A Garden Of My Own

My dream is simple: I want a garden.

Colorful flowers growing wildly—sunflowers, daisies, daffodils, roses, zinnias, dahlias—brightening up my backyard. I imagine waking up in my robe and slippers, tea in hand, walking among the blooms, checking on them, and praying for the day ahead.

It sounds simple, doesn’t it? But as a toddler mom, I’ve often looked out my window at the breakfast table and instead felt guilty about the weeds completely taking over my beds. I want to spend our afternoons enjoying family time in the yard—and we do, as my little girl explores all the rocks and leaves and grasses—but the perfectionist in me struggles to rest in the middle of the overgrowth.

Lately, though, something has shifted. Call it nesting if you like, but as I prepare to welcome our second baby in February, I find myself full of fresh energy and inspiration. I want to create a space full of peace, play, prayer, and joy—a space that lifts my spirits instead of adding to my to-do list.

Part of my plan—the thing that really started it all—is simple: I imagine planting daffodils now so that bright yellow blooms will cheer me through those sleepy newborn weeks. It feels like a gift to my future self—a promise that beauty is coming.

It’s funny, though. I’m literally a flower farmer, yet when it comes to my own home garden, I’ve felt clueless about where to begin. Maybe that’s comforting for others to hear—that even those of us who grow thousands of dahlias can still struggle to start.

But I’m going for it. I’m dreaming, and I’m choosing grace—for myself, for my motherhood journey, and for my garden. I’m approaching gardening differently. I’m not chasing perfection. I’m chasing peace.

Gardening (like all hobbies) isn’t meant to make us feel guilty—it’s meant to bless us. To bring quiet satisfaction in watching something grow. To remind us that beauty can bloom in ordinary, messy places.

So my first step has been to give myself permission to start small. There’s no rule that a garden has to be perfectly landscaped or complete. The garden is meant to serve me, not the other way around. Scatter wildflower seeds in the sunlight, tuck a few bulbs into the soil, or plant just one raised bed of perennials. Sometimes the simplest gardens are the most joyful ones.

Planting with Purpose

As I plan, I’ve realized I want a garden that brings life through the seasons with as little stress as possible.

First, daffodils and tulips—these sunny yellow and soft pink blooms will be the perfect reminder of joy and new beginnings when my baby is born in February.

Around my daffodil and tulip bulbs, I’ll add low-maintenance perennials—lavender, shasta daisies, and yarrow—plants that thrive on the coast and come back year after year. These will be the backbone of an easy, forgiving garden.

And when May arrives, and I’m ready to step outside again, I’ll add our favorite flower of all: dahlias.

Why Dahlias Are the Perfect “Start-Small” Flower

If you’re new to gardening, dahlias are the perfect way to fall in love with it. They’re forgiving, endlessly rewarding, and absolutely breathtaking once they bloom.

Dahlias grow from tubers (which look like little potatoes) that you plant in spring. They love sunshine, well-drained soil, and just enough care to make you feel connected without feeling overwhelmed. Once they start blooming, you’ll have flowers for months—vases full of color, joy, and the quiet satisfaction that you did it.

At our family farm, that’s what we love most: helping people discover that connection. We grow our tubers with home gardeners in mind, because that’s where our own love for flowers began—in backyard gardens full of wonder, love, and laughter—not perfection.

Finding Joy, Not Guilt

A garden doesn’t need to be flawless to be meaningful. It just needs to be tended with a little hope.

Whether your garden is a single pot of dahlias on the porch or a whole row of blooms outside your kitchen window, give yourself grace. Let your garden serve you—not the other way around.

Start small. Start messy. But start.

And when you do, I bet you’ll grow more than flowers—you’ll grow a deeper passion for life, faith, and hope for the future.