Gardening has always been about beginnings and endings, but this past year forced a deeper understanding of both. Losing my dad, watching my mother and sister walk through grief, and adjusting to my own limitations have made the garden an unexpected teacher about what it really means to start over.

Endings that knock you flat

This year brought my father’s final illness and death, and it knocked our family sideways. My mother, married to him for more than sixty‑one years, was literally prostrate with grief after the memorial; she could not walk and had to be carried to the car. My sister had been ground down by the months of caregiving and is slowly recovering her strength and joy.

There are still a hundred moments a week when a thought flashes through—“I’ll ask Dad,” or “I can’t wait to tell Dad”—and then the hard reminder that those conversations are no longer possible. Grief is not tidy, and it does not follow a calendar.

There is always another season

One thing gardening taught me early on is that there is always another season, even when the current one ends badly. A bed can

fail spectacularly one year and produce abundance the next with a few changes in soil, timing, or varieties. The losses are real, but the cycle keeps moving.

Mobility issues mean gardening in the ground is no longer possible; uneven soil and hidden holes are a recipe for a face‑first fall. Instead of giving up, the work shifted. Now the seeds are planted in people—through classes, talks, and writing that help others grow their own food in Dallas County and beyond, including the articles on AllAboutGrowingGuides.com and pieces for print and magazine websites.

Right plant, right place—and the same for life

Gardeners learn quickly that “right plant, right place” is non‑negotiable. Put a sun‑lover in deep shade, and no amount of coaxing will turn it into a showpiece. The same principle applies to this last third of my life.

If a book is not good, it is set aside instead of finished out of obligation, the same way a plant that does not fit the space is

pulled and replaced. Patience for red tape and time‑wasting shrinks, while patience for nurturing relationships and people grows. Plain speaking has always been a trait, and it is even more pronounced now; there is less interest in tiptoeing around hard truths, even if that means diplomacy awards will never be forthcoming.

Weathering the storms

Every gardener knows storms are part of the deal. Some bring much‑needed rain; others shred foliage and topple branches. Either way, the plants that survive are the ones that keep growing afterward.

The human version of that growth, right now, looks like continuing to read widely, attend Master Gardener trainings and talks, and keep practicing both writing and embroidery. Getting soaked is not pleasant, but storms are not optional. Sometimes they bring life, sometimes they take it, but there is always a way through, even if the path is muddy for a while.

Choosing what to cultivate next

Looking ahead, the plan is not a neat list of resolutions but a quiet decision about what to keep cultivating. That includes:

• Continuing to work with gardening and pet‑related businesses on content strategies and articles for print and the web.

• Teaching gardening through classes, talks, and online resources so more people can experience the satisfaction of growing their own food.

• Making time for embroidery and other creative work that offers both focus and rest.

Like a well‑tended garden, the next season will not be perfect. But it will be intentional, with energy going into the people, projects, and plants that have the best chance to thrive.