For a girl who doesn’t like getting her hands dirty, who knew farming could make her so happy!

I’m not sure I’m cut out for farming.

Farming is hard and I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a farmer.

It’s been a rather worrisome conclusion after my zucchini, tomatoes, and pickles all died. Not to mention the great catastrophe of my basil, chives, and dill. 

Over the summer, I was thrilled that my husband was gung hoe about digging and planting and watering and providing fertilizer. 

He was even making plans for what I would do with the said crops once they were ripe enough for picking. 

I of course only cared about my dill, chives, and basil. There are boundless recipes I can use those herbs for, especially the dill.

He has been craving ranch dressing since the day he stepped foot off the plane four years ago. 

person holding green plastic shovel

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I watched as he dug the holes in the soil. Neither one of us thought we needed to plow rows, neat little lines that were evenly spaced.

No, we just plopped our plants where it “felt right.” 

Clearly neither one of us paid close attention when Caleb was yelling at Jeremey for not doing the same-but he was using a tractor. 


The Farmer’s life is a difficult one to be committed to

In the blazing heat, okay that is a bit exaggerated because it doesn’t seem to get as hot in Normandy as it had in Chartres or Paris.

Must be something to do with the close proximity to the Channel. However, it does get quite sticky and humid. 


Anyway back to the heat, I watched my husband point to the spots where he wanted me to place the seedlings.

Decked out in gloves, long pants, cut boots that rivaled any of my Ugg boots, a hat, and of course a neck scarf, I used my handheld plow and dug a hole for each of the seedlings. 

a cucumber on a table

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After about an hour we finished our work and showered the plants with water mixed with nourishments. I was happy with myself. Proud even that I had planted the first of many veggies and herbs to come. 

Farming can be rewarding if you keep going!

I loved it so much that I decided to be already mature outdoor and indoor plants.

I marveled at how lovely the outdoor plants survived in the cute pots they had been transferred to. 

The lavender, which one plants for luck, blossomed with a sweet fragrance that flowed through the house during breezy afternoons. 

My small tiny flowers turned into fragrant wonders that softened the lavender. 


Farming requires commitment!

Then the attention span began to waver. 

Out of sight out of mind. The weather was lovely, and so was the beach.

Even if I am not a huge beach fan, the D-day beaches are my second favorite place to go in France. (the first will always be Versailles)

So of course I wandered off into the horse-loving, hilly, and small-road French countryside of Normandy.

I soaked up history, did a little work on my book, and managed to learn a thing or two about the cuisine my family enjoyed when they lived in this same area. 

I would say about a month went by, the husband had left for the States for family reasons and I was left in charge of the garden, the house, and the children. 

You don’t have to be a psychic to figure out that one of those things was neglected. Read I Killed the Weed Eater. 


All of this, including the forced manual labor of tackling the lawn made me realize that I am probably not cut out to be a farmer or even a small garden. 

Thought I did learn lessons. 

I need to better plan my harvests, set a schedule and be committed to the plants. I need to be more committed. 

I know I repeated that but it is a good point. 


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Hi, I’m Christina

how i'm managing my anxiety

I’m the coffee-addicted creative behind Christina Q. Writes. As a full-time writer and lover of history, I share insights into my crazy wonderful life.  Christina Q. Writes is where I share tips and advice to help you live simply and in the moment, and do it your way. Don’t be afraid to laugh at my mistakes!