Looking Back
My 2024 Garden
I don't always know what kind of season I'm going to have. Sometimes I plan everything out, only to watch it flop. Other times, I toss seeds in the dirt with crossed fingers and something beautiful shows up anyway.
But 2024? This garden was vibrant. Alive. It gave me peace and color and more tomatoes than I knew what to do with. It gave me the space to breathe. To sit. To be still, even when the world wasn’t.
Here’s a look back at what grew—and what stayed with me long after the harvest.
Who Shows Up When You Let Flowers Bloom
I planted an entire bed of pollinator flowers—zinnias, cosmos, sunflowers, and hummingbird vine. Not just for looks, but for the bees, butterflies, and whatever else needed a safe place to land.
And they came. Monarchs. Swallowtails. Bees of every size. Even a hummingbird who made the vine part of his morning route. They used the flowers, drank from the bee water stations I tucked around the garden, and made the whole space feel more alive than I could’ve imagined.
What it reminded me: You can plan the layout, plant the blooms, and cross your fingers… but you never really know who you’re planting for until they arrive. The visitors made all the hard work worth it.
The Zipper Queens and a Friendly Jumper
I had two golden orb weavers (or what we call zipper spiders here, because of the wild zigzag pattern they weave into their webs).Both of them found a tomato plant to make a home in—no complaints from me. Each one had a nest of tiny babies, and I caught stink bugs and leaf-footed bugs for them like a proper bug mom.
She was huge. Like, palm-of-my-hand huge. Honestly? She earned the tomato plant.
And then there was my spider. A jumping spider who grew up right alongside the garden. I watched her molt, grow, shift from adolescent to adult. She’d crawl on my hand like we’d known each other forever.
Why it mattered: The bugs and critters made it more than a garden—it became an ecosystem. A home. And watching them thrive in something I built? It made everything feel a little more meaningful for me.
The View From Where I Sat
I took this photo one afternoon after watering, wrangling weeds, and wondering if the squash bugs were trying to stage a coup.
I sat down, looked out over everything, and just… exhaled.
I’m thankful for a husband who works hard so I can homeschool our kids, dig in the dirt, and build this little life. I’m thankful to God for giving us work, peace, and a place to feel rooted when the world feels wobbly.
Even in 107° Texas heat, soaked in sweat and muttering at aphids, I’ve found peace here.
A Bouquet I Grew Myself
I didn’t use to grow flowers “just because.” But this year, I made space for beauty—on purpose.
And this bouquet made me ridiculously proud. Not because it was perfect. But because I grew it with my own two hands. From seed. From dirt. From love.
Sometimes, that's all you need to make a Tuesday feel like magic.
Y’all. I got nearly 50 pounds of tomatoes. And I’m still not done canning them. I’ll have enough to last a full year once I finish the rest.
The beefsteaks were the stars, but everything—from paste varieties to cherry hybrids—thrived like they had something to prove. I planted a mix of heirloom and hybrid, and the heirlooms outperformed everything. (They also tasted like summer should.)
When things actually work in the garden? Take the photo. Do the dance. Brag a little.
The Flops (and Fixes)
Not everything thrived. My corn and root crops? Flopped. Bad pollination, bad spacing, just...bad.
But this year (2025), I’m trying again—started the corn in seed trays, transplanted at 6 inches, and planted a denser block for wind pollination. So far? It’s looking amazing.
I also doubled my tomato plants to about 60 (yes, sixty), with more paste varieties for canning. We’re going big.
Final Thought
I didn’t grow everything I set out to. But I grew enough.
If this post leaves you with anything, I hope it’s joy. Let the amazing world around you remind you that even in the mess, something beautiful is always growing.
2025? I’m deep in my chaos gardening era. The plan is: there is no plan. And honestly? I’m not mad about it.
See ya out there—I'll be the one feeding bugs to a spider, whispering to my tomatoes, and pretending I totally meant to plant everything where it ended up.
