“Rooted in the In-Between”
Four years, some mold, and a few busted pipes later — we’re finally planting.
Right now, everything in my garden is in pots.
This is the first spring I’m allowing myself to believe that I might actually build the flower bed I’ve been dreaming about.
We moved into this house four years ago, and most of that time has been triage.
A new roof.
A crawl space that needed saving.
Pipes that burst in a freeze that felt like the end of the world.
Mold, drains, repairs.
Surgery.
Grief.
Survival.
Sometimes this house feels like a mistake.
Not because I don’t love parts of it, but because it has taken more than I ever thought I had to give. No wedding. No honeymoon. No slow, romantic beginnings. Just one emergency after another. No dreamy vacations or lazy weekends- only a roof to replace, a crawl space to dry, French drains, bursting pipes and mold creeping into corners I didn’t see coming. And money. All of our savings, and then more.
I know I’m lucky to have a house at all. I know how many people would take this chaos over the instability of rent. I carry that awareness with me. But still, I want more than a structure. I want a home. A place that feels like softness and safety and belonging, not just shelter from the storm.
Lately, life feels like that song Take a Walk by Passion Pit. The beat’s bright, the lyrics spiral, like spinning in place while trying to outrun the quiet unraveling. That's what it’s been. Spinning. Enduring. Fixing. Hoping the center holds.
There hasn’t been room for beauty, not really. So I’ve held onto it in small ways. In terra cotta pots. In the ritual of watering. In the quiet hope that maybe next year I’ll finally have a real flower bed.
This fall, it’s happening. The flower bed is coming.
Throughout the years I bought a couple of plants because nature is what keeps me grounded as the world around me is full with chaos. I’ve a couple of David Austin roses; Poet’s wife (my husbands pick), Strawberry Hill, and Scepter'd Isle. A bit of defiance, choosing softness and bloom in a life that hasn’t felt like it had space for either. This year I am focusing on companion planting, plants that deter thrips. (It’s a little victory to know something is helping protect what I’ve nurtured.)
Everything’s still a bit undone, but there’s joy in the becoming.
This garden, like me, is a slow build. Rooted in longing. Reckoning with time lost. And beginning, finally, to grow.
Currently Planting:
‘Firefly Peach Sky’ Yarrow - waiting for fall
‘Denim ‘n Lace’ Russian Sage
‘Cat’s Pajamas’ Catmint - waiting for fall
Lavender - she probably wont make it
Salvia
Coneflowers
The evenings are warming, but the wind still has a bite. Odd question but does anyone’s dog like to smell roses? Because mine does. Lately she has grown fond of salvia as well.
What are you growing in your garden or in your life that’s still in pots, waiting for the right season? What are your favorite plants? My favorites are alliums and coneflowers.
About me:
I’m Lily Hawthorne — a writer, cook, and gardener creating a life shaped by flavor, fragrance, and feeling. I share citrus-glazed recipes, seasonal rituals, and reflections from the kitchen, garden, and home. This space is still growing, just like me — and I’m so glad you’re here to see it unfold.
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