I tend to say I grew up near a farm (our neighbors) as opposed to on a farm. Technically, we probably qualified in acreage, and our red barn served as garage and tool shed. Our only livestock were some egg lay-ers, and the main crop fields were scotch pines. My parents maintained a large, well-weeded and productive garden, and my mother canned non-stop in early fall. Vegetables were plentiful, but the only flowers were a few rows of zinnias. My sisters and I called them “zeenyas” and thought they were the most beautiful flower God created. They were cheerful, sturdy, and looked perfectly content when plunked in a water-filled Ball jar. There’s something quite reassuring about the unpretentious, those who live an honest presentation of who they are.