The Story

I fell in love with gardening on my apartment patio when I was very sick a few years ago. I was home-ridden, plagued by fatigue, and so worried that while my diagnosis was not fatal, that it might slowly drain me of all the things that make life worth living. And as I often felt myself closer to death than life, I found comfort in this parallel where everything I touched, had the potential to thrive. As I cared for my plants, I learned how to pick up on the subtle cues they give you that say things like “I’m thirsty!” or “I’m not getting enough light.” and without even realizing it, I was learning to pick up on the same kind of cues my own body was giving me, telling me how to heal.

By the grace of God, I am in remission and live a pretty normal life now, no longer confined by illness or a patio; and now free to dream of the endless possibilities that lie in a mostly able body a little patch of land.

I gained a sense of control, the ability to thrive, and most importantly the ability to hope while nurturing my plants. Nurturing anything is actively engaging in hope. You don’t plant a seed with the expectation that it won’t germinate and come to life. You don’t plant a perennial and wait for it to not return the next season. You don’t prune a tree so that it can give you less fruit. You hope… and if you’re lucky enough, you’re rewarded.

I’ve long known that plants are magical, but flowers, they’re something special all in their own right. I’d love to show you.