This week, I was listening to a flower farm podcast and a concept came up that had me thinking.

The marigold concept.

Apparently, teachers sometimes use this analogy when talking about relationships and support systems.

And of course, it made immediate sense to me because… flowers.

In the garden, marigolds are rarely the star of the show.

They’re support plants.

They attract beneficial insects.

They distract pests away from more delicate crops.

They quietly do the work that allows other plants to thrive.

So when educators talk about “marigold people,” they mean the folks in your life who protect you, encourage you, buffer the hard stuff, and help you grow—often without needing any spotlight at all.

And then there are the walnut trees.

If you’ve ever gardened near one, you know exactly where this is going.

Walnut trees release a chemical called juglone into the soil.

It’s toxic to many plants.

Tomatoes, peonies, apples, roses—no chance.

Things just… struggle.

Or fail outright.

Not because they’re weak plants.

But because of what’s happening underground.

And yes, there are walnut tree people, too.

Sometimes they’re obvious.

Sometimes they’re subtle.

And sometimes (this part stings) they’re even family.

For me, my immediate family is absolutely my marigold patch.

They’re the ones who step in, cheer on, problem-solve, and protect the fragile stuff when things feel heavy.

And I’ve also learned… slowly, imperfectly… to keep some distance from the walnut energy.

Not with drama.

Just with boundaries.

Quiet ones.

Healthy ones.

Running a small flower farm has made this painfully clear.

Not every plant thrives in every environment.

Not every bed is meant for every crop.

And sometimes the kindest thing you can do—for your flowers and yourself—is move things to better soil.

What’s been sitting with me, though, is the other half of the question:

Am I being a marigold for others?

Honestly?

Sometimes yes.

Sometimes… less so.

Time is limited.

Energy is finite.

Winter is for rest.

But still, I’m making a conscious effort to show up where I can.

To protect rather than drain.

To support rather than compete.

To be a safe place to grow.

Because flowers remember their conditions.

And people do, too.

So here’s your gentle reminder for today and onward:

Honor your marigolds.

Give space to the walnuts.

And if you can, be a marigold for someone else.

Even quietly counts.

And have a wonderful weekend, my friend. Stay safe while we ride out the winter storm.