Hi, I’m Holli, and I’m what you might call a “COVID gardener.” Like so many others, my journey into the world of home gardening began during one of the most tumultuous times in our collective history. But what started as a small project in my backyard has grown into something far more meaningful - something that has profoundly changed my life.
I was raised in Southeast Louisiana by two gardening enthusiasts - competitive by nature, my mom claimed the front yard, my dad the back, and the side yards became a battleground of planting strategies and quiet sabotage. I grew up watching their love for gardening manifest in vibrant landscapes, my childhood summers filled with the taste of sweet cherry tomatoes fresh off the vine and the thrill of watching bell peppers shift colors as if by magic.
When Hurricane Katrina uprooted my family in 2005, we relocated to the Pacific Northwest. My parents poured themselves into transforming a new landscape, turning the trauma of loss into something beautiful and allowing the process to help them heal. This time, it wasn’t about competing; it was about restoring.
Fast forward a few years to Southern California, where I now live with my husband and two young boys. My introduction to gardening came in the form of an 8x2 raised bed gifted to me by my father and uncle shortly after my first son was born. That bed became a lot of things - a Monster Jam arena, a miniature Jurassic Park, a playground for Japanese beetle larvae - but a garden was not one of them.
Life took a sharp turn in 2020 when COVID hit. Like everyone else, we were navigating a world of fear, isolation, and uncertainty. My business took off wildly in ways I hadn’t expected, and I was juggling virtual kindergarten for my oldest son, while parenting a special-needs toddler. I was drowning in stress and desperately needed something - anything - that felt grounding.
In early 2021, my parents visited and, sensing my exhaustion, suggested we revive my backyard garden. My mom said it might “bring a little color and light back,” and she couldn’t have been more right.
They let my oldest son take charge, which, if you know anything about oldest grandkids, means absolute free rein. He decided on five indeterminate tomato plants for that tiny space, alongside peppers, parsley, and mint (yes, mint in a raised bed - mistakes were made). Truthfully, my parents probably thought everything would die within weeks, but the process was what mattered.
To my surprise, my evening watering sessions became my sanctuary. I would step outside, leaving behind the stress of the day, and lose myself in the quiet task of caring for this little patch of life. I began noticing new leaves, anxiously searching for tiny tomato flowers, marveling at the resilience of these plants, and eagerly awaiting a harvest I was sure was just around the corner. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
Aphids moved in first, followed by downy mildew, and spider mites closed out the show. I was devastated but determined. What had gone wrong? I dove into the newly burgeoning world of gardening and homesteading YouTube, staying up late to research my growing zone and the science behind healthy soil. I learned about plant spacing (guidelines I’m still constantly testing), seasonal timing, and the delicate balance between planning and adaptation.
When I began starting my own seedlings, it was a revelation. Holding those tiny specks of life in my hands, I felt a profound connection to the process - a deep respect for the transformation that unfolds from seed to harvest. There’s a kind of magic in watching a tomato plant grow taller than me in a matter of months. It reminds me that growth takes time and care, and that even when things seem bleak, life has this incredible way of pushing forward.
Gardening has become my solace in an increasingly fast-paced world. In those quiet moments tending to my plants, my mind stills, no longer consumed by endless to-do lists. It has been essential to my mental and physical well-being, grounding me in the present when life feels overwhelming. Beyond personal fulfillment, it has also become an invaluable teaching tool for my children. I want them to know where their food comes from - to understand that each season brings its own unique flavors, that nature has rhythms and seasons we should honor.
Five years in, gardening is now a family affair. We each have our roles, and I continue to learn with every season. I’ve moved beyond an “edibles-only” mindset, embracing the beauty and necessity of pollinators and florals in our ecosystem. As someone with a naturally competitive and Type A personality, gardening has taught me to embrace failure, to experiment without fear, and to celebrate the lessons in every loss.
Gardening is a constant evolution, a journey with no true destination. Every failed crop, every thriving bloom, every unexpected success reinforces one simple truth: nature has its own rhythm, and the best we can do is learn to move with it. Whether you are a seasoned gardener or someone contemplating your first plant, I encourage you to take the leap. You may start with a single raised bed, a few potted herbs, or even a windowsill of hopeful sprouts - but you might just find, as I did, that you grow right alongside them.
