Here in southwest Ontario, we grow corn.  By August we’ve also a grown an appetite for the taste of peaches and cream corn, buttered and salted, right off the cob.

My mother comes from farming roots, but these days all she grows is older.

We are all farmers, in a sense – planting our seeds, nurturing our crop, hoping for a fruitful harvest.  A mother grows a baby in her womb, raises her, and the cycle repeats.  A grandmother now, I grow slower, and more appreciative.  Ric and I revel in the gift of grandchildren, and relationships that only grow fonder with time:

(For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge:  Things People Grow.)