My dear friends, for a very long time I’ve wanted to share the story of our garden. While I have taken great care to document the past couple years of planting, growing, and harvesting, the timing for me to put it all to words was just not yet right.

Or so had been the case until I recently connected with the dear hearts at Halden Garden, and one thing led to another which led to the perfect opportunity for me to write a series; Seed to Seed, in which we will begin with sowing seeds in winter, planting in spring, savoring the sweet flavors of our summer bounty, and harvesting the final gifts of the garden before it goes to rest.

I’m positively overjoyed for this opportunity, and hope that it may bring you joy as well. But before I dive right into the first official part of the series, I felt like a proper history was needed so that it might be more clearly understood why I may come off as a bit unreasonably sentimental about every single little thing. After all, it wouldn’t be like me not to explain how my heart is deeply connected to the matter. So, if you please, enjoy these chronicles of the unconventional gardeners .

Like many a garden story, ours is one of growth. A story of humble beginnings, high hopes, big dreams, unmet expectations, wild surprises, and deep satisfaction. A grand adventure into a whole new world of experiencing life with all senses engaged. One that connects us with the earth and with each other. It is, above all, our story of gratitude.

The beginning of our story, however, dates back more than a decade before our first seed would ever be set in soil. It begins when pen met paper in a small village along the Indian Ocean in Mozambique.

As a young girl of 21 years, I was granted the gift of seeing first hand the beauty of a truly simple life. Grass huts, walks to the ocean to catch the day’s food, joy-filled children without a single manufactured toy, meals prepared over open fire, and songs of praise under the milky stars. It was as far from “home” as I had ever been, both geographically and circumstantially and yet, this place would one day point me back to the very idea of what “Home” really meant.

As I let every detail of the village settle deep into my bones, I penned the words “the beauty of simplicity” into my journal. Words that would eventually be folded up and tucked away for many years as I chased after a multitude of ideas and successes that could not satisfy my heart. But just as soon as I would realized how far I had gotten away from myself, those words would find me once more, and begin to call me back.

Even then, it would still be another five years of diligently putting into practice slow and intentional changes before I would learn to quiet my world enough to begin to hear the melody of this life song.

Perhaps it was the toddling twins, whose little legs were moving quicker by the day which really began to move us forward. As if all at once, everything we had practiced had led us to the point of “Ready or Not, it’s time to leap”. This leap, however would not come without a great many sacrifices. But looking back, if it had been easy, I dare say It could never have meant so much.

And so it began, we arranged a tiny living plan on my in-laws property and it was there which the very first seeds were scattered.

Not having any garden plot of our own, or any such experience to sanction the use of valuable garden real estate, we asked permission from Grandma and Grandpa to let the little loves sprinkle wild flower seeds on some unused dirt. In truth, it was a lifeless heap of brown which could not even warrant the title “soil”. Nevertheless, the faith of sweet children is a perfectly beautiful antidote to any doubt.

What came of those seeds was a beautiful wildflower garden which was made accessible to the girls to enjoy in whatever capacity they wished. We talked about leaving some flowers for our friend birds, bees and butterflies, and we took such delight in watching them stop by for a visit and a sip of nectar from time to time. But more than anything they enjoyed gathering up armfuls of colorful blooms and delivering the gifts of their garden. Everything I wanted for my girls and myself was to take joy in beauty of growing, And oh how they did. We all did.

Beautiful as it was, however, that little patch of wildflowers would continue to grow to mean so much more. For through its ability to seemingly grow on faith alone, it provided me with a confidence that I had been lacking. Where fear had been holding me back, I now stood empowered to move forward in the direction of my dreams.

The first thing I needed was a bit of earth. I followed the August sun as it moved throughout the day and it led me to an unused terrain on the property that was blanketed in ground Ivy. How very Secret Garden, right. Vine by vine I pulled roots of ivy out of the ground, and for sheer determination and the thrill of my future vision, I truly enjoyed the labor of it all. Beneath the ivy, I ran my shovel into stone. Stone, which once happened to be a floor of a blacksmith shop. It might be said that my dear husband did not find the labor of digging those stones out half so romantic as I perceived the work, but for love of wife, he did it with a great deal of sweating and very little grumbling.

I never could have fathomed the level of effort that was to be required to turn the soil and ready it for growing seeds. But through it all, I have noted a very important recurring theme; apart from the trials, we would not know how to celebrate the triumph. And if there was no labor of our hands to coincide with the determination of our hearts, we could never know to appreciate the gifts as we have come to do. If it had come easily and without sacrifice, we could never have been so moved to live in accordance with the song of the seasons.

The stones that were removed from the dirt were eventually laid as a pathway leading from our front door right out alongside the garden. It might not seem a very big thing to anyone else, but I’m terribly sentimental for the daily reminder of all that has come to be.

After the winter rain had drenched the earth and it came time to dig our hands into the soil we had worked so hard to cultivate, I decided to donate my well curated stack of gardening books to The Little Free Library. I had tried to fill my head with all the wisdom within, but instead I only felt overwhelmed and underprepared.

Rather, I went back to the basics which we read in children’s books. How to grow a garden: water, soil, seeds, and sun. Additionally, I read the backs of my seed packets and when needed, consulted a trusted and experienced friend. Let it be known, I am not dismissing the value of books, not in the least. But if the books are holding you back, rather than propelling you forward, I think it wise to close the pages and seek out confidence elsewhere.

Confidence, however, seems to have an uncanny ability to waver. One minute I was armed with a box full of seeds and everlasting optimism and two hours later I stood alone in front of my newly planted rows watching my confidence run off with the sunset. As the dark settled in over the garden, so did all of my doubts. What if I’ve done it all wrong, and everyone thinks me a silly girl? What if I never see a single green sprout from all my effort? And in just the same way that I had not dug this garden out alone, my dear Mr. Hackett stood next to me and slipped his hand into mine, and he told me that I had done good and not to worry. He met my worries with his own confidence assuring me that some things will grow, and some will not, and we will do what we set out to do, learn.

Week after week I planted more seeds and made more rows. Soon little bits of green began to sprout and with each little bud, my confidence grew. I had planned to garden a 12x12 space but I got I got lost in the land of possibility and expanded the borders of the garden many times. Before Summer’s end my 12x12 square had turned into 1200 square feet with another 600 square foot garden on the other side of the foot bridge. It was a very happy and rewarding sight.

Before long, greens were outgrowing my little girls and nothing I had ever dreamed had even been half so beautiful or bountiful as what we were experiencing.

As far back as I can remember, I was always living for the future, for the next idea beyond the present. And for the very first time, I found in the garden the ability to be grounded in the necessity of every moment. Sure, in March I dreamt of what August might look like, but I dared not rush it. I needed the time that April and May had to offer so that I might finish putting my seeds down. And in June and July it felt as though if I stood and watched closely enough, I could actually see the green stocks growing and the flower petals opening. Every day was filled with pleasure and work and I dared not rush a moment of it. And there was the way September positively took my breath away with its abundance and splendor, followed by the magic that only October can bring. And even the cool damp winter days were welcomed with new reverie as a time to rest and reflect.

Our garden, became for me, “The Beautify of Simplicity”, our song of home. A song that moves with the rhythm of the seasons. A song that comforts. A song that delights. A song that never forgets the taste of the “straw-baby” field, the smell of summer rain, the sound of perfect joy, the view of August abundance, or the feeling of bare fingers in cool dirt and a pocket full of seeds.

This series; Seed to Seed is my way of inviting you join the wonder of slowing down, and experiencing the rhythm of the seasons with all senses engaged.

Additionally, I’ll share my favorite resources, from important things like where we get our seeds, to the most beloved garden dress of all time, and anything in between that may seem of any importance. Should you ever have any questions, you may ask any time.

My hope, as always, is that you will find a kinship within this place, hopefully a spark of inspiration, and maybe even a bit of insight to carry with you. Thank you for being part of this space where I can pour out my heart and turn planting a garden into a deeply sentimental, loquacious, rambling. I appreciate having such kindred hearts to share it all with.

Seed to Seed: A Song of Home