Green Pepper Blossoms

It’s been ages since my last post. I’ve made a conscious decision to re-start blogging and including my military and nursing life. I recall stopping public posts because of PERSEC (personal security) concerns. However, I feel like I’m missing out on a piece of my life I found cathartic, cleansing, therapeutic, and overall important… writing. I’ve tried to remain careful with revealing too much, and frankly, I’ve met the most amazing people on-line. Plus, I’ve learned so much from the relationships that developed through blogging and Flickr.

With that being said, let me begin with a warm welcome from my modest patio garden. I do call it my “F_z Family Farm.” Come to think of it, I still feel as if my married last name is still shiny as a new copper penny. It brings me joy daily but I don’t want to overuse it online. Maybe, in due time.

Last year, I was fortunate enough to have a fellow Army wife who was a vegetarian, organic farmer. She rented 16 side by side plots of roughly 5 ft x 5 Ft at Sumner Valley and joined a co-op chicken coop. In exchange for helping her weed and upkeep the garden, I came home to fresh organic vegetables from seeds! My long-lasting summer romance with WA state and sun shine from 9a to 9p life was in full baskets. Almost every day, I drank fresh kale smoothies, chomped on carrots right off the ground, smelled like tomatoes as I helped border & MacGyver fences to keep the them from falling over, got to know the neighbors and traded crops, learned from well-seasoned gardeners, anticipate harvest and took a class on how to can beets, and pretty much allowed the inner farmer in me that used to live on the land as a child resurface.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I felt so alive.

I didn’t work last summer and re-energized myself with life. Not the life of working-studying-working-commuting-thru-traffic-until-you-burn-out that Houston just is. I miss Houston for different reasons.

Because I went back to work in the ER, I did not sign up for the community garden when my friend PCS’d (change of duty station) last March. Instead of giving me happy thoughts, I became anxious about having a garden all to myself. My husband is too busy with work and hers was high ranking enough and in another company to be able to help her enough daily with the upkeep. She said it helped him with the PTSD. I still had to drive a few miles to the site and with the unpredictable schedule of full time hours, I made a decision I’m regretting today. I passed on a plot.


To compensate, I decided on patio plants like the year before my foray on the farm, but extended my crop to include fruits. There’s a macerated strawberries in balsamic vinegar at a previous post that I cannot wait to do with my strawberries. Hence, the overly squealing school girl here.

Like a mama bird protecting her young, I’ve kept this baby well hidden from predators. I’ve been coaxing the flowers to bloom and make enough for that scrumptious snack.


Roma Tomatoes  My co-worker Helen gave me the organic from seedling heirloom tomatoes. I love seeing the butt chin progression from a budding flower on the Roma tomatoes. WHO KNEW they looked like that!??!  Early Girl & Bush Baby


I was surprised by extra seedling sprouts =)

I was surprised by extra seedling sprouts =)

The watermelon patch is coming along and it brings me back to my younger days. I would sit on the farm and just eat them while people who worked for our family sold freshly picked red, orange, and yellow watermelons on the side of the main highway road in Ilocos Sur, Philippines. I would use a pocket knife to cut out a triangular window to see how ripe they were if tapping them with my 8 year old knuckles didn’t produce that beautiful sound. Tonk. Tonk! I would use an old wire hanger to slush the inside with and slurp it down like a smoothie if I was too lazy to cut it into wedges. My clothes would be soaked in watermelon juice and I would come home with elbows bathed in sticky sweetness.

I had a good childhood by the beach and on the farm. I know I want our children to have the same memories as I.