Gardener

When you first meet my husband, you'd never guess he is a gardener.  He is a tough guy, a personal trainer, a veteran.  But you get him outside, with his hands in dirt, and he is one happy guy.

When we moved from a condo to our house on an acre of former farmland, he started small.  A few tomato plants, a few berry plants, and some cucumbers.  That was three years ago.

Now, you look out on our backyard, and there's a huge rectangular garden.  He grows everything from corn, to squash, to cucumbers, to blackberries.  He cans, and jars, and pickles, and we have a ton of food dried or frozen.

The first weekend of March is when he starts his planting.  So I overlook the soil on the counter and the kitchen floor.  I overlook that my porch is now plant central.  Because over the next few months, I will watch him care for those plants like he is caring for children.  I will reap the benefits - fresh blackberries for breakfast, squash for dinner, pickles for our picnics.

My husband is a gardener.