My epic saga kicked off in the wilds of LA—not the glitzy one with Hollywood, but Lower Alabama, where the cows outnumbered the people. Our family ran a dairy farm, but while the cows were busy mooing, I was knee-deep in the garden, living my best dirt-under-the-nails life. Mom and us kids were the veggie whisperers, tending to the plants like they were our leafy babies. Now, full disclosure: I wasn’t exactly a veggie fan—brussels sprouts can still kick rocks—but I’d begrudgingly munch on our homegrown haul. The real MVP? Bell peppers. I’d snatch those bad boys straight off the vine and chomp them like nature’s crunchiest apples. Sweet, spicy, and zero regrets.

Then life threw a curveball: I traded my gardening gloves for Army Ranger boots. Turns out, chasing bad guys doesn’t leave much time for tomato stakes. But world travel did teach me something—food insecurity isn’t just a buzzword, it’s a civilization-crumbling ninja. Who knew peppers could be so profound?