The other day, a lovely woman named Helen — one of our subscribers — dropped by the farm on her way to work.

She’d bought some DIY flower buckets from us a while back and wanted to say how much she’s been enjoying these daily musings (you’re very kind, Helen!).

We ended up chatting right there in the driveway about everything from teaching to flower farming to the oddities of daily life.
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Helen’s a retired teacher, thirty years in the classroom, and she had stories that could fill a book.

As she talked, it struck me how many of us have these remarkable little vignettes tucked away, the kinds of stories that deserve to be shared before they fade into family folklore.

You might not have a “subscriber list,” but you do have a circle of family and friends who probably don’t know half of what you’ve seen or done.

Sure, you can regale them over a glass of wine at Thanksgiving, but imagine if you wrote it down, your own personal newsletter, a small email circle among loved ones.

A little time capsule for your kids and grandkids to read someday. (Yes, I know, slightly morbid, but also kind of beautiful, right?)

Maybe make it a group effort.

Each week, someone takes a turn sharing whatever’s on their mind .. recipes, memories, musings.

Hold each other accountable to actually write.

Think of it as a modern-day chain letter, only less annoying and with fewer stamps.

One of Helen’s stories especially stuck with me.

Years ago, she had a student who’d been adopted from Korea and didn’t know a single word of English. Hearing that instantly transported me back to my own childhood.

For those who don’t know, my father was a diplomat for the South Korean government.

Thanks to his connections, our family was able to emigrate to the U.S., a near impossibility in the ’60s and early ’70s.

I was about seven, didn’t speak a word of English (though my parents did), and was promptly dropped into school mid-year.

It was scary and overwhelming, to put it mildly.

I don’t remember most of my teachers from those early years, actually, let’s be honest, from any of my school years (apologies to all of them) .. but I’ll never forget my very first one: Mrs. Cohen.

Formidable, but endlessly kind – an absolute angel who made my transition bearable.

And here’s the full-circle part: Helen recently reconnected with that same student from her classroom all those years ago, the child who once didn’t know a word of English.

Isn’t that something? Proof that a single act of kindness can ripple through time in the most beautiful ways.

Farm Happenings

We’re paying the price for our plant-buying enthusiasm — our backs and knees have lodged formal complaints — but oh, what a satisfying kind of pain it is.

Rows of new perennials are finally in the ground, and I can already see the future in my mind: berries glowing red, fruit trees blossoming, foliage thick and lush.

Do you do that too, mentally fast-forward to how magical it’ll all look next season? It’s the gardener’s version of daydreaming.

Farm cleanup continues, albeit slowly.

I’ve officially stopped pretending there’s an end in sight.

At this point, I’m embracing the “it’ll get done when it gets done” philosophy.

That’s the wisdom of age… or maybe just resignation. Either way, it’s oddly freeing.