Rooted in Memories
Welcome to the Little Village Hosta Farm blog, "ROOTED IN MEMORIES" where every post documents our tasks of bringing back our gardens from start to finish. Here, we share our inspirations with you. We give the history of these places of escape and beauty and share with you OUR progress of taking the old, overgrown garden spaces that once were lush, cultivated spots of beauty but sadly been neglected over a twenty year span. Here we will post links to our Youtube channel which will visually have tips, the equipment we use, as well as updates on varieties that we have ordered and much more. Whether you are a seasoned gardener or just beginning your green journey, join us as we embark on these chapters of rebirth empower you to cultivate a flourishing sanctuary that mirrors your unique style. Step into our world and let your garden tell its own enchanting story.
Lessons from a Garden: Lesson 1 The Slow Unfurling: Why Nature Doesn’t Care About Our Checklists
The Slow Unfurling: Why Nature Doesn’t Care About Our Checklists
As winter finally began to recede and the first hints of spring teased our five-acre woods, Paul and I sat down with a blank piece of paper and a mountain of hope. We were staring down Year Three of Little Village Hosta Farm, and we had big, exciting, sprawling goals.
A Hosta by Any Other Name… The Psychology of Unique Hosta Varieties and Plant Collecting
As I was planning out the rest of our summer sales and specials, my mind naturally drifted toward July 4th. To honor America’s 250th anniversary, I knew exactly what to do: put our most patriotic-sounding hostas on sale.
The Cost of Instant Gratification: Finding Joy in the Slow Unfurling
This year I’ve had several customers message me with the exact same request. They were looking for fully grown, mature hostas. They didn’t want the small ones, the ones carefully nestled in their trade gallon pots, just beginning their journey.
The Taproot of Talent
If you love gardening, odds are you have a deep appreciation for other beautiful things, too. My own love for digging in the dirt came from my mother. She loved her gardens, but that wasn’t the only canvas she made beautiful. She could have easily rivaled the best interior decorators; every space she touched looked better by the time she was done with it.
Weathering Storms and the Right to be Mad
Little Village Hosta Farm is located right at our home. On a good day, that means our customers get to step into a living gallery of lush foliage, shaded pathways, and the quiet peace we work so hard to cultivate. But on a bad day, it means when people drive down our driveway, they see all our raw, unfiltered mess.
Chasing Quarters, Cultivating Lives
I love stumping people on those Facebook games where you list ten jobs you’ve actually held and one you haven’t. Over the course of my life, I’ve collected a rather eclectic resume.
The People Who Remember Too
My father, Ben, was a dentist.
I worked for him in his office during many summers when I was young and throughout college. Even now, the smells of eugenol, zinc oxide, and acrylic resin can transport me instantly back to those days and pleasant memories. Strange how certain scents can unlock entire chapters of your life without warning.
Dad had a beautiful practice, but what made it special was not the equipment, the office, his technique or even the dentistry itself.
It was the people.
Let’s Survey The BIG Picture
They say grief is a garden that grows wild if you let it. For twenty years, since my mother Janet—or “Janzy” to those who loved her—passed away, her gardens have been doing exactly that. While the world moved on, the woods slowly reclaimed her work. My father had no time for the weeding or upkeep, so the perennials were left to fend for themselves against a rising tide of neglect.
Old Meets New
Continue the journey with us. I’m planning ahead. I’m planning the fun part. The part where the weeds are gone, the saplings have been removed and the soil has been made anew. We will have replanted my mom’s original flowers, and lots of space will remain as a blank canvas, waiting to be painted. It’s hard not to. I don’t really want to think about all the work that it will take to get us to a blank canvas, but rather focus on the flip side…the motivational side.
The Why
Why Did We Choose to Rehabilitate My Mother’s Gardens?
Paul and I aren’t Spring chickens. But we aren’t old either. So why have we decided to take on such a big undertaking?
I miss my mother, Janet. She was an avid gardener. She loved to create beautiful spaces for people to look at both inside and out.