I live in what used to be a small rural area of the Texas Gulf Coast; now it has been inundated with the urban sprawl of west Houston. We fondly call it “The Blob That Ate East Texas.” Some things will never change here, though: like the heat. And the humidity.  Master planned communities now overlay the land that I grew up navigating as rice, cotton, and sorghum fields, as well as pasture for cattle.  I grew up with Dad working the back yard, doing battle with the black gumbo clay soil of the river bottoms, and thought very little of ever doing it myself. But once my husband and I gained a house of our own, it wasn’t long before I began eyeballing the potential for harvest myself.  Perhaps I havent been as cussedly stubborn as my Dad was – his garden actually saved the grocery bill. Mine: not so much. But I am determined to make it work somehow and after several years of trying several different things, I feel Ive gained a level of experience in gardening myself.  This blog is not about how experienced Ive become, though.  Its more about furthering the cause.  And perhaps reconnecting with some things that I didnt appreciate when I had them.  Richmond has changed far too much now for me to regain anything but the lessons I learned in watching Dad tend his garden.

I also call myself an unrequited erstwhile archaeologist – the love affair with dirt was always there somehow, I guess.  From a three year old me plopping down in Mom’s front flower bed and reveling in the dirt, to me wielding a sharpened Marshalltown trowel and slicing away layer by layer.  I am a former archaeology/anthropology student (I only have a Bachelors at this point), who’s love affair with the ancient has never fully been satisfied, either because of lack of opportunity, or Other Life taking precedence.  Even if I were to have every archaeological wish come true, I think I would be the kind of person who would always be seeking more til the day I die.  I love history, I love dirt.

I also like to write.  Or I like to say that I like to write.  Or try to write.  I have several irons in the fire as far as stories go.  I lag in the persistence department.  I have this same problem with gardening. So here’s to a blog that perhaps will inspire and encourage me to keep at those things that pay off big when little deeds of remembrance are performed.  If I can remember to weed each day, I can remember other things as well. Or so I hope.

This blog/garden/home/soul is a work in progress…


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