Monday, June 8, 2009

I Have a Confession...

I'm not really a farmgirl.

Yes, we live on six acres of land, which may be more dirt than the average gal contends with on a daily basis, but it's about 443 acres shy of the average American farm, according to one source. Plus, if we're really going to call a spade a spade, having land makes one a farmer about as much as owning a hose makes one a fireman, or firegirl, in this case.

Why am I telling you all of this? Because I stumbled upon a book last night at my Aunt Donna's house and I just may never be the same. Here's what I found stitched onto a tea towel inside Mary Jane's Ideabook-Cookbook-Lifebook:

"Farmgirl is a condition of the heart."

That is me, and I have a feeling, you. It's got me thinking all kinds of crazy, swoony things. Mostly, it has me smiling. I don't know what the roots of my farmgirl condition are, but they run deep. I imagine there is more to it than the fact that we had a few odd pigs and cows in the barn when I was a kid, especially since I was mostly afraid of the whole lot of 'em... And surely having a mother who owns a canner does not a farmgirl make.

For now, I'll keep thinking on it. And I'll keep reading the book. And I'll keep daydreaming about how to unite our collective inner farmgirl. Stay tuned.