I couldn’t have been more than 7 years old when I noticed that spring season that my parents had a few seeds left over from their garden-planting that April. I asked if I could have the spare seeds, and they were glad to oblige, I’m sure, wondering what a 7-year-old would ever want with seeds for squash, cucumber, purple hull peas, and lettuce. Heck, at that age, I didn’t even really like any of those things.

This week, just a few thoughts and observations, and a project particularly where I could use your feedback.

We’ve taken one of the most beautiful things in all of commerce, and like most other successful initiatives, turned it into a cookie-cutter enterprise stamping it into existence at the edge every small town across the South. Oh, how I miss the old-style, mom-and-pop general store.

There’s a funny nameplate on my desk that reads: “I’m kind of a big deal.” But the truth is, down deep, I’ve never been that much about self. Not that it’s some admirable attribute of a sweetheart of a guy. I’m a live-how-you-feel kind of guy who doesn’t hide his emotions well, but ideas like self-love and self-care just never lined up with my personality.