A Taste of Childhood
and Rodney's World.
The Inaugural ACL Cohort
Before we dive in, I wanted to bring your attention to something Morgan and I are excited about offering to the community. 2025 will be the inaugural year of our ACL Cohort. The idea is to come alongside a few individuals and families in a more personal way and to foster more connection within the ACL community. This is what will be included:
Monthly, live calls with the community where Morgan and I discuss the upcoming month’s garden chores, answer questions, and talk about specific seasonal topics.
24/7 asynchronous garden support.
Access to a community space on Circle where you can ask questions and share your gardening journey with the others in the community.
Access to topical video tutorials on everything from starting your plants from seed, garden prep, weeding tips, harvesting techniques, and more.
A digital copy of my gardening guide where I lay out everything I know about gardening.
1-year paid subscription to the Common
An invitation to the farm for a potluck, garden-to-table celebration dinner at the end of the year (late autumn time frame). This is when the community will share the bounty from our gardens in a communal dinner! We have accommodation options for those who do not live in close proximity.
If this sounds like something you’d be interested in just reply to this email! We have very limited spots available as we are keeping this first group on the smaller side. Don’t hesitate to reach out and ask any questions you may have.
Now, let us dive into this week’s newsletter!
Boiled Peanuts
Have you ever eaten a boiled peanut? Growing up, I thought everyone loved boiled peanuts and of course everyone knew what they were. But, it turns out that is not true. There are some unfortunate souls in this world that has never have the pleasure of dining on the leguminous delicacy that is: boiled peanuts.
I grew up in Hartford, Alabama in a region known as the “Peanut Capital of the World”. Peanuts run deep in my psyche.
As a child, when asked if I had any allergies I’d reply “yes, peanut dust”.
It was right after the farmers harvested their peanuts when their fields would be at their peak production of dirt clogs, perfect for throwing at friends and enemies. I remember running from enemy fire through the freshly plowed peanut fields to take cover in the nearby woods from dirt clogs bursting all around. Dirt Clog Wars were peak childhood.
A close second was riding my bike across town, cutting through yards and businesses until I made it to the local peanut mill, in the middle of town. It was here where the towns biggest hill was and where I would ride for hours with my buddy Travis.
Every year, the adult church choir would gather in the back yard of Ronnie Bottoms, the resident peanut farmer. He’d set aside some peanut plants after the harvest for the choir get-together. Here, everyone would sit around, pick-off peanuts for washin’, and then the boilin’ would commence. Along with more fellowship.
Each November, the greatest event a kid could imagine takes place. For a whole week. It is The National Peanut Festival. The smell of fried onions instantly transports me back to the cold, dark evenings, surrounded by bright, colorful lights, and mouth-watering smells. It is fields and fields and miles and miles of sensory explosion that rivals the greatest theme parks in the world.
For me, tasting a boiled peanut is tasting my childhood.
This past October, my family and I spent a few days with my parents just outside of Hartford in the sprawling metropolis that is known as Dothan. The farmers were all harvesting their peanuts and this made it the perfect time to pick up some “green” peanuts to bring back to Huntsville. Growing up, it was usually my Aunt Serina who always had boiled peanuts on the stove and would put up countless quart bags each year. So, I sent her a text and asked for the recipe. Here it is:
Rodney’s World
Have you ever floated on a slow-moving river in an inner tube? You can do nothing, and you will end up where you end up. Actually, that is the point. Just enjoy the ride. you can try to go faster, upstream, or off-course, but it’s really not helpful. And much less fun. Just embrace the ride.
Well, the older I get the more I see my parents in me. I’ve decided to enjoy the ride. It feels slow, but I have little doubt, that unless the stream greatly diverges, or the inner tube bursts, I will continue to journey towards what has been true all along: I am my father’s son.
So, what am I talking about? There is more to it than this, but I’m talking about our interests. I never cared about piddling, countless carpenter building projects, butterflies, gardening, creating unique landscaped spaces, or intentionally efficient hoarding as I was growing up. I have never tried to care about any of these things. I just do. These are interests that my dad passed on to me. Unintentionally as far as I can tell.
On this past trip to see my parents’, I made the rounds through my parents yard like I do every time I visit. I walk past the “barn”, around the potting shed, down the brick path to look at the blueberries, around to butterfly garden, and then past the fig tree. Next, I circle around to the greenhouse and walk inside to marvel at how well the temperature is regulated. Always. Next I wander down to “Rodney’s World” where I walk down steps through a fern garden and past several mature Buckeye bushes, landing on a boardwalk that ushers me through the trees around the pond and over a bridge, back up to the dock that stretches over the little pond. Then, my dad walks out and asks me what I’m doing. I tell him I’m just looking around and he says he wants to show me something. And the journey starts over. Only this time it is the two of us. And perhaps a child, tagging along, by my father’s side.
Like my dad, I too, love being outside. And I too, enjoy piddling in the yard. It is a simple pleasure. I like to daydream about “Taylor’s World”. It will definitely contain buckeyes. (I planted some my dad sprouted last week) And Ginkgos. (another plant my dad sprouted from seed).
There is something nice about this river I’m in. It is recognizable. It is comforting. I’ll stay in it.
Before you go!
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Definitely one of my favorites of The Common newsletters.