The Season of Awakening
It’s Easter week, and the last frost has passed here in the South. The soil is warming, and planting season has begun. But this time of year stirs more than just the earth—it stirs something deeper within us. As we prepare our homes and gardens for spring, perhaps it’s worth asking: What needs clearing in our lives? What weight are we ready to release? Easter isn’t just about lilies and brunch—it’s an invitation to awaken, prune, plant your life with intention, and grow something new.
The Garden as Mirror
Yesterday, I stood in my backyard with pruning shears in hand, surrounded by winter’s remnants. The scent of damp earth filled the air as I cleared away soggy leaves and broken twigs—evidence of a season that had lingered too long. As I worked, I couldn’t help but reflect on my life. What habits or obligations have overstayed their welcome? What old patterns am I still carrying that no longer serve who I’m becoming?
Where Beauty and Joy are Sold by the Flat
I work weekends at my cousin’s landscape and garden center—Millstone Market & Nursery. For places like this, the window between April 15 and June 15 is make-or-break—the weeks they earn most of the year’s income. Most of the time, I’m behind the cash register, but now and then, I get to help customers choose plants. I love it even more when someone walks in with something new and beautiful they’ve discovered. We’re not just selling plants—we’re selling beauty, joy, and a sense of possibility.
When friends tell me they’re skipping color in their gardens this year to save money, I remind them that a flat of annuals is about $30. That’s months of beauty—April through November—every time you walk outside. I usually make the sale. But honestly, it’s more than just the flowers. Gardening grounds you. It connects you to the earth, to creation, and something much bigger than yourself. You grow food. You grow peace.
The Weight of What No Longer Fits
It’s easy to keep moving forward under the weight of what no longer fits. But without clearing space, nothing new can take root. The hardest part isn’t identifying what needs to go—it’s letting it go. Pruning can feel like a loss, even when it’s necessary. Yet any gardener will tell you that growth only comes after the cutting.
Letting Go To Is an Act of Renewal
This week, I finally let go of a commitment that drained me for years. I’d kept saying yes out of guilt and habit, afraid of disappointing others. When I sent the email declining future involvement, my hands shook. For hours afterward, shame crept in—the kind that whispers you’re selfish for putting yourself first. But by evening, something unexpected replaced it: lightness. Letting go didn’t just free up my time; it freed up my energy. It reminded me that every “yes” to what drains us is a “no” to what could nourish us.
Nature Knows When to Begin Again
Nature doesn’t hesitate to begin again. My zinnias are already reseeding themselves—tiny volunteers sprouting where last year’s blooms fell. They push through the soil with quiet confidence, responding instinctively to the light. They don’t wait for perfect conditions or second-guess their timing. And maybe we don’t have too either.
What I’m Choosing to Plant This Year
This year, alongside tomatoes, herbs and flowers, I’m planting something less tangible: stillness in the early mornings before the world wakes up. Boundaries that protect my peace and prioritize what matters most. And rest—not collapse from exhaustion but rest that fuels renewal.
Start Small, But Start
If you’re unsure where to start, begin small. Clear one thing today—a commitment, a habit, or even a belief—that’s keeping you stuck in winter when your soul is ready for spring. Then, decide what you want to plant instead. It doesn’t have to be dramatic; sometimes, the most profound changes come from simple choices made consistently.
Tend Your Life Like a Garden
By next Easter, imagine what could take root if you tended your life with care and intention—if you showed up for yourself the way you show up for your loved ones or commitments. This isn’t about perfection; it’s about presence.
The Ground Is Ready
The frost has passed. The ground is ready. Like those volunteer zinnias pushing through last season’s debris, you already know what needs to be done. Trust yourself enough to clear the way—and plant something beautiful.
What are you planting this spring—in your garden and in your soul?