We spent the weekend at my Grandma's farm in North Carolina. Housing developments and shopping centers have encroached on the surrounding area over the last few years, but her farm remains just as I've known it my whole life. It always smells the same, like pine needles and warm earth. There's the fig tree behind Grandpa's old shop where wasps swarm to feed, and fields that are sometimes empty, sometimes full of crops. There are paths through the woods where we learned to drive with golf carts, and you can still find the best skipping stones down by the creek.
This weekend we learned to make jam with freshly picked tomatoes and jalapenos, made tomato soup from scratch, ate fresh corn right off the stalk (delicious!), and raided Grandma's extensive gardens for a trunkload of plants for the backyard, like thyme, hydrangeas, and canna lilies.
:c)
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