Last week, my Mom and I packed up a little picnic and went to her garden. We sat on a blanket in the grass and enjoyed some coffee and croissants with homemade jam. While my mom set to work, weeding, seeding and tending to her vegetables, my brother and I lazily lounged in the sun, talking and reading. A little later, I grabbed my camera for a walk through the grounds.
My mother has the most eclectic taste and puts lovely touches everywhere throughout the garden. Around every corner you stumble upon another tiny treasure. Like an old board full of lushly green moss, an old wire basket filled with pretty stones or wicker chairs full of patina. I just love it.
It is weird though, how I only now start to fully appreciate it. Growing up, I always took it for granted that in the spring and summer we would have our own, strawberries, raspberries, salad, tomatoes, zucchini and whatever else my mother planted that year. Now, I see the magic and beauty in growing your own produce, enjoying the work and taking care of the garden. It doesn’t get more organic, seasonal and regional than that. And of course, I can’t wait to harvest the first fruits of our labor. Literally. The rhubarb has already peeked through the ground and is soon ready to be part of a delicious crumble.
What a beautiful day it was.