Onion bulbs, red and yellow.

With roots in rural Arkansas, summer gardens were an integral part of life. Weeding and watering were drudgeries as a child, but eating homegrown produce well into the winter was more of a blessing than I knew. I was bound to my food through sweat and tears.

Life has taken me a little too far from my roots. I’ve learned to settle for hothouse tomatoes and wilted lettuce. Many days I find myself dreaming of a bountiful home garden, the smell of compost and the metallic taste of water from the garden hose fresh in my memory. Fresher than the imported produce I’m perusing.

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