Memoirs of a Farm Girl part 1 and how she revitalized an organic Blueberry Farm in Lucedale Mississippi. For more information on our Exclusive Blueberry Product Line please visit: https://bluebarnfarms.net
This has to be my favorite thing to do.
This is the place where I can think about absolutely nothing.
Everyone should find that place.
I used to think it was only men who had the ability to go completely brain numb. Until I found my love for gardening.
My best memories growing up are from working in my grandpas garden.
Let’s go on a little journey to way back when.
My grandpa used to make cow tea. Ya know how you mix cow patties with water?
It makes the best fertilizer! And it’s super cheap. Like free.
That’s Probably why my grandpa used it.
Anyway He always made us go down to the barn and shovel cow crap into 5 gallon buckets.
Mushy mucky cow crap from around the feed troughs. Child labor at its finest!
By the time we were old enough to work, he had this skill mastered.
He had raised 7 kids of his own before all the grand kids came around.
So he’d take these 5 gallon buckets of cow dookie and mix up his cow tea concoction in 55 gallon drums.
Then every afternoon he would have the 5 of us who were old enough to dip the cow tea out of the 55 gallon drums with old metal Folgers coffee cans.
We had to put exactly the right amount around each plant.
Looking back now, gah Lee the things that old man taught us, and we didn’t even realize it at the time.
I remember one year. I couldn’t have been more than 10 years old.
He planted so much okra. Like acres of okra. I’ve never seen a bigger field of okra since that summer.
If any of you have ever planted or broke okra, you know that shit came from the fiery pits of hell.
It’s itchy and scratchy.
It grows like 8 ft tall. It’s crazy!
So Just imagine — you’re standing in the middle of a field .
But not just any field.
This place is 95 degrees 90% humidity.
You roll in the damp grass.
Then roll in a pile of that pink fluffy cotton candy insulation stuff .
Then you repeat these steps over and over and over for like 6 hours. It’s miserable.
Oh and you have long sleeves pants And gloves on.
But it doesn’t matter because okra is like the honey badger.
It is relentless.
It will tear your rear end up no matter what.
Anyways… I remember carrying a 5 gallon bucket through the field behind my mom.
Every okra pod made the bucket, what seemed like 5 pounds heavier.
Trudging through the canopy of 6 foot okra plants.
Itching like I had scabies or something.
Now, almost 25 years later, here I am planting okra. My son, carrying the bucket for me.
But honestly, my favorite days are the days spent in the garden alone.
That may sound bad but I love it when it’s Just me and my plants.
So many early mornings spent breaking okra while the dew still sat on the plants. Me. My head phones. And my music.
My own little world that I could escape to and think about absolutely nothing.
No worries of everyday life for just those few fleeing moments. Miserable as it is … This is living!
It makes you really appreciate the small things.
Like Watching a bee pollinate the flowers or the birds singing like no one is listening.
I have noticed over the past few years watching nature.
These things tell you a lot. I notice them and know the seasons are changing.
Certain birds come and go. When You no longer hear the red birds singing “pretty girl” you know winter is coming.
The little yellow butterflies come out in full force… and you know fall is on the way.
I have this one tree in my back yard. I have no idea what kind it is. But it is always the first to put leaves on in the spring.
I eagerly await the slightest bit of green from that tree ever single year!
It’s the small things in life that matters guys.
Like time spent with family. A cold beer after a long days work.
And all those wonderful meals my grandma fed me fresh out of the garden.
I hope My son sees the enjoyment in gardening.
Or that he will find his happy place on this earth.
I hope I am raising him by example and in a way that pleases the lord.
I want him to know what life is and triply enjoy it.
I’ll leave you with these beautiful words my aunt wrote about my grandpa and a song from a friend of mines recent album.
Slow in speech with a mind as quick as the rabbits that call his fields home
Hands that are calloused and worn, fingers bent with age and hard work…
Crops, cows, and iron took their toll on his body but gave him satisfaction and fed his family
His work ethic as strong as the metal he manipulated in his younger days
He works steadily even when his hands are not anymore
The clothing he wears is simple and often threadbare
His ball cap a gift from grand babies
Faded from too many hours in the sun
He was raised in a time when you used up what you had to the very last drop
To the very last fiber
Rarely idle, he works harder than most men half his age…
Still more comfortable with sweat on his brow than air conditioning on his skin
He has shared a home with the same woman for three quarters of his life…
Their marriage a testimony to a generation that believed in repair not replace
A simple block house built by his hands and made a home by their honest love for their family
He watched his children grow among hay fields and dirt roads
The yard now filled with great grand babies that play under the shade trees and vie for his attention
The little girls giggling as he joins their game
of hide and seek
His laughter, rich and thick, rolls over the voices on the porch
This father, this husband, this man
He is loved by many, simply as he is, and it’s breathtaking
To watch the original memoir YouTube Part 1, Please follow this link: Memoirs Part 1