I guess it’s time to admit that I might be a hippie. Not as dirty as some but, who am I kidding, probably dirtier than most. It’s been happening gradually. And I don’t know how. Somehow I discovered, while living a happy hour-laden, Gucci-crave’in life that things that are simpler might be more fun. Trying out amazing meals by brilliant chefs in one of the best cities for eating (in my not-so-humble opinion) is fun, but paying the bill doesn’t leave same feeling of accomplishment and pride as when I’ve gorged myself on completely from-scratch caprese salad. Saving up for months for a fantastic couture handbag and finally buying it is amazing, but it’s not the same as hitting the town in an outfit I designed and made myself. Don’t get me wrong, there’s definitely room for both sides of this coin in my world, but I’m finally appreciating this self-sufficiency I had no idea I was capable of.
And so I begin an adventure that is worthy of detailed note-keeping that is the beginning of this blog: converting my front lawn to a vegetable garden. It’s a little intimidating. My front lawn is going to stick out like a sore thumb. All of my failures, of which I’m sure there will be a few, are going to be right out in the open. Neighbors probably would prefer I have a beautifully-maintained grass lawn, but I really believe this little undertaking is invaluable. I love feeling connected to my food. I love being self-sustaining. I love the feeling of pride. And, yeah, it happens to be good for the environment, too. It’s not like I’m a hippie on purpose.
