Gardeners talk about the miracle of growth and the satisfaction of growing your own food.
I’m there with that. But there is more to it for me.
You see, every day now, the kids and I venture into the garden to pick vegetables. They like to dig up potatoes and pick tomatoes and beans, while I get to harvest the chard and spinach and later turn them into freezer bags of produce for the winter.
We bring it all in and we clean it, splashing in the sink and fighting over whose turn it is to use the rinse hose. Some of it gets put away for winter, and some of it goes directly to the table.
I’m there with that. But there is more to it for me.
You see, every day now, the kids and I venture into the garden to pick vegetables. They like to dig up potatoes and pick tomatoes and beans, while I get to harvest the chard and spinach and later turn them into freezer bags of produce for the winter.
We bring it all in and we clean it, splashing in the sink and fighting over whose turn it is to use the rinse hose. Some of it gets put away for winter, and some of it goes directly to the table.
And here’s the miracle. The kids who wouldn’t touch a green bean for their life, or allow spinach to touch their plate, let alone a vegetable with a name like chard get near their mouth are suddenly piling veggies on their plates and enjoying them with gusto. Or – in the case of chard – at least trying it before making faces and declaring it inedible (That’s okay – I’ll add it to tomato sauce later and they’ll never even know!)
The kids helped plant the seeds, water the seeds, weed the garden, pick the veggies and now, like an inside-out version of The Little Red Hen, they want to have their share of eating the food.
Works for me.
The kids helped plant the seeds, water the seeds, weed the garden, pick the veggies and now, like an inside-out version of The Little Red Hen, they want to have their share of eating the food.
Works for me.
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