I’ve been thinking a lot about our garden this year.
The older I get, the more I pay attention to what we bring into our home. It feels like every week there’s another recall, another warning, another reminder that convenience often comes with a cost. And while I know we can’t control everything, I want to control what we can.This year, we’re growing more.
Task one: add vertical growing space to the garden my husband built for us.
I’m picturing a wire arch covered in cucumbers — something the kids can walk under, something alive and changing every single day. I can already see my boys trying to jump and grab the ones just out of reach. I can see my girls toddling underneath it, looking up in wonder.
I don’t just want upgrades that look good.I want upgrades that *mean* something.I want fresh food that I know the story of.I want dirt under their fingernails.I want them to learn patience in a world that doesn’t wait.I want them to feel that deep satisfaction someday
*I grew this. I picked this. I made this.*
This summer, I’m hoping the garden spills into the kitchen even more. My oldest has started to love cooking, and I can feel something growing there too. Confidence. Ownership. Creativity. I want him beside me, chopping cucumbers he helped grow, seasoning tomatoes he watched ripen.The garden won’t just feed us.It will shape us.
Beyond the vegetables, we’re planning something softer.A butterfly garden.
Originally, we thought it would be sweet for the girls as they turn two. But what surprised me most was the boys’ excitement. They’re already planning feeders, birdhouses, flowers. We’ll probably end up with painted toadstools tucked into the beds — little mushroom stools that make it feel magical.
We want to welcome butterflies, bees, dragonflies, hummingbirds, even fireflies back into our yard.
We’re hoping to add bees again in the coming years so we can harvest our own honey — another lesson in patience and reward.
Butterflies take me back to camping with the boys when they were little — a cocoon on our shower tent that we carefully brought home. Watching it emerge and stretch its wings felt like witnessing something sacred.
Dragonflies carry memories for my husband.
Hummingbirds take me straight back to sitting at my papaw’s window, watching them hover outside for what felt like hours.
Now it’s our turn.
Our turn to build the spaces.
Our turn to plant the seeds.
Our turn to create the kind of memories that show up decades later without warning.
Gardens aren’t just about food.They’re about roots.They’re about growth — in every sense of the word.And they’re about choosing, intentionally, what we cultivate.
I can’t wait to watch it all bloom.