My life is becoming all about healthy food

My idea of a perfect breakfast 

Despite this not being a perfect picture, this is an image of a perfect breakfast.

It consists of two eggs over-easy, yolks in tact, swimming in hot sauce. The fruit are fresh, organic, homegrown peaches, I picked myself.

I've decided, that in my quest to eat healthier, I would forgo the toast with butter and jelly for a piece of fresh fruit to go with my eggs. I eat whatever is available. Sometimes it is fresh strawberries, but with these luscious peaches available, they made for a great morning addition. Who needs bread, gluten, unhealthy genetically-modified wheat when I can eat fresh, organic, homegrown peaches. To me, this is the kind of no-brainer that has become the guiding principle of my eating healthy lifestyle.

Unfortunately, there are setbacks. I am married to a junk-food junkie who still brings me my favorite potato chips from the grocery store. I'm not complaining. It is a lovely gesture. And the bags are the single-serve size. No matter the size, bags of chips are mostly air these days, so I don't think it is hurting me too, too badly. And for some reason, I love the flavor of Ruffles Sour Cream and Cheddar potato chips.

I will atone for eating them by making a great big salad for supper and no lunch. I don't mind combining lunch and supper. That seems to be the natural thing. I'm not really hungry for lunch, especially after such a great, delicious breakfast.

I have a little guilt over those beautiful peaches, though certainly not from eating them. My guilt is from picking them. This is the first year for our tree. I've since read that fruit should be pinched off the first couple years in order to establish the tree's roots. Well, here in Arkansas, I'm not sure I'll get another year, since all the deer in the neighborhood will probably eat the thing--they are eating everything else. I can't really complain too much about that. After all, we moved into their forest. We are fortunate they let us live here.

Because we just planted that peach tree last year. I was astonished that it had flowers this year, let alone

Home grown, organic peaches

peaches. I looked at it every day. Though it was quite a ways from the house, I could see the peach-colored fruit across the yard. I knew the dozen or so peaches on it were starting to get ready to be picked. Every day I looked at it until the other day, I didn't see my peaches. I thought the worst. As it turns out, I didn't see the peaches because the entire top half of the tree was leaning toward the ground, heavy with the ripening fruit. Immediately I picked them. They weren't quite ready, but I figured they could finish ripening on the counter. They did just that. The tree is now standing tall and proud once again, and my breakfast plate has a perfect companion to my over-easy eggs. Bottom line--life is good in the Ozarks.

Hope springs eternal

Wow; this weekend was one of those rare occurrences when you just can't help but be happy to be alive.

The weather was 70º Saturday in the Ozarks, which provided my husband and me, the opportunity to do a little yard maintenance.  

As shown at left, we burned the some  flower beds, making very short work of the fallen leaves and grass that had invaded it. 

What otherwise would have taken days of back-breaking work to pull the offending weeds was taken care of in about an hour. 

Burning offers a good, organic approach. It was not a practice we've ever employed before. It wasn't allowed where we used to live. Fire is so much better than using chemicals on botanical nuisances. Besides, I like the smell of it. 

If I stare at this darkened patch in the front yard long enough, I can imagine it to be black dirt, rather than the charred remains of spent oak leaves. 

Moving to the Ozarks from the Chicago area several years ago, it was difficult for me to reconcile the difference in techniques necessary to guarantee gardening success. Where the ground here contains rocks and clay, which presents a real challenge. Yet there I was used to digging in the rich, black loam left by the same glaciers that formed the Great Lakes thousands of years ago. There was also an abundance of rain farther north which is certainly not the case here during the summer months.

So while I still consider myself a novice, I'm learning to garden again, however, as evidenced by my second picture--the coming of the daffodils. 

This tells me that despite the prediction of the largest winter storm of the season that bears down on us, hope springs eternal. 

Spring will come, in about 50 days, to be exact. Our beautiful weekend was just a tease, but when it happens for real, it will be easy to settle into a warm-weather routine. 

I so love the Spring. I love the Spring flowers. These venerable little daffodils always surprise and delight me. They seem to hide beneath the leaves until we humans clear away their leafy blanket. Once we do, and the sun shines brightly on them, they seem to grow taller ever day until the magic moment when they become flowers. I will never tire of this Springtime ritual. 

Now if only we can make it through the next winter storm unscathed.