Agriculture was always on the periphery of my childhood. My mother’s stories referenced her grandfather’s farm and her father’s farm, from the earliest parts of her childhood. My grandparents either grew up on farms or, at the very least, gardened to grow their own food.

I always say I grew up in town. It’s disingenuous to say that I grew up in the country, though I spent elementary and junior high living on seven acres just down the street from town. We had a pond and all kinds of trees. There was a giant sycamore tree on the banks of the pond that leaned over the pond so much that it seemed inevitable that it would fall in some day. That tree – as of the latest Google maps satellite picture – is still standing.

We had forsythia bushes, a beautiful Magnolia tree perfect for climbing, persimmon trees, one apple tree, and several trees that in my memory must have been 100 feet tall. I don’t visit my hometown much anymore – and more than half a lifetime has passed since I last lived in that house – but I still check on the trees once in awhile.

I planted two forsythia bushes at the farm. They came free with my order from the Arbor Day Foundation, which is honestly part of the reason I ordered from them. I apparently opted not to order a Magnolia tree, though in all honesty I wouldn’t be surprised if I ordered one for fall planting or next spring.

I have always gotten attached to places more than almost anything else. For years if I dreamed of a house, it was the one I spent the bulk of my K-12 education in. I am not sure why I hold on so tightly to places, but can breeze away from relationships without missing a beat. People change more quickly than places, I suppose.

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