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Showing posts from September, 2014

Transplanting a Gardener

Time to talk about it. We recently pulled up roots and moved away from my first real garden.  Well technically, my very first garden was a sandy plot near the sugar maple at the Shell Lake farm. I vaguely remember trying to grow petunias, moss roses and whatever else struck my fancy in that too-shady, but much-loved, spot for my 4-H Flower project. But my first real grown up garden, which I puttered in all on my own schedule, rather than as a shadow following my Mom or Dad, was a new experience. I chose it and bought it myself. An acre of drool-worthy, former-dairy-pasture Wisconsin black loam. Jackpot. I chose the place not so much for the house as for the yard and the potential I imagined there. I proceeded to dig and plant and mulch and weed and mow and create a garden all for myself. Then I changed my mind and transplanted and re-created it myself. Several times. My garden was an imperfect work in progress. Crazy, dirty bliss. Full of experiments - successes and failures -

"We're farmers, hooray!"

"We're farmers, hooray!", said my oldest Girl on moving day. I was so proud. Moving day. We survived. Barely. I haven't blogged in forever due to the epic craziness of 2014 which so far has included all the work of preparing a home for sale, selling said home in span of one week, and moving out a month later. What a whirlwind. If I stop to think about it, I'll turn into an emotional puddle about all the memories made and hard work we put in at our old place over the last ten years. So, I'm not going to talk about it, at least not right now. I'll just put that away for later. Because now we are happily, if chaotically, shacked up on my husband's family farm. THE FAMILY FARM, like, for the last 100+ years. The Captain and I are the 4th generation of Girgens living here, raising the 5th generation here in this old farmhouse. Cue emotional puddle. Good thing I am nostalgic for my own childhood farm. I will just take that happy, running around the