For months, the hollow oak lay in my backyard—an eyesore, then a barrier, then a mirror. Like that tree, I'd stood tall in Nashville while rotting inside. But somewhere between Syracuse's disposal and Hampton's soil, a seed found new ground.
Making a Home for One: How Friends Helped Me Build My Love Bungalow
Preparing my backyard for my nieces' first birthday party, I realized I'd made a house into a home for one. Then I discovered what really makes a house a home—it's not the furniture, it's the love.
My Garden Doubled While I Was Gone—So Did Everything Else I’d Been Too Close to See
After a week in Florida, my begonias had doubled, my roses finally bloomed, and my nieces raced to greet me. I'd been so focused on finding a husband through my microscope lens that I missed the garden already growing: new friendships, family love, and a department head position I never sought.
Every Failed First Date is Ground Cover in My Garden—Bok Tower Taught Me Why
At Bok Tower Gardens, hydrangeas reminded me of Kyle, gardenias of Angela, Spanish moss of matching pink bathing suits with Dad. Each plant held a memory. Then I realized: West Virginia boy with the missing tooth is just Firebush—lots of personality, but wrong colors for my garden.
Why I Refuse to Settle: Garden Lessons About Love and Standards
My shade garden taught me about compromise, but when it comes to choosing a husband, I won't settle for pretty ground cover. Here's why being 'picky' in love is actually wise—and why I'm waiting for the flowers.
My 76-Year-Old Neighbor Gardens with a Walker—And Finally Said What I Couldn’t
Mrs. Washington balances her hose in one hand, walker in the other, tending gardens for sixteen years. When she caught my neighbor dumping his yard waste in front of my house, she gave him the riot act I'd been too polite to deliver. Now her marigolds thrive in shade where they shouldn't—maybe there's a lesson there about taking risks on things that don't look perfect on paper.
Grammy’s Morning Glories Opened at Dawn—My Evening Glories Bloom for First Dates
Kneeling in my garden with moonflower seeds, I became my grandmother thirty years later. The packet said 'evening glory,' and suddenly I was watching Grammy's morning glories from her kitchen window. Three days of rain made me lose faith in tiny seeds—but nature was just pre-soaking them the way I couldn't.
Planting Seeds of Hope: What My Garden Taught Me About Dating After Divorce
A friend helped me redesign my failing garden, and suddenly I understood what it really takes to cultivate new love after everything has died.
My Creative Writing Teacher Called Every Poem a MADAM—She Was Really Teaching Me About Life
Mrs. Shelton taught me that every poem is a MADAM: the Most Acceptable Draft At the Moment. "Never fall in love with a first draft, Laura Joy," she'd say. Turns out she wasn't just teaching me about poetry—she was teaching me how to revise my entire life after divorce.
Burying Dead Roses: How My Garden Taught Me About Betrayal
He confessed to cheating just as my first garden taught me about variables you can't anticipate. Sometimes the best thing you can do with dead flowers is bury them and let them feed new growth.
Writer's Growth 