Many of y'all may know my background of growing up on a small farm. It was similar to the one I now run, except that we grew mostly veggies rather than meat.
From the time I could get outside and keep up, I was Dad’s right-hand man. Summertime days were hot and long. Working the soil, planting seeds, weeding, and harvesting crops were the refrain of my childhood. It was a great upbringing, and eating the fruit of my labor was normal.
One of my Dad’s favorite things to do was to raise a few pigs each winter. One or two for the family and sometimes a few to sell. So it was pretty common for us to have pork stashed away in the freezer.
Sometimes, after a long hard day outside, my Mom would fix up the most amazing feast ever. How she got it all done, I don’t know… but corn on the cob, fresh sliced tomatoes as big as your dinner plate, green beans, fresh baked rolls, and pork chops covered the table.
As my sisters and I raved over the spread, we would always look over the table and say something like “we raised all the food here except the salt and pepper”. Even as kids, we recognized the joy that comes from connection to the land and our food.
Today, I still enjoy feasting my eyes on the fruit of our labor. No food tastes as good as the food that you know well. Whether you raised it yourself, or know the folks who did… it's just makes all the difference. And every time I dig into a pork chop, it’s hard not to go back to those childhood feasts.
