Welcome to The Tenderfoot Garden

Let me begin this blog by saying that I have no clue what I’m doing. I’m not a gardener, I’ve killed every plant that I’ve ever owned; and the idea of some insect out there having a million legs terrifies me. If you haven’t figured it out already, I’m a tenderfoot gardener.

 

Tenderfoot (noun): a newcomer in a comparatively rough or newly settled region; especially, one not hardened to frontier or outdoor life

Tenderfoot is a fancy little word that I picked up while reading some great homesteading resources. Now, I am by no means a homesteader. While I do try to bake my own bread and cook from scratch, I also tend to buy most of my food from the local food co-op and I appreciate picking my eggs and cheese up at the farmer’s market. I certainly wasn't raised by a homemaker-type mother; and yet, I am drawn to trying to do whatever I can for myself. Unfortunately, thanks to my husband’s career aspirations, I’m stuck right on the outskirts of Pittsburgh. If I stand on my front porch I can see the Rt. 28 overpass and if I stand on my back porch I can see my 5 surrounding neighbor’s back porches. Yes, I am in the suburbs (how wonderful).

  

Still, I’ve made the best of our situation. With a lot of search and a little bit of pixie dust we found a great brick house sitting on a large lot that just so happened to have a quarter acre garden already good and started for us. The gentleman that lived in the house before us was an AVID gardener and apparently kept a pristine little oasis. But as time moves forward, so does age. He approached 95 and the garden went into major disrepair. His wonderfully cared-for soil became overrun with weeds, and the few raised beds, bean poles, and sand mounds began to disappear with every minute that they sat unused.

Then we came along! 

When good ’ol George finally decided to move on from this home to his next, we were lucky enough to stumble upon it.  With the resources that he’s left behind—including heat lamps on a nifty pully system, a gardener’s journal, and an old galvanized watering can—we’re ready to step into the unknown. I hope that you’ll join me through this journey of gardening and self-discovery. 

 Welcome to the Tenderfoot Garden.