Food for Thought

Growing up in the South,
planting a garden was just something people did.

If you’ve ever seen Steel Magnolias,
you understand that part of Southern life—
the gardens, the front porches, the sense of community.

My grandmother had a huge garden.

Every season, she and her neighbor
would go out and plow their fields.

And when I say plow…
I mean manually.

Rows of corn.
Greens.
Okra.
Peas.
Squash.

They lived what people now call “farm to table”
long before it became trendy.

It was simply life.

Her neighbor even had chickens.

I got in trouble once trying to wring one of their necks—
but that’s another story for another day.

Looking back now,
I think there’s a certain pride
in knowing you grew your own food.

A deeper appreciation for what’s on your plate.

Because when you plant something,
water it, protect it, and wait for it to grow…
you understand the work behind nourishment.

One summer, when my children were still at home,
we planted a garden too.

They had the best time.

My son Jordan would get so upset
when the birds got to the tomatoes first.

But honestly…
I didn’t mind.

Better the birds enjoy them
than for them to go to waste.

What I remember most
wasn’t even the vegetables.

It was the feeling.

The mornings outside.
The dirt on our hands.
The laughter.
The lessons hidden in simple things.

Gardens teach patience.

They teach gratitude.
They teach you that growth takes time.

And most importantly,
they teach appreciation—

for the land,
for the people who work it,
and for the farmers
who feed families every single day.

I hope one day
those memories and traditions
find their way to my children’s children.

Because some lessons
aren’t meant to come from books.

Some are meant to come
from the soil itself.

Closing Line

There’s something sacred about growing your own food—
it feeds more than the body.