweet body could do although she always looked longing at the corner hoping to go further. 

Don't judge me because my dogs were outside dogs, it was how I was raised - our dogs had a comfortable, warm home in their kennel. Bingo, Lady Anne, Patrick and Coco all lived in the kennel and were happy to wait for us to let them out to play with them during my growing up years. Bingo, a black lab, from my younger years.  Lady Anne, was my brother Greg's beagle - he saved and bought her with his own money after being inspired by "Where the Red Fern Grows", all our favorite book growing up - my mom would read it to each of us at just the right time in our lives, I recall gathering around the couch listening to her reading to us. Patrick, was our cute German Shepard, bad eyesight and all. We would stand behind a pole and call him to us, he came right away and bam would run right into the pole.  He came every time, trusting us to be there, dependable.  Coco was a mix - thought to be part coyote because his mom was a ranch dog and he had the leanness of a coyote.  Coco was with us the longest and was my dad's daily walking companion.  Dad would call for him "Coco, you ole hound dog you." Our dogs were just part of my life.

As an adult, we had Primo, Jewel and Natasha.  Primo was our first pet for Anthony and Aimee although he stayed outside, the whole backyard was his play place.  Primo (sorry to say was probably one of the least intelligent dogs I know), but he was loved.  Primo was part afghan hound and part golden retriever, one of the biggest dogs I have ever known with the height of his dad and the size of his mom.  Primo was our children's horse; riding on his back was attempted regularly. Jewel and Natasha came a couple years after Primo.  Craig had always wanted a border collie and a friend at work had rescued two sisters from a guy who was just giving them away outside a store.  We took our family over to see them and knew we were going to take one home, but we just couldn't separate them so we brought home two puppies.  Supposedly paper trained, trained to rip the paper up was really what they were.  A kennel was set up and the home was built (insulated by Craig).  Aimee named Jewel and Anthony named Natasha.  Jewel was full of fluff, and Natasha was skinny but definitely the dominant one.  I believe if someone would have told me how energetic border collies were, I am not sure I would have brought either home, they did not mature out of the puppy stage for several years. 

There was even a moment when we thought we can't keep both dogs because they would fight over each bone, even if they had their own.  Sisters!  Jewel and Natasha moved with us to California and loved getting the whole backyard for themselves.  They loved poking their noses out underneath the gate looking forward to us as we drove up the driveway.

Walking 2 dogs around my neighborhood established me a few friends and enlisted many a comment about beautiful dogs. Jewel was attacked by a neighbor's dog once and Natasha was right there trying to defend her sister, rivals perhaps at one time but would give their all to protect the other or us.  Jewel was hit by a car several years ago when she broke off her leash.   It saddened all of us, Craig stayed home for several hours before going to work to be with me, he called Anthony at BYU to go share the news with Aimee and be there to give comfort as needed.  We still have her collar too.  This time around with Natasha, I called Nate to make sure he was home for Aimee and he broke the news to her.  I made the hard phone calls to Anthony and Craig too. 

Last Christmas, we were all together as a family.  Aimee and Nate brought their lab, Aspen, too.  Nate, Aimee, Natasha, Aspen, Craig and I all went to the Del Mar dog beach one afternoon.  Natasha was young again running around in the water and on the beach, what a glorious day for her and us.

Natasha was so loyal, she didn't want to leave us.  We knew she had been going blind, she had been deaf for a few years - at first we thought she was just being disobedient because she didn't come when called - she had always had a act now, ask forgiveness later attitude.  Her hip started giving out on her on our walks; causing her to collapse a few times.  Down she would go and was unable to get up, she would just look back at her legs and wonder why aren't they moving.  On her last night with us, she wanted to be with us and tried to get to us.  We just carried her close and than told her it was okay, it was okay to go.  She reunited with her sister that night.  All dogs go to heaven, you know.

Intertwined

Intertwine: to weave together.

Our lives do this in many ways.  Just recently mine did in numerous manners all in a few days or moments.

A week ago my friend Mary Catherine came to visit with her cute little Clayton (5 months old) for a couple of hours.  Let me give you a little background on how we became friends; Mary Catherine's brother is Paul Ricks, Paul became Anthony's good bud during their freshman year at BYU, Mary Catherine and her  Marine husband Kyle were transferred to Miramar and had not been able to find housing last fall, insert Paul asking for a "big favor" and ta da, we had house guests for a week or so and new friends for a life or so.  It was great to see Mary Catherine again, play with cute Clayton, fix a simple lunch for the 2 of us, and just talk.  We talked about babies and challenges and how do you handle this and so forth.  I wouldn't say I had any words of wisdom but it just felt right spending the time together, weaving or lives together through friendship.

That same evening; my crazy, wild, sweet Beehives came over to tie our quilt together.  We have planned a quilt to make for Rady's Children Hospital here in San Diego.  It is a long project; a night of shopping and choosing crazy patterned material, a night of cutting out squares, another night of sewing the squares together, and finally a night of tying the quilt.  We still need to finish/bind it (my job) and deliver it to Radys.  While we were tying the quilt, my mind reflected on the quilts that were at Primary Children's Hospital 18 years ago when Anthony spent 2 1/2 weeks there recovering from pneumonia; an event that will ever influence my life.  The quilts had been made and donated by various organizations and gave delight to a somewhat monotonous stay in a hospital bed.  The opportunity to give another back, although be it another hospital, those quilts and the current moment still are intertwined. 

I am working with BYU-I Pathway Speaking Partner program; a program that brings together a native English speaker with a non-native ESL student and they share a Skype session talking.  Sometime it is just random talking, always it is a discussion over a current life skill lesson. The past 2 discussions I have had with Jose from Mexico City, Mexico had circled back to his family's experience through Hurricane Katrina.  At that time 4 years ago, they lived close to Cancun and their home and lives were hit by Hurricane Katrina.  Jose was in Atlanta, Georgia at the time and his contact with his family was they were okay; they were prepared with water and food; but power was lost to their home.  He sees it as a blessing they were safe but also knows their preparation helped them get through it.  Tuesday night, he was concerned about my Baltimore family and how they fared and was grateful to hear they were able to ride through Hurricane Sandy with very little challenges.  Who knew that signing up to speak to a person halfway around the world or just even in another country would build a friendship of love and concern for each others families; a interweaving of lives.

"It can only come out of a relationship with others. And if we accept to be educated by the others, to let the other explain to us what happens to them, how they feel, which is completely different from what we feel, and to let yourself immerse into their world so that they can get into our world, then you begin to share something which is very deep. You will never be the person in front of you, but you will have created what we call communion, the capacity to share at a very deep level. And I feel that that is the essence of life and that's what Jesus came to teach us. Learn how to enter into communion with your neighbors, the way he called it, neighbors. And then you will discover something completely new." - Xavier Le Pichon

My Aunt Verna

My Aunt Verna passed away Friday, she rejoined her sweet husband Jay, and I rejoice with the hope and belief that life is eternal and families are forever.  The sweet peace of this brings comfort to all those who love her or at least I hope they feel it and let it sweep into their hearts.  Just under a year ago I went home to Idaho for Thanksgiving.  It had been 3 years since I had been to Idaho, while I was there I said my hellos and goodbyes to Uncle Bob and Aunt Verna.  Just the way things were for them, I felt strongly it would be the last time I would see either of them on this beautiful earth.  And thus it was so.

Aunt Verna was my mom's oldest sibling and very much a part of my family's life while I was growing up.  I am not sure I had ever mentioned to anyone but I was always delighted when mom would share" we are going to Idaho Falls today and we will be stopping by Verna's and Jay's."  I loved going to their home.

Just to describe its physical appearance, it was simple but clean and neat on the outside - a one story brick home with a one car garage.  You went up a few steps to the front door and entered right into the living room.  The living room had a fireplace on the west side and right in front of the window was a humungous birds nest fern, that fern will always be a memory of mine, it always overwhelmed me by the size; the only other person I have seen grow a plant almost that huge would be my brother Curtis.  From the living room you walked into the dining room, the table was always clear except at meal time than it was neatly set with dishes.  The kitchen was to the west with a "bar" to sit at for breakfast eating, or lunch - we had a bar at our home but for some reason it seemed way more fun at Aunt Verna's. A little later in their life, a sun room was added where you could overlook the amazingly lovely vegetable garden, often the sun room was where we started to gather to visit in.  The hallway to the bedrooms was in between the dining room and living room, three simple rooms but clean, neat rooms.  The bathroom was fun, there was a wall that had glass "bricks", I thought they were so cool. - they were on the wall between the two bathrooms, the family bathroom and the master bathroom.  For some reason that slight "openness" never bothered me.  The stairs leading downstairs were right off the front door, you went straight down and than turned west a few more stairs, for some reason that was the most awesome stairway - it probably was because I did not know any other stairways with a turn in the middle of them.  Downstairs was wide open, a large room where many could gather; we celebrated Christmas parties there occasionally and my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary.  Downstairs was the game room and held cousin Alan's drum set, we would go there to play or watch TV while the grownups visited upstairs in the living room. The backyard was pretty much a simple basic rectangle but there was always a vegetable garden and in the summer, we would go outside and pick a tomato or some lettuce or some other vegetable or dig up a potato or two to eat with a meal there or take home for later. Their home was just a delight to be in. I truly appreciated the order, cleanliness and simplistic of it.

I am not sure that is the only reason or even the reason I enjoyed visiting at Aunt Verna's.  One thought is I always felt so grown up when we went there.  Yes, there was many the time Katherine and I would just run downstairs to play, but it seemed most often we stayed upstairs with the grown ups and enjoy the talking.  I am not sure I even ever contributed to the visiting but it was as we were part of it and were never too young to not hear what was being shared.  Aunt Verna had a voice of gentleness but sophistication about her, it was just the way she spoke.  If she was sharing a recipe or idea, you understood it - she always took the time to explain right down to the detail.  I recognize now that I am a detail person and that may have been why I so enjoyed listening to her talk.  But her voice is something I will always remember, it was even still there as she aged and became less able, but that clear gentle sophisticated voice always came from her mouth.

I mention her sharing recipes because I will always think of Aunt Verna being a cook.  If we showed up a lunch time she would prepare something for us to eat.  I envision a simple meal of soup and crackers at her home but it was served with care and love; simple but elegant. I remember some "fancy" jello dish with carrots and whipped topping - it felt like such a treat.  She made a delicious stew; in my early married years I traveled with my mom and children and stayed at Aunt Verna and Uncle Jay's time share in Island Park, Idaho - I remember her making her stew one afternoon.  There was so much involvement it seemed it took her all day to cook it it.  But it really was just the care she took to prepare and serve, probably with fresh bread too.  If asked by my mom on our drive to Idaho Falls, if I wanted to eat lunch out at a restaurant or Aunt Verna's, my inevitable Aunt Verna's was chosen.  It felt "fancy" to eat at Aunt Verna's. Cooking was a constant part of her life, or at least a constant part of my memory of her.

Dear Aunt Verna,

I love you, I miss you, I thank you, I aspire to honor your memory and grace.

Love,
Your niece Ellen

Thoughts on Being a Good Human

"With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations."
Abraham Lincoln 
Inward Work of Democracy

"Of course, tolerance is right at the heart of many religions, and tolerance does not mean agreeing with people. Sometimes it's a mistake, we believe that the tolerant person learns to agree or to see the other person's point of view. No, what tolerance really means is even though you don't get what the other person's saying at all, even though you may not even like them, you make an effort to tolerate, in other words, to make space for them and don't try and squash their opinions. What we need to learn is how can we live together with people whose views we don't actually like very much? That's the far greater challenge, without attempting to convert them or dismissing them and denying their, you know, right to exist parallel to us."
Alain de Botton
School of Life for Atheists

"To be true to your faith and a blessing to others regardless of their faith."

"The greatest single antidote to violence is conversation, speaking our fears, listening to the fears of others, and in that sharing of vulnerabilities, discovering a genesis of hope."

"We shed a tear because, for a moment, we allow ourselves to think of the victims of our victories, the pain of the other side, who were enslaving us, but they were still human and they were still suffering. It's when you can feel your opponent's pain that you're beginning the path that leads to reconciliation."

"The highest form of leadership is empowering others to lead."
Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks  
The Dignity of Difference

"Although I was a bishop, I was working now for the Southern Council of Churches and had a small parish in Soweto. Most of my parishioners were domestic workers, not people who were very well educated. But I would say to them, "You know, mama, when they ask, 'Who are you?'"— you see, the white employer most frequently didn't use the person's name. They said the person's name was too difficult. And so most Africans, women would be called "Annie" and most black men really, you were "boy." And I would say to them, "When they ask, 'Who are you?' you say, 'Me? I'm a God-carrier. I'm God's partner. I'm created in the image of God.'" And you could see those dear old ladies as they walked out of church on that occasion as if they were on cloud nine. You know, they walked with their backs slightly straighter. And, yeah, it was amazing."
Desmond Tutus
God of Surprises

Each of these thoughts makes me want to see my neighbor, friend, family, and the person walking down the street or across the world better and treat them so.

On the path to the Grand Canyon

Yesterday we really challenged ourselves with an 18 mile hike.  We hiked down Palomar Mountain to the 76 and than hiked back up.  It is a bit lot more challenging to hike up on the last half of a hike but that is what the Grand Canyon will be like.  This proved to me I will live through it, but maybe - barely.  It took us 8 hours with lots of breaks some every 15 minutes, until the last 4 miles when we hit trees, shade and temperatures finally below 80.  Going down was not a problem, but the first 5 miles back, with sun and temperatures around 90 or more was exhausting.  My body forgot how to cool itself down and pouring water on me every hour or so was the saving factor.  Craig took both packs and let me rest as needed along with putting my hand on his shoulder.  Just the comfort of his prodding me along kept me going.  This hand on his shoulder allowed me look down and focus on each individual step instead of the overwhelming task ahead.  My hand was encased with his hand, besides the small pull it was giving me; the overwhelming amount of comfort was what I needed mentally. Maybe that sounds grueling and why would I attempt the Grand Canyon, but I believe we can do it.  I have thought about how we can be overwhelmed with life, but we just need to put our hand out for the comfort of our Savior and He will lead us; pulling us along sometime, allowing us to know we can take the next step (just one step at a time is all that is needed) and give us amazingly beautiful comfort.  I know my Savior has gotten me through life; I would be lost without Him.  I am so thankful for Him.  I love Him.

We still have plenty of smiles, because it is just the beginning.

 Some of the pictures of the pretty views and nature that we enjoyed along our hike.

The overview from the top

The starting path

Overlook at our path to come

Weed or flower, still pretty

Dried flower

The vultures were starting to circle (ha ha) - orange groves

New life among the burnt trees

Skeletons

Beauty among the thorns

Palomar Mountain side

 The starting look of exhaustion with the challenge

One of many refreshing drinks

Still smiling but we are only to the bottom

Styling

The shirt is wet from water being poured over me to cool my body down

The man of the hour

His pack is so full because he has mine stuffed in there too

A little dirt and grime among the sweat

Our shadows don't reflect how we feel

 

SPENT!!!!!

 

Near the end

 

On the way to the top

Sun setting

Overjoyed to finally see the car!

Family Reunion Brinkman Style

The last weekend in July we had a Brinkman family reunion.  We had a blast!  The grouping consisted of our matriarch Karma Brinkman, still going strong and extremely active at 84 years young, Craig and I with Aimee and Nate stopping in for Friday night, Katherine, Rogers and all their children, Kristin, Trent, Alyssa and Desi plus grandson Owen, Lorien and her 2 children, Asher and MeKhai, and Greg and Lydia on Saturday at the Park City Mountain Resort.  

We enjoyed the Sundance Theater on Thursday night, walking parts of Park City Utah Friday morning, boating and tubing at Deer Creek Friday afternoon and games on Friday night with a small birthday celebration thrown in for good measure.  Saturday was all day at the Park City Mountain Resort with their alpine slide, coaster, zip line, miniature golf, trampoline bungee jumping and tram rides.  

It was great because we were together.  We stayed at a condo for 2 nights in Park City and cooked together, ate together, slept together, laughed together, played together and loved being together.

One amazing part that stands out in several of our minds was the hand knot game.  You know where you all stick your hands in to the center and grab someone else's hands and than you have to untwist yourselves without breaking the circle.  It was challenging but we kept at it and did it.  It was an amazing family bonding feat.  Asher said immediately "let's do it again"

Lorien's thoughts were "How about that hand untangle game?! That was THE BEST! It makes me teary to think about how as a family, we can stick together through the tangles and make it out still in tact. I'm so very humbled and grateful for every single one of you! And the ovation we got was awesome!"

Alyssa shared "We then played that game called: everyone grabs other peoples hands so you are tied up in a huge knot and you have to untangle yourselves without letting go of each others hands.  I've played it before, but I've always given up.  Not this time.  We did it!  It was so cool.  And when we finished people at the park cheered for us. What a wonderful family I have!"

We are pretty wonderful!

Here are some pictures taken Friday night:

Normal?

In memory of Curtis

Yeah! we are an awesome family

 

A garden

My parents planted a garden, every year they planted a garden.  Not just any garden, but a full blown out garden with lots of vegetables; lots and lots of vegetables.  There were potatoes, peas, beets, carrots, green beans, radishes, asparagus, tomatoes, corn, rhubarb and raspberries.  Was there other vegetables probably but those were the ones I was willing to eat, mostly.  Mostly I say because I would not eat the radishes or beets and rarely the asparagus.  You had to force asparagus down me by drowning it in cheese sauce, but not the tomatoes, peas or raspberries.  Oh, the raspberries - heaven on earth.  During the summer, a response to"What is your favorite food, Ellen" would be raspberries and cream; every time, without hesitation.  If you were to ask me pretty much any other time of the year; my response would be "Baked potatoes with sour cream", another by product of my parents' garden.  Often though the potatoes growing in our garden were "new" potatoes not the russet potato of Idaho; the baker potato.  Those we gathered from a neighboring farm.  Russet potatoes were in plenty of supply in Shelley, Idaho; the home of French's potato factory, the two week Spud vacation - ha ha that was a misnomer, Spud vacation was 2 weeks off of school while your parents, older siblings and everyone else worked the potato fields, and the Russets - Shelley High School's fierce sport teams and mascot.  Our mascot was a russet potato, imagine a giant potato cheering you on at sport events.  Imagine lining up your mascots; a cougar, a warrior, a tiger and than a potato - you get the picture.

It seemed daily in the garden we were weeding, removing the unwanted growth so the vegetables had their nourishment and sunshine.  I might have removed a beet or two in the process, just saying because I couldn't tell the difference.  Once the vegetables came on there was the picking.  Once the picking was done there was the canning.  With peas, it involved shelling and getting to those delicious fresh peas inside their pods - we must have froze the peas because canned peas are mushy and yucky.  With green beans, it involved snapping the ends off and snapping the beans in half or thirds to fit in the jars. And there was cucumbers too growing - cucumbers that would turn into delicious pickles; dill, butter, and sweet.  The memory of eating a fresh cucumber evades me, but the pickles brining in the crock for days and weeks, it seemed, with vinegar penetrating the senses.  Potatoes and carrots were stored in a dark cellar or a immense hole my dad dug under the storage shed for just that purpose.  The tomatoes were bottled and canned for later use in sauces, and soups, but often we just ate them straight off the vine warmed with the sunshine and a little salt sprinkled on top.  A bite into this sweet beauty sending a squirt of tomato juice down your chin was the best.  Cherry tomatoes would just be popped into the mouth whole, no squirting required, or sweet, yellow pear tomatoes shaped just as they are called and small enough to be eaten whole.  Corn was removed from the stalk, husked, with an occasionally scream upon finding a worm or earwig among the hairs and more likely dropped perhaps even chucked. Retrieved, shooked and inspected closely breaking off the contaminated section, washed before dropping into boiling water bringing out more sweetness before smothering in butter, sprinkling with salt - never pepper, and devoured.  Fresh corn on the cob was candy to my taste buds and my siblings and we couldn't get enough.  Even if it meant stealing corn from the neighboring field. One afternoon, my brother Greg, sauntered across the road to the neighboring corn field, picked him several ears of corn, prepared them for eating and was surely disappointed upon his first bite, we all were.  We thought he must have cooked the corn wrong,  how could it taste so disgustingly. It took Mom and Dad coming home to help us discover the difference between feed corn and sweet corn.

Picking tomatoes is easy, the red, ripe tomato stands out among the leaves. Potatoes were dug from the brown soil with a shovel, carrots the same.  Most vegetables were easy to retrieve from their home, their growing up place but raspberries called for a bit of an expertise or patience, perhaps even being a contortionist.   Gathering raspberries was a scavenger hunt.  Those bright, red berries hung down beneath a thick covering of leaves within a dense forest of raspberry stalks full of tiny stickers.  Upon first investigation you gather a few berries close to the surface and even reaching into the middle of the bush garnished a few more.  But turn your head upside down and look at the bushes in this manner and you doubled your pickings.  You would triple it by looking upside down and backwards.  Each ripe berry waiting to be popped into your mouth.  As delicious as the berries were fresh from their stem, I was willing to donate most of my bowl toward homemade raspberry jam.  Jam that would be spread over toast and devoured during the winter, flashing back to your memory the savor of fresh picked berries.  One week, one summer, our neighbors - the Birds - traveled on vacation leaving me in charge of their yard. This required watering the yard and flowers, weeding in the gardens and picking raspberries.  Any and every raspberry picked during this time was mine for keeping and eating.  Although my memory could be off I remember gathering a full large Tupperware bowl.  What a treasure find. What sweet jam would be made, what delicious fresh berries with cream would be eaten - I am not sure if I was even paid for my work,the raspberries were payment enough.  

Keeping a garden is a commitment to life, to your life -sustaining the summer fruits and vegetables for your bounty during the winter.  A commitment to the life of the plants; nourishing,  watering, caring daily, weekly, all summer long.  Dad often would ask if it was worth all the time, water, and sweat; than in the fall seeing shelf after shelf of bottled goods, he saw the beauty of it. But keeping a garden is more than a commitment to the current passing year of life, it is a commitment to passing on life - tradition to your family, hoping they see the worth and vision.  I have a garden, although small, it shares with me peas, lettuce, tomatoes, strawberries, herbs, rhubarb and raspberries. Each year it gets a little bigger - this year I added rhubarb.

Anthony and Jana have a garden that covers every square inch of their tiny Baltimore backyard.

 "I now have onions, peas, cucumbers, strawberries, sunflowers, and a few herbs starting to grow in the yard. I have raspberries and potatoes planted there—the potatoes are in a garbage can, actually. And I have seedlings for jalapeños, bell peppers, tomatillos, eggplant, and a variety of tomatoes about to go outside. 

I may live in the city, but I will grow my own food." - Anthony Garrett

"Our garden is getting huge! So many veggies. Strawberries are gone, snap peas and sunflowers are here, tomatoes, tomatillos, cucumbers, and zucchini will be ready in the next couple weeks, followed by the onions, potatoes, bell pepper, watermelon, and green beans later this summer. Yum. We love gardening. I never thought I would-- it seems like such an old lady hobby. But I love coming home from my morning run and spending some time watering the plants in my spandex while I wait for my heart rate to come down. I love how the sticky humidity, sunshine, and T-storms help the sunflowers grow inches overnight. I love watching all the different kinds of birds snack on seeds from our feeders, even if they spill food all over. I think the whole seed-->food process is pretty darn magical" - Jana Garrett

Aimee has a garden, Nate and her built box gardens, all on their own, toiling with their own hands.

"We built all the boxes today . We are going to plant peppers, tomatoes, squash, raspberries, strawberries, spices, onions and pumpkin. We are pretty excited. All we have left now is setting up our drip system and adding soil to the boxes and inserting the seeds." - Nate Berrett

"We have like 8 squash and zucchini blossoms now. So excited!" - Aimee Berrett

My parents planted a garden every year.

But they planted so much more.