Our area was blessed with a "freak snowstorm" in February. The light dusting of snow that graced our vehicles was enough to send some people into a frantic panicked state. Alex had been praying for snow for over a year, so my sweet husband bundled the boy up and took him outside to try and collect enough snow to make a snowball. I snuggled into the papasan chair with a still very new baby.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that we realized the true implications of our "freak snowstorm". For the first time ever, I had planted my garden according to the timeframe printed on the back of the seed envelopes. I had spent several hours on my hands and knees digging and planting and all that other crazy stuff, while heavily pregnant. I felt a little closer to June Cleaver. During our cold snap, my little garden, which had begun to sprout, held on for dear life. Three weeks after the snow dusting came, we knew it was over. One small radish plant was the sole survivor.
Unfortunately, our radish suffered from PTSD, and was prone to horrific flashbacks of that fateful day. No amount of therapy seemed help. The final straw was when rogue sweet potatoes from last year's garden, pushed their leafy green sprouts through the soil. The lone radish, overcome with the unfairness of these events gave up the ghost.

Our garden this year, now consists of a bell pepper plant, mint and a lot of sweet potato foliage. Of course this is the year Alex has delevoped a burning curiosity about where our food comes from and how it is grown. We took him strawberry picking at a small hydroponic farm in a neighboring town.



It was love at first bite.

For all of us. We ended up leaving the farm with strawberries, tomatoes and basil. Oh, and plans to go back again!