For as long as I can remember, every year my father has planted a garden.  Mostly tomatoes and cucumbers and strawberries, but with the occasional zucchini and grape vine and herb wandering in.  And ever since I moved in with my uncle, I’ve wanted to plant a garden of my own.  There’s just something about growing your own food that is so immensely satisfying, and let’s face it, it just plain tastes better than most of what you get in the supermarkets, because it doesn’t get any fresher than “walk outside and pluck it from the plant to put in the salad.”

But for some reason or another, every year I managed not to have time or to forget until it was too late, or whatever reason it was that kept me from doing what I wanted that year.  NOT THIS YEAR.  THIS YEAR I DECIDED I WAS PLANTING.  *firm nods*

Cut for babbling about planting things.  ^_^

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omg!  😀  omg guys!  It’s raining!  My little plants are getting their first drink at my house!  😀  *dances around*  I’M SO EXCITED FOR THEM.  XD

*coughs*  Sorry.  Proud mommy is proud.  Even of her little plants.  *sheepish grin*


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