finding healing and hope in my first garden
Four years ago, I finally settled into my first real home after a decade of struggle—ten years of battling addiction and time behind bars. Now, as I walk through my backyard, hands in the soil, I feel a peace that reminds me of my grandmother’s old garden back in the Midwest. She used to say, "A garden is where you plant your future." I never understood that until now.
But gardening today isn’t what it used to be. My neighbors, some of them younger, are all about raised beds, hydroponics, and apps that tell you when to water. Meanwhile, I’m sticking to the old ways—digging with my hands, listening to the birds, letting the seasons guide me. Sometimes, I wonder if we’re losing something by making everything so technical. Is faster and easier always better? Or does it take a little struggle to really appreciate what grows?
Here in our North American climate, every plant feels like a gamble. The winters are harsher than I remember, and the summers can be brutal. My tomatoes barely survived last year’s heatwave, and the community rules about what I can plant sometimes make me feel like I’m back in prison. Why can’t I grow sunflowers by the fence? Who decides what’s beautiful or allowed?
Still, every morning, I see new life pushing through the soil—a reminder that healing takes time, and sometimes, the old ways have wisdom. I’d love to hear from others: Do you follow tradition, or do you embrace the new? Have you ever clashed with your neighbors or the HOA over your garden? Let’s talk about what it means to truly belong, to grow, and to heal—one season at a time.
#healinggarden #oldvsnew #gardeningdebate #Gardening
