A Weekend on the Farm


Smell is one of the most impactful of memories; a certain sent can bring on an onslaught of feelings all at once. They assail your senses. You can place each individual one and yet it's hard to forming them into a concrete thought. It's a hopeful nostalgia that calms the senses.

That's how I feel every time I set my feet back onto the earth that my most recent ancestors built their lives. The farm is a blip on the map off of highway 90 between two small Texas towns West of San Antonio. Blink and you'll miss it. 

Every visit consists mainly of playing cards with my almost 90 year old grandma. She's a tiny thing with a ferocious, undaunted, and stubborn spirit. It's nice to have someone to blame for this quality that I've also found myself with (just ask my husband). Pecans clink off of the roof, falling from the large pecan tree that has become a staple of the landscape

When we aren't playing cards, we're eating. Scalloped potatoes, baked ham, taco soup, fresh eggs, texas sheet cake, BBQ brisket, rum cake, potato salad, slaw, breakfast burritos ... these are the things that pile our plates, thanks to my Aunt Frances who headed up the culinary portion of the weekend. Each time I leave I feel like I need a major detox ... 

And THE STARS. Don't even get me started on the stars. You walk outside after sunset and BAM, there they are littering the sky with a million pinpricks just begging you to trace the constellations with the tip of your fingers.

I had the challenge of doing a blog post for sprouts while on the farm, miles and miles away from my usual props and oh-so-familiar kitchen. It was a welcomed breath of fresh air and you can see the post here.