Four months earlier, we advised a client on purchasing this fountain - the perfect complement to a small wall space that we designed to have honeysuckle climb up a diamond lattice. It was pricey, and there were freight costs, plus a no-return policy. This is very normal with antiques. We had inquired about a ton of details, spoke with the dealer, and were reassured that the “fountain” was “working”. Even in the listing on their site, there was water coming out of the water spigot (hello, AI!), so we moved forward with the purchase, excited to see it bring our vision to life.

We received the thousand-pound (literally) fountain onsite and, once the crate was opened with a forklift, realized it was not a fountain, but more of a basin. Not even a sink (which would have a drain, which this did not), but a solid basin sitting on a pedestal with a spigot above it. There was no way for water to bubble up, drain, or recirculate, which is what a fountain does - or even a sink does for that matter.

We effectively bought a statue. And so began our journey of transforming this $15,000 basin into an operational water feature.

Read more

While a really well-designed space simply feels cohesive and harmonic, there are touches of influence that you can unpack. In contrast to the warm Cotswolds stone, the more charm-heavy cottage style, and the clutch of tastemakers heading to Portugal, I foresee a general shift in that direction. More so, what that direction represents.

I see the appeal of the old-world architecture with a fresh layer. The patterns are popping through into client work here in the States, even on a tiny scale, noticeable with a shift from stone raised beds to stucco, from rough limestone trough fountains to smooth wall fountains, adding in subtle tile elements, and importing massive olive trees instead of opting for a polished magnolia. Let’s unpack it.

The aesthetic

The Portugal Aesthetic ™️, as I interpret it*, is old-world Iberian architecture, Mediterranean planting, and a distinctly Portuguese tension between utility and elegance. If you look at these properties with wide eyes, these places feel centuries old. With a closer look, many individual gestures are surprisingly sleek—clean plaster, restrained planting, enormous sculptural pots, a single unusual chair. The patina isn’t being performed, it’s the foundation of the space, allowing for more modern and fresh strokes. Portugal has a very distinct feeling that sits comfortably on the heart. It lacks pretense. Like a shoulder with no chip on it - it is so itself.

It’s hardworking, yet somehow clean. It’s utility with a touch of elegance.

What this says about us

The trends point to a turn, an internal knowing, a reset. They repeat and often can be ridiculous, but this Portugal Aesthetic tells me something: we want to drop the facade of having it all together and be more real. More weathered. Less anti-aging, and more aging gracefully. This is a refinement and a polishing, rather than a build-it-to-look-old.

There is a very unique yet heritage reimagining that I see pulling forward, and I bet beyond this we turn even more to the modern/sleek/ contemporary. The rhythms of trend are simply waves that grow, and then break, receding and reemerging. Timeless is an interpretation and style is really about honing a personal sense of rightness. No no need to fret as you see these things come and go - it’s all about taking little bits here and there to fit your very space in your very own way.

The Portugal aesthetic is almost anti-renovation. Not shabby or faux-aged. Not even “perfectly imperfect” (yet manufactured by Restoration Hardware). It’s more: beautiful things allowed to acquire evidence of life.

Subscribe now

I think there’s a really interesting cultural moment lurking here:

For years luxury has meant perfection - incredibly manicured. Portugal as the next evolution is less nostalgic. It isn’t saying: “take me back”, it’s saying, “let the old thing be old, and put something interesting next to it.”

What I feel we are returning to is less saccharine and precious, and more honest. More tried and true.

Some design elements that stand out in The Portugal Aesthetic:

Read more

Each year I performed in The Nutcracker and did love that - I remember loving every backstage makeup application, complete with my sparkly Kaboodle. I loved the thrill of each year’s new costume, and the smell of the little shop we had to drive to to get my toe shoes. I have a narrow and oddly strong foot, so I’d break their shanks after just a few shows and have to get new pointe shoes. I loved waiting in the wings, peeking around heavy velvet curtains at the audience, and then lining up to go onstage, butterflies in my stomach every time.

There’s a bag in my attic as we speak, of all the pointe shoes - some painted for special performances, one where I was the Arabian mermaid in The Nutcracker, being one of the dancers who could go down into the splits and back up, without using my hands to get down or then push off the floor.

Now, I’m spinning my daughter’s hair into a bun, and assuring her that there are no bumps in her ponytail. I’m bunching her tights down into little discs, so that her feet can go in, and I can pull the tights up without snagging them, as my mom did for me.

We arrive at the studio, and I watch her bunny-hop, learn to plie, and free-dance to a Frozen song. As she’s skipping out of class, some adults file in, ready to take the next class. I quietly admire their canvas shoes, watching as they untuck them from each other and then pull the shoes on, snapping the criss-crossed elastics. They’re wearing workout clothes instead of ballet tights, and all look quite normal. Not like professional dancers - like college kids too old to take company classes and moms like me.

I watch them roll their feet out, those unnatural curving rainbow arches that indicate a dancer’s foot. They stretch, check phones before plopping them into purses, and head into class with the studio owner, a tiny sprite of a redhead who makes you feel warm and noticed.

“Mommy!” My daughter looks at the adults - “they’re doing ballet too! You should go take the class!” She’s giddy. She turns to the receptionist: “My mommy was a ballerina”.

I’m crimson; I’m sure of it. “I wouldn’t say I was a ballerina, but yes, I did ballet for many years.” I sheepishly exit the studio, shushing my daughter out the door.

I was never the best in the company - a corps dancer, minus a few more prominent roles like that of Arabian. I felt largely like a “meh” dancer who didn’t have the gall to really tackle the stage. I was a bit fearful and apprehensive in general. I was certain that now as an adult I’d be half that. Quite positive it wasn’t like riding a bike, I told my daughter, “No, no honey, mommy’s dance days are over. It’s your turn now.”

Three weeks go by, and each time we head out of my daughter’s ballet class, I’m eyeing the adult dancers who come in. The receptionist looks at me over her glasses, “You know, you can just drop in to try one class - no commitment. Some of the adults only started dancing in their thirties.”

“Maybe,” I say.

The fourth week, I’ve arranged to try the class. My daughter’s sleeve-tugging and doe eyes did their trick. Why not, I thought. One class, mostly to show Georigia that I can try things too.

My first class back

I show up with a black leotard that I’ve had since college - I took a couple of one-off classes back then. I layer some black leggings over it, and wear some ballet slippers I bought online - much less sturdy than I remember. “They don’t make ‘em like they used to,” I joke with another mom in the waiting room. I’ve got a low bun, and I too have no bumps in my ponytail.

The studio owner assures me that Georgia can sit against the mirror and read or color while we take class, and G agrees she’ll be very calm. I take my place at the barre and feel immediately at home. The weathered wood rail with its smooth grain, the piano music in counts of eight, and it’s even raining outside - much like it did in my Northern California hometown, though it’s a hot wet summer here in Tennessee.

As we mark the warm-up our routines at the barre, my mind wanders back to my childhood teachers. Sue was the owner, straightforward yet forgiving; Paula was the most professional-looking dancer, with the most gorgeous footwork - she was quiet, demonstrative, and didn’t ever take a liking to me. Lois was my favorite - she had short grey hair that she styled in a coif. She wore red lipstick, was in great shape, smoked like a chimney, and would smack our legs with a ruler if we weren’t turning out properly. She asked the most of us, but seemed to love us just as fiercely.

Back in the room at my new adult studio, I felt different in my body. Much has changed since sixteen. My turnout and extension (how high I can kick my legs) were shadows of what they once were. Three babies have rearranged things internally and externally, my arms jiggle, and asking my core to engage felt like pulling an unwilling dog through mud. Every time I remembered to knit my ribs together, I’d lose my shoulders; when I fixed my shoulders, I’d lose my turnout. Twenty years is twenty years. But underneath all of that, my body remembered. Not perfectly, not impressively, but enough.

The biggest point of tension, beyond my hips and arches which were cramping a bit from being asked to twist again, was the reluctance in my back. I lost so much flexiblity in my upper and middle back, and dancing now allowed me to feel the congestion there. It was a clear signal that I took note of. In fact, the more I slipped into the trance of the class, the more clearly I could hear myself think and really feel my body’s boundaries.

In spite of the new physiological landscape I was traversing, I took to the class like a moth to a flame; hovering around, unwanting to leave at the end, but needing to make the dusky drive home to make my family dinner.

There were times of self-doubt, sadness, defeat, and insecurity when I danced as a child. That not good enoughness was loud as it related to my dancing, but was often internalized as much about me as a person. Now, as an adult, the dancing is about the dissolution of self into the music, the awareness of self in the body, and the clear channel between me and source, accessed by the gentle yet strong control of my physicality.

I had returned to movements I had done thousands of times, and though they remained the same, I have changed. As a girl ballet meant achieving, competing, impressing. As a woman, it means more aliveness.

After two decades, it was confirmed to me that I did love ballet once upon a time, and still do - though now, it is even better.

I went home floating. Glowing. And that my daughter got to sit with me as I had these revelations, quietly coloring with her back to the mirror, a beaming smile when I looked her way, eyes that said, “Mom, you really were a ballerina!”.

It unlocked a space within me that I didn’t know was there - a room for more completeness. I had thought I was taking the class for Georgia—to show her that grown-ups can try things when they feel scared and nervous, too. Instead, she had quietly, unknowingly, returned something to me.

Twenty years later, I discovered that I had loved ballet after all, before and after it was measured. Maybe that's the great gift of returning to something you loved as a child: the stakes are gone. There is no company to make, no role to earn, no teacher whose approval can change the way you feel about yourself. At thirty-nine, I don't need ballet to tell me I'm good at anything. I am the dancer and the audience now, getting lost in the beauty of it—however imperfect—and being whisked away by the joy of the experience.

Pathway material choosing is much like these books - fun until they’re not. Certain materials will always win because they’re stronger, allow for percolation and drainage, and look better. Some are cheap and easy. The choose-your-own-adventure part comes in when you decide on something and realize it’s entirely wrong, heading down a very expensive proverbial and literal path (ask me how I know 🙄). I had dirt, then turf, then decomposed granite, and then pea gravel - all in the same space over the course of about nine months.

What is the best pathway material? I actually do have an answer to this, but also, it’s very personal. So you are the best decider for you, right? However, there is a reason that I have a favorite (that should be my official disclosure on ALL things).

Pathways are a large part of a garden and estate’s footprint, and we evaluate their function first. Some of the questions we ask: Are you using these pathways with a wheelbarrow or on foot? Do you need tractor access? Are you barefoot? Does this area get muddy? Are there drainage issues? Is this decorative? What is the traffic level from low to high? How much do you like the sound of crunch, or the feeling of walking through gravel?

All of these matter, and then we layer on the aesthetic piece and bring in the question of: does it look pretty to you? Does it work with the house/ surrounding elements and buildings? Does it read calm rather than chaotic?

Let’s lay out the nine most common options for a kitchen garden:

1. Grass

2. Wood chip mulch

3. Hardscape - which has its own lines of gorgeousness vs. basicness. We shall not endeavor here today, but this category is defined by a solid path like cement or brick.

4. Polished pea gravel

5. Decomposed granite “DG”

6. Turf (faux grass)

7. Crushed gravel - or what I call, “gravel gravel”

8. Dirt

9. Stepping stones with moss

Let’s take a look at each with a classic pros and cons list

Grass

Pros

• A pretty option when maintained well.

• Cool underfoot.

• Inexpensive.

Cons

• Wears into mud in high traffic.

• Doesn’t love shade.

• Mowing can become tedious.

• Not stroller or wheelchair friendly.

• Watering it can lead to rot on wooden raised beds

My notes: Grass paths are the English countryside fantasy we all imagine—until your family starts walking the same route every day and you've accidentally created a muddy goat trail.

Wood Chip Mulch

Pros

• Cheap or free.

• Fast installation.

• Suppresses weeds.

• Feels very woodland.

• Great for nourishing your mycorrhizae network

Cons

• Needs refreshing every year or two.

• Can migrate into beds.

• Doesn’t feel elevated enough for formal spaces.

My notes: Perfect when you want the garden—not the path—to be the star. Very permaculture and the “crunchy”-est choice because it is serving a great purpose. But, like many crunchy things can be a touch unsightly. Or at least just neutral from an aesthetics perspective.

Hardscape

Pros

• Lasts decades.

• Extremely accessible.

• Works in every season.

• Adds architectural weight.

Cons

• Most expensive.

• Hard to change later.

• Installation matters tremendously.

My notes: You rarely regret spending money on good hardscape, but you need to get it right the first time. There are endless ways to do this - perhaps we do a deep dive here soon.

Polished Pea Gravel

Pros

• My personal favorite.

• Softens everything around it.

• Fantastic drainage.

• Beautiful sound underfoot.

• Surprisingly forgiving.

• Lots of color and size options.

Cons

• Travels into the lawn/ needs boundaries.

• Doesn’t love steep slopes (will slip and roll down).

• Can be difficult for wheelchairs and tiny heels.

My notes: If my brand had a pathway, this would be it. Yes, my personal favorite. It’s polished (pun intended), and understated, and complements almost every bed style, edging style, and home style. She’s the MVP triple threat: can act, sing, and dance!

Decomposed Granite (DG)

Pros

• Clean, restrained look.

• Excellent for Mediterranean gardens.

• More stable than loose gravel.

• Easy to repair.

Cons

• Can wash on slopes.

• Gets muddy in some climates

• Color varies wildly.

• Doesn’t feel quite as romantic.

My take: Underused, and also sparingly used (rightfully so), but wonderful in the right setting. Needs strong edging to feel right.

Faux Turf

Pros

• Always green.

• Clean edges.

• No mowing.

Cons

• Can become hot.

• Doesn’t age beautifully.

• Plastic is still plastic.

• Looks fake no matter what

My take: Very logical and utilitarian in very specific applications—but I die inside and basically refuse to let people use it unless it’s for a sport court or something highly specific.

Crushed Gravel (“Gravel Gravel”)

Pros

• Affordable and accessible.

• Stable when compacted.

• Excellent drainage.

Cons

• Can migrate.

• Less refined than pea gravel.

• Hard to walk on

• Needs containment

My take: A dependable workhorse, but doesn’t do anything else for a space.

Dirt

Pros

• Can be free/cheap or you use what you have.

• Natural.

• Quiet.

Cons

• Mud.

• Dust.

• Erosion.

• Constant reshaping.

• Blah and also does nothing for the environment (may as well do mulch or DG)

My take: If you’re just starting out, testing a space, or really don’t care, dirt is fine. It’s more a placeholder than anything else and becomes dry and lifeless quickly.

Stepping Stones + Moss

Pros

• Possibly the prettiest option.

• Feels timeless..

• Incredible texture.

• Transportive and elegant/ whimsical.

Cons

• Moss can struggle in sun.

• Can become slippery.

• More maintenance than Instagram and curated photos admit.

My take: Every gardener wants this. Few gardens actually have the conditions to pull it off.

While there is a moment for any of these, and all of these, or perhaps a mix of these, some materials are more favorable in most spaces (polished pea gravel). Before we depart from these common pathways, I do have to address one more element in the equation.

Enter your pathway’s life partner: edging

Thinking about edges

Just so that we can see the full picture, pathways often need edging to help them be both defined and contained. Pea gravel moves around a lot, so we really need an edge for it to be contained within. You can do that with larger stones, with steel, and even with wood, but it needs to be thought through so that your path stays a path. Mulch benefits beautifully from edging, as do most materials. It’s like adding a touch of eyeliner to your makeup look - defines the main event, without taking over control (when done right).

There are endless edging options, but our favorites are Corten steel and stone, since most of our clients opt for polished pea gravel, grass, or mulch.

Corten is a special kind of steel that ages with a rusty patina, but lasts longer than classic steel. And stones can be arranged in many ways. You can use rip rap for a cobble look, edging pavers, or even bricks on their edges.

The part of the pathway selection that is most important and that you should return to and mull over is the questions we ask. Function should lead form, and in that you can start to at least eliminate options. Great gardens are built on thousands of tiny decisions, and often the ones that feel boring are quite fundamental to the essence of the space.

Best of luck on whichever path you choose, my friends.

You can order my book, Kitchen Garden Living, here. Book a design consult here. I’m on Instagram here.

I hope you enjoy this fun piece, and maybe get a chuckle too, seeing bits of yourself or past-self in it.

The Art of Helicopter Gardening by Bailey Van Tassel, 2018

I am a helicopter gardener, and I am not ashamed.

I feel most at home in the garden. It’s a bit odd to think of it that way, as I was 31 with a 9-month old when I started gardening. Makes me wonder about all the pockets of time I was doing things where I felt like a guest. Pre-gardening, the kitchen had always been my domain, my zen. Cooking is a creative outlet, an activity that takes just enough concentration to push out all the other noise, yet not enough to stress me. The only reason my garden has now won the lead in my home play is that it needs me. It must be sickening to read, because it feels nasty to admit. Neediness is not a virtue, nor is it something accepted in any side of my family as a feeling that is appropriate. But I love to indulge in catering to a need. It’s like being a helicopter mom, which feels really safe for the mother, but stifles the child. Helicopter momming is also not a virtue, nor accepted in my family as appropriate – we raise tough kids, independent kids, responsible kids. No coddling.

Gardens, however, can be coddled and tended to and cooed at for infinity. We can go outside and look at the leaves throughout the day, inspecting for bugs and mildew. We can look at every single bud and whisper sweet words to it regardless of gender. We can carefully sit next to our Golden Bell Pepper and think, “she needs a new spot in the bed”. She needs space. She needs more sun, more water, and less Oregano near her. We’re moving her. And we transfer her somewhere else without the agony of administrative interviews and playgroup judgment. I don’t have to sit in my robe, coffee in hand at 4:30 am, weary and insecure, thinking, “I know this is what’s right for her, but does everyone else think I’m crazy?” Jury’s in folks, I am crazy, and yet it’s acceptable when my Cuckoo’s nest is a four-foot by eight-foot raised bed with seedlings to tend to. The bell pepper isn’t thriving – everyone can see it, so move the damn thing! It’s my prerogative.

“My squash aren’t doing well, Honey. I need to look into it; they keep rotting.” I’ll mumble these things as I swoosh past my husband, tending to my actual son, marching laundry upstairs, stirring pots, checking emails on my phone. “I looked it up – blossom rot. We have it. I’ve got to work the soil. Spraying milk on it helps. I’m doing that. Do we have a spray bottle? I’ll order one on Amazon.” He nods, or maybe shakes his head; no one’s paying attention to him because WE HAVE BLOSSOM ROT. It can consume me, and he doesn’t care. It doesn’t incite an argument about overreacting or being a nervous mother. I don’t have to sneak in calls to the pediatrician when I really should just wait it out.

In the very first few weeks of being a mother to a newborn, they tell you that you can not spoil the baby. Every single cry can be responded to, and every single worry should be phoned in. Its glory for anyone that has one shred of anxiety vibrating through their cells. This is the golden hour of parenting where you get to know nothing, and react to everything. For a people pleaser, nurture addict, this is pure joy. I got to throw myself by the wayside and dive in with everything that I had to care for this tiny new human.

In the garden, no one is going to be forming their lifelong psychological attachment style while under my care. No one will be going to the therapist at age twenty-six and getting talked to about the insecurity they have from their infant-mother relationship. No one. That’s even with me spraying 2% milk onto my Black Beauty Zucchini leaves when they get even a shadow of potential mold spots cropping up.

For me, being out in the garden is where I can indulge every needy whim. Summer is really my time to shine. It’s hot, and the garden needs water. Daily. This must be done by hand. Seeing as my garden is in the least convenient location, that means I drag an actual one-hundred-foot hose through my dining room, behind the sofa, past the stairs, and out the front door. I’ve only knocked the real baby over once-ish while doing this. I get to worry about the heat, the compost being too hot, and the tomatoes getting wilted. It’s quite satisfying to nail down the right watering schedule and see my little beds sunbathe without frying. It’s like applying 50 SPF every hour at the beach to my entire family. Everyone hates it, but it must be done. You’ll thank me later.

The real triumph in helicopter gardening is when you get to harvest. ALL THE PLANTS GET A TROPHY. Even the weird ones that get picked very last in hopes they’d shapeshift in the final minute. I had a cucumber this season that looked like fan blade and tasted like water, and I praised him. “You glorious piece of creation! I LOVE YOU. You are a prince. You are smart AND you are handsome. You will marry a busty blonde for sure, and be very wealthy.” We all know that isn’t true, but I can tell him that and it won’t matter.

The true beauty in helicopter gardening is this: there are no rules. Should you ever find yourself forgetting to water, accidentally pruning off a bud, or raising your voice instead of coating it with saccharine, you can always start again. Run out and grab a new seed packet, turn your bed over for a new season – heck, take a season off and let your raised beds be barren for a few months while you test pH levels and order specialty irrigation from Israel. Should you decide your helicopter gardening style is too stifling, you can adopt another one, say the 1970s relaxo style where you throw all your plants into the back of the car without seatbelts and blow cigarette smoke into your raised beds while the sprouts come up. Or start a gardening commune where you all wear purple clothing and cross-breed your seeds at leisure, collectively raising the vibration of your pea shoots – it’s your circus, your monkeys.

The real coup d’état in heli-gardening (that’s what the cool kids call it) is when you’re at the nursery with the other garden moms. In this environment, being a heli-gardener is where you get to have your moment on stage, everyone asking for advice, nodding in affirmation about how smart it is to put worm castings in your fertilizer, and how yes, ordering those specialty onions is such a good idea, and please email us your resources on suburban composting, “we need that!” they say. And you just shine your brightest and truest, and know in your heart that all the hard work over-parenting your watermelon beets has paid off, if not for you, but for the masses. Your adoring garden center fans.

Though helicopter gardening is not for everyone (you loosey goosey 70s gardeners are wrong, but that’s fine), it doesn’t matter. Revel in the joy of it not mattering. Gardening is truly lawless. It’s freeing and open and ungoverned, and impossibly indulgent. Go forth in peace and garden with an iron fist, a stifling embrace, or a loose grasp. It shall not matter, make, or break you.

I had prepared to can all my tomato sauce and called my mother over for reinforcement. I’ve canned tomato sauce in the past to learn about it, and also made stovetop fresh marinara, but I wanted to really nail down my own family recipe and approach this year.

I actually do not enjoy canning, though I do like the social aspect. The thing about it is that flavors and ingredients can transform in the process, and there’s the whole botulism thing too - ugh. Additionally, tomatoes have their seeds and their skins, which can make things tart/bitter and unpalatable. Many people before canning remove skins and try to get seeds out by juicing their tomatoes. The skins can get stringy in the process if they aren’t completely blended, so there was a lot to consider with canning, on top of needing shelf space. I wasn’t inspired.

The alternative is freezing. You can process the sauce as you’d like, then freeze it in plastic containers, jars, or Ziploc bags, which can be laid flat on their sides for the easiest thawing. Skins can stay on, locking in a lot of nutrients, and you can save a lot of shelf space. Winner, winner!

I wanted to really nail my recipe and approach, so I consulted two of my “aunts” (you know, the women who raise you and you call aunt but are soul-related, but blood-related and always know EVERYTHING), gathering enough info to make a fusion of the two, plus my own dash.

What I came up with was a roasted tomato sauce that is utterly delicious, leaves the nutritious skins on, and is easy to freeze and thaw.

My exact process with tomatoes

1. My tomato harvest starts with them counter-ripening. I do not let them fully ripen on the vine, because critters usually get them first, smelling the exact moment of peak ripeness before my eye can see it. So as soon as I see the tomato blush (any orangey/pink on the flesh at all), I bring it inside and place it on a sunny window to finish ripening.

2. Once ripe and just barely soft, I plop them into a freezer bag and freeze the tomatoes whole. Tomatoes do keep well in the freezer, though their flavor morphs a touch - for a sauce, it doesn’t matter. I find that they can hold some extra water, but that’s dealt with at thawing, which comes next.

3. When ready to process the tomatoes, I leave them in the sink in their bags and cut open a corner of the plastic bag they were in. The excess water runs right out! Ideally, they fully thaw here, and you can start to squeeze some of their watery juice out.

Now you’re ready to start making sauce.

For this, I also had whole onions from the garden and our garlic that I peeled and left whole.

4. I brought out four large roasting pans and filled them with tomatoes in their whole thawed form, then layered on one whole chunked-up onion and about five cloves of garlic per pan*.

5. I threw that all into the oven at 350 degrees Fareheit for 30 minutes.

6. The pans were a bit soupy with water, so I actually poured the pans into the sink, yes, losing some of that watery tomato juice and flavor, but getting a more condensed version for the sauce. I didn’t strain it; I poured the excess water out - just to clarify.

7. *Next, now this could be avoided, but I used tongs to get all the onions and garlic out and sautéed them with olive oil and salt and a tab of butter, to really get the flavor going. I could have done this to start, but I hadn’t realized roasting wasn’t going to get them how I wanted them. So, if you want, you can just roast the tomatoes and separately sauté the onions and garlic in olive oil with a dash of salt. I used two cast iron Dutch ovens for this. Heavy-bottom and high quality.

8. Once the onions and garlic were translucent and fragrant, I added a can of organic tomato paste per tray of tomatoes (so four total). Yes, I am cringing that I did not make the paste from scratch. That will be a project for another day. You brown the paste with the onions and garlic so it too gets infused with flavor - this takes just one or two minutes.

9. Finally, we dumped all the tomatoes in and let things simmer for about an hour, stirring every 5 minutes or so. I also added a whole, peeled carrot in at the same time (thank you, Aunt Nancy!) to cut the bitterness (this carrot will be taken out at the end). It worked beautifully.

10. Once the sauce is well simmered, I took out the carrot and immersion blended the mixture. This smoothed out all the skins and chunks of things.

11. Next, to finish simmering, I added homegrown herbs: oregano, basil, thyme, parsley, and basil. I did about one handful of basil leaves, four stems of oregano, four stems of thyme, and three stems of parsley - all cut. These were gently folded in, just for the last 15 mins of simmering.

12. At this point, you taste and potentially add more salt. It should be thick and yet saucy. I was SO pleased with the deep and rich flavor, not too acidic, and full of layers. Mission accomplished!

13. I let the sauce sit on the stove and cool for about six hours before storing it.

14. The final step was using freezer bags to package the sauce. Label first, then fill the bags to the amount that you use per meal. This yielded six bags for us. I filled the bags and laid them on their sides to freeze flat. They take about 10 minutes to thaw (if that) in this form.

Being a good steward of our harvest is half the battle in the garden, and therefore half the glory. It’s so satisfying to make a meal from scratch and know where the tomatoes were grown and how the soil was treated. If you have questions about the recipe, let me know.

You can order my book, Kitchen Garden Living, here. Book a design consult here. I’m on Instagram here.

I recently was at the crux of making an important decision - one that felt very defining. One that challenged my values and had me really asking: what is me, what is a projection of the version of me I want the world to see, and what I am OK with letting go of in pursuit of the highest good for everyone.

I felt myself aching for a conversation with my dad, who passed away eight years ago. He was pensive, logical, deeply emotional, and very private. I knew he would have both judgment and encouragement for me (like many parents do), and now that he’s passed, I feel like he has this energy of pure love and protection—the wisdom without any self attached to it.

I consulted a friend about this, telling her how much I missed him and just wanted to talk through this with him. I mentioned wanting to see a medium (I’ve done this with beautiful success in the past). Her advice was, “Bailey, just ask him to show up for you. Nothing gives a medium more powerful gifts than you, other than their cultivation of those gifts.” I totally agreed with her. So I sat in my car, closed my eyes, and asked my dad to send me a sign that he was there. I asked him to show up for me as a fox. I am very drawn to the fox, and love them, but I NEVER see them. My dad has no known connection to the fox, but it was what came to mind, so that’s what I did.

The next day, at 3:15 pm (less than 24 hours later), I was sitting in the car pickup line for my kid’s summer camp. It’s deep in the woods, and I sat in a line of 50 shiny cars, blasting the AC and occupying my youngest with snacks while waiting with all the others for our littles to clamber out with soaked towels and new freckles from swimming in the lake.

All of a sudden, I see movement under a treeline. There’s a huge meadow, and on one side is a manicured treeline of planted arborvitae, which gives way to a clearing where a new patch of forest picks up about 50 yards away (think football field surrounded by trees). I see a little gray-ish red fox just casually bopping from the planted treeline and starting across the meadow. He was completely unbothered, albeit aware of us, seemingly unfazed. He very calmly trotted across the meadow in broad daylight as though he was making his own afternoon commute to pick pups up from camp.

My jaw dropped. I was stunned. I felt completely overcome with peace and joy and calm. Like a hug from dad.

I went on with my day in a bit of a haze - it was so profoundly delightful, and I felt entirely heard. That evening, I lay down with my youngest son for bedtime snuggle and thought of my dad and the fox encounter. As I felt my son drift to sleep, I also felt overcome with the feeling of sitting on the couch next to my dad. I could see him - genuinely see him, as though I was on one end of the couch and he was on the other. Between us was a thin layer - like a veil - though he felt almost close enough to touch. I could see coffee in his hand, with his thumb on the handle of his thick ceramic mug, just so. I could feel him communicating though he didn’t speak.

“Be like the fox in the meadow. Unbothered, yet aware of the audience. Do not change your course, nor your pace; do not perform for them. Be aware and unbothered and go on your way, in your time, on your path.”

He gave an impish smile and a chuckle and was gone.

I was flooded with emotions, tears spilling. It was the closest I had been to my dad since being beside him as he passed, opening the windows in his living room, releasing his spirit from the confines of our earthly space.

I quietly went to bed, accepting the advice and thanking my dad, the universe, God, for the gift of that experience. I don’t think I even processed the whole experience until I went to retell the story a day later and started joyfully sobbing - tears full of grief, gratitude, surprise.

I reached out to my aunt (my father’s sister) about this, and she had some additional layers to add. We have a shamanic line in our family, so Aunt Carol shed some light on the shamanic symbolism of the fox:

“Fox is an avatar of feminine magic. She is observant and sees the patterns in nature. You are full of earth & garden magic too. In some indigenous societies Fox is the protector of the family. You - same! Fox is able to shape-shift and redirect her energies when opportunities present themselves, and conversely, to know intuitively when those opportunities are wrong for her.”

It was this interpretation that had me thinking about Dad as the fox. It made me smile - almost even eye-roll - to think of him reminding me in a riddle of my own power, and also getting to live into his own ability to be a mirror for me. I asked for a fox, and he gave me that - reminding me all the while that I am the fox, too. A message we often forget: what we ask to know, already lives within us.

In the midst of our ordinary lives, it’s easy to dismiss our potential and our gifts. Between school supply shopping and potty training, we can become numb to the endless potential that we hold. I often think I’m not enough of a certain thing, or way of being, to tap into what may be impossible or otherworldly, when in fact I have just forgotten to ask and to get quiet enough to listen.

I went to sleep that night in awe. Grateful. Renewed in my certainty that the magic of the world is real — and that it finds us in meadows, in car pickup lines, and in the quiet moment just before a child falls asleep.

You can order my book, Kitchen Garden Living, here. Book a design consult here. I’m on Instagram here.

Then my mom showed up with a pair of gloves, looked at me, and said, “I’ll start weeding - you’re doing this.”

Eight days later, the magazine crew arrived.

Some backstory (aka how I got the gig)

About two and a half years ago, just as I was transitioning from California to Tennessee, a freelance writer reached out to me asking if I wanted my garden featured in one of the magazines (I didn’t know which) that she worked with - potentially online, maybe print. My answer was of course, yes! But, I had no garden.

I was thrilled and really wanted the opportunity, but I was moving out of state and no longer had the garden I had been sharing online, nor did I have a new garden. I was so bummed about it, as getting good press is hard, and I wanted to jump at the offer. I went on with life, built the garden we have now, and began to focus on the design business full steam. I completely forgot to even follow up!

After the new garden was built and planted, and with a few growing seasons under my belt, my sweet friend reached back out to me. This time it was for print, for a speciality issue under the Better Homes & Gardens name (coming out in Spring of 2027). We booked the shoot for mid-July and, in hindsight, I slightly regret the timing, as my garden has mostly gone over by now. I do such an early Spring start that by the end of June, my garden is usually ready to rest for a month and then get revamped for Fall.

The overwhelm of a magazine shoot, high summer with kids, and two large estate designs happening had me almost cancelling. My garden was in shambles, and I felt, honestly, a bit embarrassed by its state. I kept putting off having a plan for getting things together, detaching from the idea of this whole shoot. Thankfully, my mom showed up and really pushed me to just put my head down and get to work.

This, of course, also sent me scrambling around town (I live 35-60 minutes from literal stores to buy literally anything) for plants, clothes, and makeup. By mid-July, the nurseries are barren of vegetables (because every sane person has their veggies in the ground). I found some stragglers and some gorgeous herbs to fill in empty spots, as well as some flowers to add a touch of color. I hadn’t realized how flowerless I let the space become until I saw it through the eyes of my panic.

The truth about garden photoshoots

The thing about a garden photoshoot that’s hard is you’re trying to get a living thing to live while being her most luscious by a certain exact date, which is hard to time. Magazine gardens aren't fake or even very staged - they’re quite organic. But they’re also photographed on their very best day with very specific angles that showcase the support for a good story - not just a photo for the sake of it.

My summer squash was looking perky and lively, then three days before the shoot, vine borers struck, and it was instant death! The drama of it makes things quite interesting (read: stressful and manic), and so my approach is always to either pull out the plant and try to shoot at an angle that misses it, or prune away the dead stuff, and you have a placeholder mass of vegetation that, in person, looks so odd because it’s a bunch of stems with no leaves.

There is a bit of Hollywood magic in touchups, great angles, and adding fun props to make the scene look well kept and manicured - evoking a feeling. Online I try to be super honest about my garden. I show failures, dead things, empty beds, etc., but this is a famous magazine! The point is to showcase something aspirational.

So, the mission was to basically put a push-up bra on the garden and get the girls to perk up! Oh, and also, I needed my own outfits, props, and to be sure my hair, nails, and skin looked their ABSOLUTE BEST (I’m LOL-ing about this). I am not a looks maxxer, not a model, and did absolutely nothing massively different in my routine to prepare myself or my appearance. No crash dieting, injectibles, etc. So on that front, what you see in print is what you’ll see in real life - that feels quite important to me (I did put on a strip of lashes, a skill acquired during my Nutcracker days).

All the garden things I did in preparation

The week leading up to the shoot, I went in this order:

1. Weeded (starting at the entry path, ending in the rear)

2. Harvested (some plants need to be harvested or they will stop producing and die - like cucumbers and beans)

3. Pulled everything out that’s ugly or weird or dead

4. Deep cleaned the greenhouse (shout out to my mother who did this so graciously!)

5. Staged the greenhouse, hung baskets, hid things under the tables, organized all my nets, covers, and seed starting trays

6. Amended the soil for fresh brown soil in raised beds

7. Added tons of plants to fill gaps and make the beds prettier

8. Mulched with sheep’s wool to cover an open bed

9. Sowed seeds in the greenhouse for greenhouse shots

10. Sowed seeds outside and under cloches to add dimension, and I actually needed to do that

11. Spread more gravel (we have a gravel pit for extra gravel in the pathways)

12. Rinsed the gravel and raked it

13. Pruned everything

14. Staked everything so it’s tidy

15. Bought and labeled copper plant tags

16. Added herbs to my tabletop planters

17. Styled the space with clothes, obelisks, tools, etc.

My call time for the photoshoot was 7 am, so that meant getting out to the garden at sunrise as well to do some final joojing.

All the EXACT personal things I did to prepare

For myself, the getting-ready process was much simpler, though I did try to consult ChatGPT about a good plan for fitness and nutrition, which I loved and did none of. We’re not surprised by this.

I did avoid alcohol (I have rosacea) and typically only have maybe a glass of wine or two a week, but eliminated that as well as avoided processed foods. I also normally do this, but was extra careful this week. I tried to focus on high-protein meals, lots of water, and hydration with salt under my tongue each morning.

I walked every day and got eight hours of sleep each night the week leading up to the shoot, and was extra good about my lymphatic drainage face massages - I just use my hands to do this.

Subscribe now

Some fun things I love that I did:

• This is the salt I put under my tongue

• I wanted second-day hair for the shoot, so I did an oil mask - this one is my FAVE, and then an at-home blow out with this

• A calendula sheet mask two days out and the night before

• Extra barrier moisture - was excited to try the Sonsie products and do love it!

• Drank this Pau d-Arco tea, which is a bark tea that helps with the immune system and de-bloating

• I love this Shark wrap for a Dyson dupe at-home blow-out

• I stocked up on some new makeup - I love the Tarte brand because it’s clean-ish but gives coverage. I just can’t do the cakey foundation. This is what I used for my skin, along with their shape tape concealer. This setting powder. All a heavier look than I would normally do, but still sort of clean products. Some day, I do envision getting to a Pamela Anderson no makeup look with my grays on full display, but am not quite ready!

Wardrobe

I had NO idea what to wear for this. I was told I would be photographed at my desk and in the garden. Then, three days before the shoot, they said, “cocktail but casual in the garden,” and I was like: sh*t.

So I loaded up on goodies from Anthropologie (this dress and these shorts: both pictured), including some things for the set styling. New espresso cups and saucers were irresistible, though we never used them - we used some family china I have.

This white shirt is as close to the one I wore as I could find - mine is thrifted.

My footwear was just my normal - I had my garden clogs, wellies, and Red Wings.

Hats I own and love always.

What I cooked for the crew

Feta and Watermelon Salad

I arranged some arugula on a plate and drizzled it with olive oil and flaky finishing salt. Then I layered on feta that I crumbled off a block and squares of watermelon. I drizzled a touch more olive oil and salt and added pistachios.

Fennel Tomato Chicken Panzanella

This is a recipe adapted from Giada De Laurentiis’ Giada’s Italy cookbook. I roasted some marinated chicken (I cheated and got Mediterranean pre-marinated organic chicken) for 20 minutes, while tossing a half loaf of sourdough bread (cut into chunks) in olive oil and Parmesan. After the chicken had cooked for 20 minutes, I took it out and added the coated bread, then returned everything to the oven on the same sheet pan. I then used the olive oil bowl from the bread to toss some sliced fennel, tomatoes, and basil. After 15 minutes of toasting the chicken and bread, I pull that out and add the fennel mix to the sheet pan. Done.

Cantaloupe with prosciutto

This is an easy go-to, plus we had ripe cantaloupe in the garden! Just slice the cantaloupe and wrap in half a strip of prosciutto. Drizzle a touch of balsamic vinegar and some flaky salt, then garnish with edible flowers.

As I watched the crew move through the garden, I kept thinking about the version of me who almost said no to my first garden design for feeling underqualified. So much of this career has been built one season at a time, and standing there watching people document a decade of learning, trusting, failing, and eventually finding a groove, felt equal parts surreal, humbling, and deeply gratifying.

You can order my book, Kitchen Garden Living, here. Book a design consult here. I’m on Instagram here.

Disclosure: my goal is to engage the kids and also to get my gardening done. This is NOT a guide for how to assign chores, gain obedience, or even gentle parent. This is a guide for how to spend time in enjoyment while you garden and your children are there too. This does not mean there are no rules and boundaries (more on that below).

I’ve found many tricks for capturing my kids’ attention, cultivating interest, and holding with a very loose hand onto the idea that I’m encouraging a love of the natural world in their hearts while they learn some skills. There is a bit of an art to it, and I’ve found that understanding your child’s nature a touch helps too. I read a book recently (“Dopamine Kids” by Michaeleen Doucleff) that categorizes children into two groups: bower birds and beavers. Bower birds like small little fingery tasks (think beading, sewing, handicrafts) and beavers like the big jobs such as chopping, pulling, and building. Some of us are both, but mostly you’ll see your kids have a preference. This comes in handy when you suggest things (we’ll get into this).

Once gardening became my vocation, it became challenging to override my proclivity for “let’s get this done” and to remind myself that it’s our garden. With photoshoots, content creation, and clients coming by to see design elements, things can get a little stressful in a place that is meant to be my haven. However, I made it a choice not to conscript the children with gardening work or use it as a consequence, as I don’t see it as a chore or an obligation, but a choice - an indulgence really.

Mostly, your leadership in doing will be followed more than in telling, so the art of showing and then suggesting becomes my sweet spot. I’ll explain how I do this, the rules I do implement, and some tricks that have been tested through three children (boys and girls alike).

You can order my book, Kitchen Garden Living, here. Book a design consult here. I’m on Instagram here.

Read more

Summer is my least favorite season (my soul is an Autumn), and so I’m actually quite excited about the advice (and multi-part) series I’m giving you. Even though it’s two months away, we’re doing this now because there’s work in the garden to be done so that we can have a Fall season of crops (it’s time to order garlic). And while summer is a touch quieter (much like winter), it’s a great time to breathe in and gather some energy for the onslaught that is fall.

Autumn is that seam of the year where heat wanes to cold, and the sun gets golden and hot, dropping to a chilly dusk. The Autumn Equinox is on September 22nd (you know I’ll have a guide for us as that gets closer) and is a fun culmination and celebration of the season. While we have plenty of time to wait, we also need to take care of a few things so that we don’t miss the boat.

Getting inspired

We’re starting with the inspiration. We’re vision casting, babes! We’re combing the old back issues of Martha Stewart Magazine and looking at those calendars. We’re getting in the mood. I listened to an old episode of As the Season Turns via podcast and it gives the most beautiful accounts of each month. I listened to last year’s July episode and it just immerses you in the full present time - its a feast for the ears, I promise you. I love to go through and listen to the coming months, to reorient myself with what’s coming.

I used to have a monthly membership called The Kitchen Garden Society, and each month I would make my own calendar like Martha’s (here’s a September for our vision-casting). It really became a great seasonal living study. Here’s a snippet of the list from the last time I published in July:

JULY CAL

• July 2 - Swap out comforters for light quilts in the house

• July 3 - Paint fruit tree trunks with sun protectant

• July 4 - Independence Day - make a flag cake

• July 5 - Plant late-season beans and cucumbers

• July 7 - make pesto to give neighbors

• July 11 - Make a fresh batch of pickles

• July 12 - Add shade cloth to plants as needed

• July 14 - Bastille Day - eat cheese, bread, and champagne

• July 16 - Start to plan Fall garden

• July 18 - Get Fall seeds

• July 19 - Order garlic bulbs and crocus corms

• July 20 - Make cantaloupe popsicles

As you can see, it’s much like a bucket list for the month, but focused on the home and garden.

Here’s an example of Martha’s:

When it comes time to truly prep, I have a very specific process. It begins, actually, in the kitchen. I have a few trusted cookbook bibles that I reference. Each of them was truly written for the gardener, as they’re broken down by the season. The food informs the garden until the crops start to come in, and then the crops inform when you make the intended recipes. It’s all quite symbiotic. Circle of life stuff.

My go-to cookbooks for reference

My personal process begins with this stack of books - I pore through them and review the pages that I’ve dog-eared. I flip to the Autumn and Winter sections and remind myself of the available produce, the meals I’ll want, the flavors I’ll get to mix in. It’s the very first peek into the next chapter of our lives, and how I want that to feel.

Six Seasons really is a bible of sorts. Simply, delicious, inventive recipes that honor ALL the seasons and the seams between.

The Farm Table is gorgeous and heartfelt. The way Julius writes about his farm is what makes him ever so worthy of caring for it. He has a way with food that is also simple and yet honoring of the subject because it’s delightful and well-made.

The Lost Kitchen is another beauty, and I just like the way the food is presented as well as cherished. You can tell Erin really uses the bounty as it arises, making the harvest the hero of each dish.

Once the cookbooks have been referenced, it’s time to map out a general list of plants that you want to grow this coming season, as for many, it’s time to get some seeds in the ground or greenhouse. Yes, I realize this sounds insane, potentially, but it is, in fact, the facts.

Timing Autumn

The challenge with fall is the sun moving away from us. You want the cool-season crops to get enough sun to create fruit, but not so much so that the plants bolt and go to flower. It’s a bit of a dance, and if you nail it, you really start to see how a twelve-month garden is possible. This is where the newbies versus the seasoned gardening veterans are exposed. You can actually get some beans to grow that don’t look exhausted while also perfectly timing broccoli to come to a head before the sun loses its peak power.

Nitty Gritty Gardening Intel

Read more

Although I was into gardening and sourdough before 2020 (this feels important to note for credibility), I, too, fell victim to the comparison trap of my life vs. the online homesteaders. There was (still is) this appeal to wholesome living that can really make the trappings of modern life feel “wrong” or bad or harmful. The homesteader high seemed to really hit around 2019, making this the seven-year itch moment. The moment we shift into a bit of a malaise around an idea or a commitment.

I personally experienced a full crunchy arc of growing up on a hobby farm, moving to the city and partying in college, living in L.A., having a quarter life crisis and getting certified to teach yoga, getting a corporate job, getting married, having kids, and then getting into essential oils (the gateway crunchy drug) and from there evolving into the person that I am now. I still use oils, herbalism, and homeopathy, but will also see a Western doctor if I need to, and we do have Advil in our house. However, I can see where the razzle-dazzle of the curated pretty farm life is starting to disenchant the masses.

Living currently on about five acres in rural Tennessee with a pair of babydoll sheep and a garden larger than my living room, I have little room to talk. I also spent quite a bit of time online, only showing myself in floral dresses while harvesting from the garden and cooking healthy meals without showing myself messy in yoga pants. The reality is that I am quite “normal” and modern, getting groceries delivered, indulging in a quick burger from time to time, and, dare I say, even wearing non-natural fibers occasionally. I also went through a very gentle parenting phase and have adjusted that mentality too - exchanging it for something more nuanced and more authentic to me and my family dynamic.

What I see has changed

What feels like it’s changed, and where I see women departing from the homesteader identity is that they got lost in it. They couldn’t find true community without judgment. Couldn’t keep up with modern demands and also dig out a root cellar and grow a year’s worth of jalapenos, or find the time to make them into salsa and can them, while helping kids with homework, shopping at Target without shame, and drinking a Diet Coke over pebble ice. Too many emotionally fueled wrongs and rights are pulling them in different directions.

Also, logistically and energetically, it’s a ton of work. If you did get inspired, move to the country, and buy a milk cow, you’ll realize you literally have no days off. You’re keeping more things alive than a five-year-old with a Tamagotchi at Christmas.

The desire to feel off-grid, analog, down-to-earth, and confident in nature is very real. That chest-deep ache to return to our roots is still very real. But now, after a seven-year appeal to the pretty pioneers, I feel like we’re evening out and taking on a new shape.

90s Butter Mom

The 90s Butter Mom has come into the frame (again, another trend), but what it feels like is the actual embodiment of the Martha Stewart mentality (which never went out of style). And we’re seeing the culture go through a bit of a renaissance. We’re painting again and doing crosswords, indulging in some off-brand whims - still gardening and cooking, but maybe we realized that investing in a $5,300 freeze dryer is impractical.

We’re balancing out and being okay with the tension of wanting to do it all and also ordering takeout.

We’re realizing that the village is made up of all personalities and preferences, and being too literal can leave us in a lurch.

We aren’t sweating the small stuff and maybe even being caught allowing the kids to wear a graphic t-shirt with a character on it (for the love of God, why are the t-shirts so ugly though?!).

What I’m seeing in real time

What I’m seeing in client homes around the country, and where I’ve felt a shift, particularly in the last six months, is here: women don’t want to perform for any audience - real or imagined. They want to feel free to be both.

• Both crafty and buying things pre-made.

• Both teaching their kids to cook and also sending them to school.

• Both treating a fever with egg white socks and also giving them ibuprofen when you can’t get them comfortable.

• Both wearing mascara and doing gua sha.

• Both drinking oat milk lattes and growing your own chamomile for tea.

I’m seeing women build beautiful spaces outside their homes for growing food without the precious and somewhat fearful energy of perfectionism and unapproachability. We want to live outside and tied to the seasons, but not abandon all forms of ease and convenience. We want to eat clean, but also host dinner parties with margaritas made from the limes off your tree.

I’m seeing people deeply committed to growing food and re-attaching to where it comes from, without letting it capsize their personalities. They’re fully embracing the bothness of it all.

Do I think homesteading is going out of style - no way. However, I do think the basic principles of how it’s embodied are shifting and normalizing. It is becoming easier to attain and be excited about, but in a way that is more homestead-lite. More every-man, and less farmette aesthetic.

The all-consuming homesteader ideals are beautiful, but after 7/10s of a decade, have become a bit tired. I’m seeing women lean into a more case-by-case “this is how I do it” vibe that reads culturally as a reclamation and redefinition of the feminine mystique. It’s taking the fangs out of feminism, tradwifeism, or otherwise named ways to be a woman, and instead unfolding as the purer form of what we’re doing: feeling free.

You can order my book, Kitchen Garden Living, here. Book a design consult here. I’m on Instagram here.

We have a project in Nashville right now and sourced these gorgeous vintage urns on a pedestal to be placed within some garden beds. It all felt very right until we added some espalier pear trees and more cut flower landscaping - the frills of the plants themselves started to clog the flow of the design, so we pulled back on the urns and sourced a simpler item. Now they anchor the space with a quiet confidence while the plants get to do the dazzling.

The vibe

The vibe I am most often hired to bring to life is the European/Cotswolds interpretation in an American space. This means making the new feel old and marrying the modern with the timeless. Function and form in harmony.

One of my favorite brands that does this very well is Olive Ateliers. Their current collaboration with Pamela Anderson is just beyond a chef’s kiss. They curate collected and found objects, but are starting to make some as well. It’s purely delicious, and like eating at a Michelin-starred restaurant, can come with a price. Worth it, as the mission is to invest in pieces that you love so much you want to leave them behind for future generations. However, we often try to source in a high-low way that doesn’t leave clients fully depleted financially.

Read more

I had tried to avoid “trading time for money” and working with clients for at least a decade, as the trend has been all about courses and “passive income”, which I could never master. I almost fell into the trap of exposure = worth, and instead listened to my intuition about it, landing me in the perfect place.

I am one of those annoying people who claim that their business exploded overnight. It is sort of the truth. Under the surface, I was doing massive work in my personal life, taking ruthless inventory of what I enjoyed doing and cutting out all the rest. But after taking a deep dive into some of my patterns, I was finally able to unlock a piece of the puzzle. Then the career piece of my life fell into place, and overnight, I saw change.

If you’ve been around for a while, you may have seen the arc from content creator to designer in real time, but if you want to know more about how it all unfolded and the massive breakthrough that really got me to where I am now, then read on.

Where I was

When I moved from California to Tennessee two years ago, I had just written a book and was waiting for it to be published. I was a content creator in the gardening space, I was doing some speaking, and I was doing garden design very quietly on the side. I had a subscription gardening business that taught people how to garden and did online classes on garden design. I didn’t go to school for design, but I have a strong background in art and construction, having taken art classes and photography for years, as well as helping build and fix our houses and perform various farm fixing tasks. I grew up in a very blue-collar yet artsy family and can speak to the value of osmosis - so much just sunk in. This will sound ridiculously flimsy to a landscape architect, but the bulk of my current work is founded on the design side of creating the vision, and the build side has been formed on-site over the years.

I attribute a lot of our design company's success to being nimble and resourceful. We can get things done quickly and in an approachable way - sticking to our niche of pretty vegetable gardens. It’s a little bit like a making bolognese, just to get the garden built at a basic level - there are a few common ingredients we rearrange every time (like footings for stone, and irrigation, weed fabric, pea gravel, etc.). The artistry comes in a layer on top of that. It’s been time and discernment - thousands of hours finding the “just right” stone, tables, and trellises, as well as my personal experience gardening for my family, that gives me the edge of what we can make/fix/break to get a desired result. It’s not meant to be rocket science - as a designer, you’re meant to dynamically see something blank and then translate it into a space.

As a teenager, when my rebellious years kicked up, my parents would punish me by making me assemble furniture without instructions or do heavy labor chores around the house - I put a porch swing together, took all the shingles off our roof, replaced the house siding, fixed our water well, etc.

None of this made sense until I started to design my own gardens. It was clear, however, that I had a knack for seeing the natural world and landscape, construction, and building from the ground up. Pattern recognition and a weird memory that mixes with a feeling of what will combine to create harmony.

We’ll get back to that; however, about two years ago, upon moving, I thought I was going to become a full-time author. I had been designing gardens and spaces in California for a couple of years upon request, and my husband (always ahead of me on what I need) kept telling me to lean into it more - he was so confused by why I didn’t go full send on the work. I even made a little flyer I was going to send out around town (old school guerilla marketing), because I was too afraid to really claim design publicly and via social media. So I buried that part of my work and kept pushing through on the “how to garden” content.

Book deal & ego death

I love writing and loved the book writing process, and really saw that achievement as the destination - the cure for a bit of aimlessness in my career. You can read about that more here, but it eventually led to a massive ego death and one of the best occurrences in my adulthood.

The book was a beautiful manifestation - a real legacy moment where I could endow the world and my children with a manifesto when it comes to gardening in modern life. A dream come true for all of us writers, and also a moment in time that shook me awake to a lot of beliefs I had around what made me worthy.

After the book came out, I felt a very common, now what. I had an emptiness that I fully trusted the universe would fill. I wanted no answers, just space to respond.

My how-to garden content was falling flat; the book helped showcase my credibility, but for what? I remained open to the answer, all the while saying no in a way that only made sense to me.

The TV Offer

As my book journey was unfolding, I was working with a videographer/director on a business partnership where I was showcasing how to use a greenhouse year-round. I loved it! We created great videos, and it was a fantastic partnership for everyone. My videographer was an Emmy-award-winning director and thought we really had something that could be formatted for TV. We talked and talked about shooting a pilot. We also put feelers out there for our show concept, and had a bite.

We put a pitch deck together, really got into brass tacks on how the show would run, and took a call with a massive TV network. They loved the idea and felt confident about pushing through to make it a reality - we just needed that pilot.

At that juncture, though it seemed we had a great opportunity on a silver platter, I declined it. I was willing to come out of pocket for a pilot and to help even secure sponsorship for the show, but I knew deep down it was an ego play. I realized that TV is a distribution deal, and it’s a credibility thing. However, I could do the same thing on YouTube myself if I wanted to - build that audience, invest in good video and production, and go the distance.

I kept telling my sweet director, who had now become a dear friend, that if it was indeed a divine plan, it would be easy. A felt “yes”. I wouldn’t be able to stop the progress, as it would evolve on its own and take its own shape. And after my declining of the offer, the idea fizzled out, too. I believe so wholeheartedly in co-creation, and this to me was a signal that it wasn’t meant to be, or it wasn’t the right time.

Say yes when it feels right

Much like the feeling I needed for the TV deal (and never got), when it came to designing gardens for clients, the job chose me. As I was videoing greenhouse content and declining TV offers, I had people reaching out about their properties, and it was an immediate pull to say yes. It was filling this open-ended ‘what now?’ question without me really doing anything. I was literally showing up on properties and building gorgeous spaces.

I’ve talked (here) about how the land and plants communicate with me, and walking a property is an instant download. Visiting a place and getting to honor its potential is a gift that I cherish and work hard now to cultivate and explore. Another thing that feels almost too precious to share - I’ve deeply grappled with how public I am about this, but it sort of seeped out of me.

Once I started tackling client design projects, I quickly built a team around me and never looked back. I have licensed landscape architects on staff, project managers, a 2D rendering artist, and so on. I carry the vision and know how to bring it to life, but we have additional professionals coming in to support.

The point being that it all unfolded with a loose hand - nothing forced, just felt right and easy. This is where all the work of knowing yourself comes into play.

The work I did to get here

The inner work that I did to get here was not about “how do I become a garden designer”, it was about how do I understand and express my worth. How do I remain open to what my gifts are without feeling indebted to the universe or like I’m begging God for answers? I realized that I had this very deep-rooted belief (lots of unpacking childhood and shadow work) that my needs didn’t matter. If I had needs, it would be a burden. I started to explore my relationship with money and why I felt a bit repelled by it. I started to look at why I shrink when it comes to saying what I charge, because I didn’t actually trust and believe I deserved it. I had no basis for what it felt like to have a positive, energetic exchange. It was always about working for approval, not for feeling satisfied with how I expressed my gifts.

I realized that playing small and not fully investing in my various areas of work was me trying to stay safe. I wanted to stay in a zone of ambiguity. I didn’t want to be labeled as a thing I couldn’t sustain, or could disappoint someone by. An author writes best-selling books, a designer has a degree and a fancy certificate, and a creator gets millions of likes. I had this very linear view of success and how it defines you - a very external and common assumption about how it all works.

I dedicated three weeks (doing TBM work) to unpacking my relationship, specifically with money. After seeing my old patterns, I was able to forgive myself and see my decisions and business in a new light. Within six weeks (I did the money challenge specifically), my financial goals were surpassed, and my design business was thriving so much so that I closed down all other aspects of work (influencing and the gardening subscription, etc.). This is when I hired help and went full steam ahead.

I woke up one day and truly felt like I had landed in my perfect career, quite accidentally! I loved designing gardens and getting to know people - bringing a vision to life that would fulfill them. But I hadn’t fully trusted that it was my calling, until I was immersed in it, whether it worked out or not.

This transformed many things for me - my friends kept commenting on how my style seemed so on point, how my vibe on Instagram had changed, and I just seemed more me - more put together in my unique way. It was so bizarre to have the outside world reflect a different inside world without going out and doing anything wildly different.

Find the energetic exchange that works for you

What really became distilled in me was that there is no perfect job or opportunity. There are simply energetic matches. Even as a designer, there are elements of what I do that are not my strength, and I outsource that - I make it so clear that I can be better used elsewhere. I long ago realized throwing the baby out with the bathwater was old perfectionism. Instead, we supplement, iterate, outsource, delegate, and create a masterpiece in concert with many parts and people.

I also learned to listen to the yes and no pulls. It does not have to make sense. So many people think I’m crazy for not going the TV route, but it simply didn’t feel right or important for me. Who knows - maybe someday it will. For now, doing simply very good work is so satisfying.

Lastly, on being seen

The wildest shift that really changed everything for me was realizing that so many opportunities would unlock for me when I was genuinely acting out of a place of love and authenticity - not contrived plans and strategies to get from x to z. I didn’t blow up on social media or get a ton of new exposure. In fact, many of my clients have been following me for years, and it didn’t click to hire me until I showed up in the right way - able to be fully seen.

For a tighter glimpse at some insider info, I’m digging into how I made decisions matching income and energy, as well as some designer pricing below the paywall - very in the weeds if you’re interested!

You can order my book, Kitchen Garden Living, here. Book a design consult here. I’m on Instagram here.

Read more

I designed the turndown service, curated exquisite in-room backgammon sets, developed a flight of bath salts to be ready upon arrival for washing away a travel-weary guest, and wrote and sourced an in-room guidebook for hidden gems in the area. I walked the path from the hotel's front door to the exit a hundred times to be sure the journey was really intentional.

What made this hotel cool and exceptional was that it (among the others in the portfolio) was meant to give you a sense of place. A sense of belonging where your feet are. This property is in Laguna Beach, CA (Hotel Joaquin), and we wanted you to get that feeling (heavy emphasis on feeling) that you were fully enveloped in the high-touch Laguna inner circle.

Now at client properties, we are tasked with that same course, though most people can’t put their finger on it. Why do they want what they want, and if it conflicts with the surroundings, why does something you thought you loved feel off? Or how does something surprising and different feel so right?

It’s all about a sense of place.

Example:
I live in a town called Leipers Fork. It was once (and still in some areas is) very Deliverance. It’s old silver oak wooden barns with rolling green hills and black-painted horse fences. Stone walls from the Civil War still stand, and big colonial-style farmhouses purvey the land alongside wooden shacks without insulation. It’s a pocket of artists (many famous country music stars, but also art artists) and affluent homesteaders, as well as many entrepreneurs and very “designed life” families.

If you build a house here, modern, art deco, mid-century, new meant to look new, feels so off. Ripping out a wood deck to pour concrete will take the soul from the place and serve your need without considering the larger surroundings. It’s like planting a banana tree in an oak forest.

Believe it or not, landscaping (what is often called foundation planting) around your home is a huge part of the curb appeal and what gives you the visual harmony of ‘rightness’ and the physical feeling of belonging.

To run your property through the checklist, or to start brainstorming what would work well, below are my tips for creating a sense of place with the plant and property design.

Read more

Now, let’s talk about what to wear to run a design firm, muck a sheep stall, and pull carrots all on any given Tuesday.

Some fun facts:

• I don’t shop very much and love to thrift, but do buy pieces each season, typically to keep my wardrobe fresh and the current version of me

• I rent clothes a lot to test out trends and dress for specific occasions

• I often change my clothes two or three times a day

• I dress based on my 1. mood/ the vibe required for my day 2. function (hence all the changing)

• I get dressed every day with makeup and an outfit, unless it’s truly a chore day or a sick day

After my third child turned two years old, I realized that my sense of personal style had totally collapsed. Also, from age 30 to 38, a lot happens, and I grew up in a new way, so to speak. And so did my sense of style and dressing. While I still don’t take it all too seriously and rarely spend upwards of $200 on any one item, I love love love to feel put together and just a touch elevated.

We have three categories below for this edit: pants, shoes, and hats. Tops/blouses/sweaters/jackets and dresses/skirts are for another day.

Read more

It’s fun to examine what a limitless budget can look like (I often get “no budget” clients and love to see where each family places their value in the build), though through experience, there is always a maximum that can be found. In this case, there is a very high-low feeling to Beckham’s garden, without it actually looking that way. No doubt this amount of land and labor for installation would be hefty, but the concept itself is quite approachable. We love this! Like always, it’s a great reflection of the gardener themselves. Beckham is a borderline OCD type person (no shade, I swear he’s said this), who is clean and tidy and obsessed with organizing, yet he’s very hands-on. He’s not afraid to make the jam, keep the bees, and shake a freshly pulled-up onion free from its compost bed. The garden reflects those dichotomies, and the greenhouse plays into it all nicely - a statement and an investment as an anchor.

I get asked often to design “Cotswolds” style gardens, and David’s is literally located in rural Oxfordshire in the village of Grand Tew. There are some common elements to his estate, but it is also proof that even famous gardeners have some humble aspects to their designs. You just can’t beat some function, no matter how fancy you want to be.

The kitchen garden itself lends itself to being a fun mashup of utilitarian and frivolous, and in this case, there is very much that ‘rightness’. My opinion is that your garden should be designed like any other room in the home - with intentionality and care. There should be a feeling you get in the space, and a beckoning coming from it.

Let’s unpack David’s space and see how we could source similar elements to bring to life on your own property.

You can order my book, Kitchen Garden Living, here. Book a design consult here. I’m on Instagram here.

Overall scheme

The garden overall reads formal, and because of that, I’m calling it French potager in style as opposed to cottagey or farmhouse. Clean lines and these little pathway hedges that lead to the greenhouse add a level of French focus. It has fun elements like the espalier tree rows and some custom trellises that add gobs of charm and serve great windbreak functions. He’s adorned the garden with functional decor, aka trellises and cages, that are also very “I actually garden.” This also qualifies the space as being very lived-in and actually tended.

Pathways

Beckham has kept the grass for pathways, which is impressive. Great call. You can see wide enough rows for mowing, and though I have no idea what his irrigation looks like, with the low wood-edged beds, it would be easy to replace anything that rots or warps over time should the grass be irrigated. The green grass look is so verdant and really gives a garden-just-off-the-kitchen vibes that tone down the potager feel. It’s honestly so fresh and much more sustainable than pea gravel at that scale.

Raised beds

These are very shallow oak raised beds, which are really just a way to keep things tidy. I’d guess they’re six inches deep, if that. Beckham follows the no-dig method made famous by beloved Charles Dowding (truly the most lovable gardener), so I imagine the beds are giving a tidy structure that his disposition enjoys. It does look like these beds have a 45-degree mitered edge, which is a pretty touch. That’s when you mill each board so they kiss at the corners, creating a point and seam, as opposed to bumping one board up against the other. On a small scale like this, it’s sustainable. With more depth, the corners can pull apart due to soil pressure and water warping.

Edging and fencing

There is a total lack of edging, which surprises me, and it is a less expensive choice, though I imagine he just didn’t want it. They’ve just cut into the grass, and then it looks like they mulched over any exposed soil. The reason we add edging is to contain soil or add decorative elements like steel or stone. It’s both function and form, though in this case, you don’t really notice it. It gives Beatrix Potter garden vibes versus a highly designed space, and I love that.

The fence is a common white picket, a charming choice, and again, most unexpected. It adds a layer of fun to the space that brings the formality down a notch as well.

Glass greenhouse

Beckham’s massive greenhouse is made by Alitex and has the highly sought-after stone skirt and finial detail - very Victorian era. Here’s where the humble no edges and low beds take a bow to the queen of the space, the glass house.

The interior has fun black and white checkered flooring, dropped lights, and great shelf and table space, plus the pretty old-fashioned furnace.

The exterior has a warm-toned stone to complement the charcoal color with large double doors and massive glass panels. You see the finials that run along the roof line (which can always be added on to any structure, btw) and at focal points on the pitch of the roof.

Pots, cloches, and trellises

I love the use of texture and materials in this space. Beckham has glass cloches, wire cloches, willow trellises (custom-made by Jay Davey - get ready to swoon), pine trellises, and more. It all flows through and reads actually like a home garden. Like the owner himself does the add-ons, and stakes things as he goes, which is certainly the impression that is given. Though from experience I know that a garden this large takes a bit of a crew to maintain. However, it has everyday gardener handprints on it, as opposed to someone who had this all mapped out at the start - and in a good way.

The pots at the front of the greenhouse are nothing special, but I love the trees there and how they tone down the warm stone. These would be an easy touch for anyone feeling like their space is blah and the greenhouse is too obtrusive.

The use of large oval wire cloches is fantastic, as they are quite common and easy to find. Very useful, honestly, but storing them is the issue when you have a high volume of them.

For the custom willow trellises, I see some supports for the espalier trees, and what look like A-frame trellises for perhaps cucumbers, and some gorgeous tall round supports that could be for something like floppy flowers or rhubarb.

It’s so fun to get to follow this garden from the start of the journey to a magazine spread and see how someone in the public eye, no matter how controversial or wealthy, can bring a space to life.

When it comes to cost, I think anyone would assume that this is an expensive build, and though it’s quite large, the high costs would be the greenhouse, the espalier trees themselves, the compost, and the custom supports (in that order). If the sod was new, that could tack on a hefty price, but there aren’t many lavish expenses here on the grounds in terms of beds and edging, pathways, stepping stones, etc..

All this to say, it’s quite achievable, and I am impressed by how approachable it is.

The edit

To shop my interpretation of the space, HERE are some goodies for you from pots to boots (I also have these same ones David and his daughter wear and LOVE them).

Don’t forget to check Facebook Marketplace, the local thrift, and Chairish. We truly don’t need anything new when most everything already exists and can be found.

Hope you loved this deep dive - who should we do next??

Now, I have grown my own brassicas for years, never dedicating enough space to fully replace them for the year, but certainly enough for us to enjoy them entirely during their appropriate season and never buy them during spring or winter. This is actually quite important, as seasonality impacts nutrition and flavor, with the most beautiful piece being that after you harvest your broccoli, its antioxidants and vitamin C content start to drop. This means that your homegrown harvest has the highest potential when it comes to health and flavor.

Having grown in two different climates, my experience is that fall-grown brassicas are happiest. Early spring is doable, but it's more blah and harder to get to fully form. Your sun exposure needs to be precariously perfect, and you have to get seeds started indoors (mine start in the greenhouse) earlier than you think (February here in Tennessee). Alas, I still grow them, of course, and love to dance on the line of forgetting when to start them and throwing caution to the wind each year.

As with all my grow guides, I’ll be sharing only what I have actually done and know to be true. Each vegetable is one that I have been able to grow successfully in abundance for multiple seasons. I’ll cover everything from sun to spacing, pests, and more.

Though I talk about “brassicas”, in this instance we’re only covering broccoli and cauliflower and leaving out the rest (Brussels sprouts, kale, cabbage, kohrabi, rutabaga, turnip, and bok choi), as there is some nuance with each.

Read more

Of course, I’d pay to have the seeds overnighted, arriving at my home in Tennessee wrapped in a damp paper towel and stuffed into an old pack of Extra gum. This is very me-coded, because I have a life theme. A purpose. A pursuit. I will never reach a destination on it- I will never complete it, overcome it, or achieve it. I may get sick of it. But the journey will never be done. I couldn’t possibly know all there is to know about plants - my specific interest being in edible and medicinal plants.

Just today I went to the nursery and discovered about six varieties of bee balm. How exquisite, I thought - I wonder if all of these are medicinal, or if they’re best as ornamentals. How will their petals display? Will they overwinter? No need for Googling - I’ll uncover what’s true in my garden. I may never grow these again, or perhaps I’ll become totally enamored by them. Who’s to know?! That’s half the fun.

A few weeks ago, I was walking the back nine acres of a client’s property, and he was asking about his own human nature, and also asking for advice. He was debating if it would be better to invest now, all at once, in his projects on the estate, or rather to slowly take them on based on priority - sort of a needs vs wants triage. His natural inclination is to want everything done, now. Unfortunately, I’m not the person to ask. I don’t expect my property to ever be done. It will evolve with time and my interest - I have no desire to rush it. I’m savoring it. As a professional, of course, “now” is best because that gets you on my schedule and allows me to do my work for you quickly. Invoices and such.

The conversation was left with a resolution that mixed both. Let’s prioritize all that we can, and tackle what’s out of sight and less burdensome until later. This is also when I started designing what I call “chef’s gardens”. These are small gardens near the house on a large estate that supply you with the season’s most common herbs and veggies, and a larger potager (French-style full-scale kitchen garden to replace the grocery store) elsewhere on the property that is less convenient to access, but built for higher volume and to be a destination on the grounds.

All this milling around and chatting confirmed something within me: we should all have a lifelong pursuit. A soul thing we whittle away at. The point of it is to do it often and let it take time. To be unhurried and immersed. To get to know yourself through the process of evolving within your pursuit. It anchors us to ourselves, leaving the world an Easter egg hunt where your thing is hidden amidst cultures, histories, art, and the everyday.

In the example of my own family, we each seem to have found our thing. My mother is a lifelong sewer. She is very crafty and can make anything, but has really taken to sewing throughout it all. She’s even in a sewing circle here in Tennessee and is teaching my daughter to sew. She’ll always be making patterns, ad hoc developing fun stuffed animals, and taking ideas and making them her own.

My father, though no longer with us, was a teamster. He dedicated his free time to learning how to lead a team of mules in driving wagons. He was in clubs, had many wagons, had many teams of mules, and was well-known for this old skill. It was a pursuit he was learning about and perfecting until the moment he passed.

My stepfather is an open-fire cook. Loves dutch ovens and coals and racks. He’s developed what he calls an “apparatus” that he is tweaking and testing. It’s a giant rebar arch that you can hang meat and produce from or even a dutch oven, to hover above a fire. Our family is most happy when cooking outside, and Den is the master, trying new recipes, creating new ways of doing things.

Not just a hobby

I think the distinction here is that these are not mere hobbies. They’re a part of our lives. They’re woven into the rhythm of our days, and it’s unimaginable to envision a home without our soul element being a part of it. A hobby is very pick-up-and-put-downable; it comes and goes, but it may not inform who you are. It’s for fun. This soul pursuit is more life-giving. It’s a part of your expression and your purpose. It can’t be extricated from who you are, as it sits at the right hand of your identity.

I actually am a total hobbyist and love to dabble in things like pickleball (who doesn’t love a sport with cute outfits?), playing cards, crafts, etc., but these are tools for destressing, for fun, to do with my family, and to give myself recreation. My soul thing however, is something that is ongoing and often occupies my thoughts, takes me into deep research, and is an undercurrent that runs below all that I do. I can’t take a trip without noticing the local flora and fauna, can’t watcha a movie without noticing if the landscape matches the time of year being pictured. It’s just a thing that lives within me, adding a rich layer of curiosity and enjoyment to my inner world.

Some historical figures who agree with me (for funsies)

Out of curiosity, I decided to do some research on this - confirm my hunch that this is indeed a thing that is important, if you will. Turns out quite a few notable personalities were deeply committed to a permanent side quest. Einstein was a violinist - so much so that music would have been his next endeavor if resident genius to humanity didn’t take precedence. He said it helped him think and opened up parts of himself that logic couldn’t unfold.

More obscure and even more fun, Napoleon’s wife, Empress Josephine, was a rose fanatic, having one of the most famous rose gardens in history. She collected over 250 varieties at a time when that was nearly impossible, funded botanical expeditions, and commissioned the painter Redouté to document every.single.one. Her rose garden outlasted her marriage and the empire.

Though we know her for other reasons, Beatrix Potter was a lifelong mycologist, drawing mushrooms and even passionately trying to pursue their study as her line of work. Originally drawn in due to their fairyworld looks and charm, eventually she began to paint them. There’s such cool history here - a story about her and a Scottish postman (Hallmark, please make this a movie) who encouraged her to paint her mushrooms more detailed and more seriously. She went on to write a paper titled "On the Germination of the Spores of Agaricineae," presenting it to the Linnean Society, which did not yet offer memberships to women. Her uncle presented the paper on her behalf in 1897. Eventually, everything was overshadowed by her Peter Rabbit series, which became a professional focus, leaving her love of mushrooms a soul-pursuit (my words, not hers).

'The field rose steeply in front of them like a green wall, with blue sky and white clouds above. Many ferns grew at the edge of the wood. Beyond the fringe of ferns there was a colony of yellow funguses spotted about on the turf.' – Beatrix Potter in A Walk Amongst the Funguses, the unpublished sequel to The Fairy Caravan

Finding your soul pursuit

I went searching for my thing. My poor husband had to endure hundreds of walks where I talked about being “meant for something,” and I had no clue it would be gardening. Even when I started gardening, I didn’t realize the impact it would have on me. It all felt quite trite, really. However, I was trying new things and seeking advice from many others during that soul-searching time.

I think ego had a bit to do with my younger years of wanting to really be someone and do something major, hence why I found my own life theme amidst total play and frivolity - pure curiosity and exploration. Not something cool, something I just uniquely wanted to do. I hadn’t considered gardening as anything other than a granny hobby, and in that freedom, I found an outlet I never could have guessed would become not only a massive theme in my life, but my vocation.

There are a few deliberate actions that I would recommend if you’re feeling like, “What’s my thing?”…

1. Track your consolations and desolations. I had a friend who was a former priest. You’d never guess it - blonde hair, blue eyes, surfed every day, full of piss and vinegar. Man, he gave the best advice. He told me to track what gave me life and what took life from me. Literally get a notebook and write down the tiny things that make your day amazing and the ones that you dread. Notice the patterns and change your life accordingly. For me, this became quite pivotal in understanding how much I need to work without a lot of structure, love sales, and also need a lot of solitude. It didn’t do a darn thing for getting me closer to my love of gardening, but it did start to teach me about myself, and that’s the first step. I did realize here that I have a creative itch that lives inside of me, relentlessly asking for attention. I love any creative expression and need that daily. It also helped me know when I found my thing - I came alive in a way that I never had before.

2. Start to tackle the “someday” statements. This is where things picked up speed for me. Someday I’ll bake my own bread, have a garden, play tennis, dive for abalone in search of pears, etc. Go start to tackle the things on your list literally this week. No such thing as someday, babe. I got very curious and pursued all interests that came in around age 30 - this single step is probably the most impactful.

3. Sit and think about the people who you admire, and a version of yourself that is ideal - highest and best version of you. What do they do? Where do they go? How are they different than you are now? What does that type of person do for fun? What do they want to explore? Do those things now. Try it on for size. This is how people become amateur folk art collectors, home coffee roasters, or take on silversmithing and spending their summers in Italy studying the craft. It’s a tiny nudge towards a higher and more settled self. It’s the very first step of unfolding, often only realized in hindsight.

4. Brick your phone. Without space and time, you can’t hear those inner whisperings or feel bored enough or be itchy enough to want to do something new. I use a Brick to close down all apps (yes, I battle phone addiction like the rest of the world), and it helps me reclaim my humanity.

While you’re in the exploration phase, I would be remiss to mention some tools that I love exploring that have all added color to my journey of authentically knowing myself and my purpose. It’s been fun to see how my soul-pursuit is a part of the mix and shows up in unique ways throughout all of my endeavors.

Get to know yourself tools

To Be Magnetic is a manifestation program that is rooted in neuroscience. This is all about getting to know who you are at the core, and building a life from that authentic place. Inner child work and lots of unblocking old patterns and wounds and rewriting the story. This work has undoubtedly changed my life.

Gene Keys are fairly new to me, but they talk a lot about your unique path in life and how you experience the world. Similar to Human Design, and really helpful in shedding light on why you have certain emotions and patterns.

Enneagram is so fascinating and more like a personality test angle. It’s so fun to do research on your enneagram number (you’re somewhere from a 1 - 9) and how you express yourself and present in the world. When people know the enneagram and you tell them, “Oh, I’m a 4”, they instantly know you better - it’s like a hidden language that’s fun to learn and share.

Human Design has really opened my eyes in this specific way: it’s helped me accept my natural inclinations and behaviors and understand how to make them strengths, alongside how to process and accept my weaknesses. Hearing how other people manage situations from the perspective of their HD chart is so helpful for me.

An astrological chart is an obvious one, but you can’t just Google your horoscope. Getting to know your unique star chart, the planets in your houses, etc., is really useful for seeing your own energy like a wave - working with or against the current is easier when you align with the stars. I honestly think it’s worth having someone read your chart so that you can lean into each area of it with intention - this can take away feelings of swimming against that current or feeling misaligned.

Not your job

While I did end up turning my love of gardening into a career, that is not necessary. We do not need to monetize all the things or even share them. We simply enjoy them and weave them into our lives. I personally found myself unable to resist my passion for growing things, and as the rise of influencer culture arose, I thought it was a natural fit to pair sharing about gardening with staying home with my kids. Eventually, as my kids got older, my gardening how-to content grew up too.

Now, being in the thick of running my design business, I often end up out in the garden and re-epiphanizing that I love it. I’m honestly not even that great at teaching others how to garden because it’s more of an exploration and intuition for me now. I have to think waaaay more than I actually want to, to put into words how and why I do things my way.

For many, to be disconnected from your passion or purpose can feel inauthentic, and that’s where we collide with the Japanese concept of the ikigai.

If you must make it into work, make it ikigai

In Japanese culture, there is this concept of your reason for being. Your ikigai. Here is an example of mine, and it’s something I investigated for many years, trying to reverse engineer it. All of this really fell into place when I led with an authentic pursuit of what I loved first. The rest evolved, and I realized that I had landed somewhere special. It’s such a privilege to have the time and means to explore all of these somewhat esoteric and philosophical musings, so I want to hold space for that too.

I don’t think we need to dress all endeavors up in evening gowns and call them our life’s purpose, but I think having a soul pursuit is like having rose-colored glasses on. It allows you to sift through the sands of each chapter of your life with a throughline - a bookmark that moves with you as you turn pages.

Here’s to hoping you find yours and to giving yourself grace if you’re still searching.

You can order my book, Kitchen Garden Living, here. Book a design consult here. I’m on Instagram here.

I was in Maryland last year to promote my book and left absolutely charmed by the city. I bought a commemorative copper escargot pan from a quaint antique shop, drank coffee in a bookstore with a hidden cafe, and schmoozed with fellow authors at a local family’s estate. I met a man writing a book about list-making, a female biographer obsessed with American First Ladies, and a comic book illustrator. I felt entirely out of place and yet excited to be there. Mostly, I took dozens of pictures of May Day baskets, never seen before until now 😂.

I first learned about May Day from Martha Stewart magazine years ago. A tiny blurb about leaving small sachets of flowers on your neighbor’s doorstep and dodging away on the 1st of May. You may think of the maypole and cheery celebrations that bring us closer to summer’s energy. You’d also be right.

This time of year, Beltane, as marked by the Celts, is the threshold between spring and summer. Here in Tennessee, it’s the smell of cold rain on fresh grass and hot asphalt. It’s every shade of green and the first pops of pinks and yellows, but the time of year doesn’t get much modern attention because it’s tucked almost imperceptibly between spring and summer. The pattern I see is that this very mark of time lands right when you feel the cool air slip away, pests begin to emerge in the garden, and a general restlessness courses through everyone, from the school kids who are ready for a break and the squirrels who are rutting.

In the garden, we’re reaping the benefits of an early start. My broccoli, cauliflower, chives, spinach, kale, and almost my garlic are ready. Early spring has blessed those who busied themselves with seed starting at the end of winter.

In honor of this sweet day, I want to share some fun ways to celebrate it, as well as some of my favorite things that support the shift in seasons. Transitional times are often felt so subtly as a je ne sais quoi or a malaise. It’s our bodies adapting, our circadian rhythm changing pace to complement the sun and moon.

Read more

I explained that while doing a meditation a few months ago, I had a download. Now, brace yourselves because I do believe I have heard God/ my guides/ the universe talk to me multiple times (that’s not even the craziest claim I’m about to make). The message about purpose was this: you’re here to heal.

Ummm, excuse me? No, thank you. I do not feel called to heal other people, and I certainly have my hands full doing my own inner work.

However, I knew it really meant more of this: the work of healing is in noticing. It’s in bringing an awareness that was not there before, it’s in guiding through new knowledge, and directing the news to the ready recipient.

With garden design, this translates deeply for me. I’m often given this immediate image of how a property should be used, where the land wants us to work, what just feels right. The land informs me. Within that, the plants come forward too.

These are daily elements and spaces that people live within, as well as large investments, so I don’t take it lightly. In fact, science tells us how much gardening soothes humanity as a natural way to curb and manage depression and anxiety. It’s a moving meditation and often a life-long pursuit. So in my designs, we’re creating a container for an element of your life - your soul.

Back to this podcast pre-interview, and I said, “Well, I feel like plants talk to me. They communicate and get my attention, for a purpose.” She gasped, “Can we use this in the interview?!” Yes, I said, of course.

My great-aunt was a shaman in Switzerland, and I didn’t make the connection until recently, how this lineage may inform my instincts. She worked with plants, animals, guides, crystals, and more. What I realized overlaps in her very spiritual work and my seemingly practical work was the way the natural world communicates.

Here are some of the ways I interpret plant communication, so that you can notice it, or cultivate the skill on your own. While I do believe this is a gift, I think all gifts can be grown and stretched - learned to a degree, whether consciously or on purpose.

Read more