As a child, my family almost always grew a vegetable garden. While I felt like weeding duty was equivalent to serving on a chain gang, I learned to appreciate the results of the work that my brothers, sister and I did in the garden. (Logic tells me that my parents had something to do with the garden, but since weeding was on the kids' chore charts, my memory only includes us.)Later, during my high school years, I lived in Oregon. My stepfather, Vern, kept a garden that put all others to shame. Actually, he had about a fifteen acre farm, with several acres designated for a garden and an orchard of fruit trees. The fresh produce from the farm always made its way to our table. I'm sure that I did not appreciate it at the time as much as I do now, but the stuff we buy in the stores, which is typically harvested prior to ripening to prevent damage during shipment, just does not taste like the fresh produce that was harvested as it ripened on the farm.
Since my childhood years, one of the highlights of summer has been the availability of fresh produce, even the little that makes it to Las Vegas. One recent Sunday, Julene took some fresh strawberries and made a pie from scratch. The end result looked so incredible that I had to stop and take a picture before digging in. Enjoy!
