This Year I Planted a Garden...

Growing up, my grandmother and father had gardens. Big ones. The kind that took up serious real estate in the backyard and produced more than any family could eat in a season. And if I’m being honest? I took every bit of it for granted. I was a kid who wanted to be anywhere but outside in the summer heat, weeding rows and picking vegetables I didn’t appreciate yet.

Funny how life comes back around.

For the last twenty years, I’ve lived in places without garden space. A year here or there where it was possible, but mostly no. And somewhere along the way I started to miss it—not the weeding, but the idea of it. The connection to something growing. The satisfaction of walking outside and coming back in with dinner.

So this year I decided to just do it.

We rent, so I didn’t want to tear up the yard. I went with raised beds and grow bags instead—and can I just say, if you haven’t heard of grow bags, they are so cool. Fabric pots that breathe, drain beautifully, and you can move them around. I had never used them before and now I’m obsessed.

I used AI (Claude) to help me figure out exactly what to plant—specific to my area, what’s right for the season, and dog friendly just in case our pup decided the grow bags looked like a snack. Then I was off to the local garden center, grabbed hay from a nearby farm, and got to work.

Here’s what went in:

Tomatoes, peppers, squash, cucumber, jalapeño, all kinds of herbs, beans, green onions, okra, radish, and carrots. And zinnias—because my grandmother loved them.

{The beginning: started with hay on the bottom to take up space before putting down the soil}

{The next step: add the soil}

{Finally planting!}

{Lastly: the grow bags planted with seeds}

And then something unexpected happened.

When I finally got my hands in the soil, I just... stopped. No music. No podcast. No phone. Just me, outside, in the dirt, in the quiet. There is something genuinely therapeutic about having your hands in the earth. I don’t say that lightly. It felt grounding in the most literal sense of the word. If you haven’t put your hands in soil or your feet in grass lately, I’d encourage you to find a reason to. It’s good for the soul in a way that’s hard to explain until you feel it.

What I’m really excited about though is this:

Walking outside, seeing what’s ripe, and cooking from that. No list. No plan. Just whatever the garden offers that day becoming the meal. That’s the dream. That’s the version of cooking I want more of in my life.

I’ll be honest—even with twenty years in professional kitchens, I don’t know that much about gardening. I’m learning as I go. And that’s actually one of my favorite parts. Something new to figure out, something to be a beginner at, something that should—hopefully—reward me with food grown right in my own backyard.

Come along for the adventure. I’ll show you what flourishes. And even what doesn’t. Either way, we’ll learn something!