Prepare, Root, Harvest

Preparing the Garden

As the two-week countdown to the release of Tattered & Mended begins, I find myself reflecting on the quiet blessing of giving, and the way small offerings, like seeds in a garden, often take root in ways we never expect.

There is a joy that comes in the act of giving.

Not the kind that asks to be seen, but the quiet joy that comes from placing something thoughtful into another person’s hands.

These past few weeks have felt a little like tending a garden.

There has been preparation, patience, and the steady rhythm of small daily work. Emails written. Pages edited. Photographs chosen. Words shared. Conversations with friends and readers who have walked alongside me for years.

And now, suddenly, we are only ten days away.

Ten days until Tattered & Mended finally makes its way out into the world.

Preparing the soil for garden season.

Rooted Before the Bloom

Anyone who has ever planted a garden knows something important.

The beauty we see above the soil is only possible because of what is happening beneath it. The seeds planted, or the plants’ roots first. Then the nurturing.

For a long time, this book has been quietly growing quietly in my life.

Through stories.
Through loss.
Through the objects we carry that hold the memory of the people we love.

It has grown through the long seasons of becoming, moments when I didn’t yet know what the final shape of it all would be.

And now, as the days move closer to launch day and my 60th birthday, I find myself reflecting on something that has become very clear to me this year.

Before we can share our gifts with the world, we must first be rooted in who we are.

Rooted in our values.
Rooted in our stories.
Rooted in the quiet knowing that what we are creating matters … because we matter.

The Gift Within the Giving

One of the unexpected blessings of preparing this book has been the reminder that creativity itself is an act of giving.

Every story shared.
Every piece of art.
Every handmade object placed into the world.

They are offerings.

Little lanterns along the road that say,
You are not alone in this.

When someone reads a story and sees themselves in it …
when a memory awakens in their own heart … that is where the real magic happens.

Giving, it turns out, is not about what leaves our hands.

It is about what grows in the space between us.

When a Flutter Finds Its Way

Just this week I was reminded again how far a small act of giving can travel.

Back in January, as part of the Gifting Art Project, several of the paperweights I created were given away through a nomination process. People quietly submitted the names of someone they felt could use a small moment of beauty or encouragement.

One of those pieces, a little butterfly captured in glass, recently made its way into the hands of the person who had been nominated.

Later that day my phone rang.

On the other end was the woman who had received it.

Her voice carried that unmistakable tone people have when something meaningful has just happened. She told me how the piece had caught the light on her table and how she kept turning it gently in her hands, noticing the details.

Then she shared something unexpected.

There was a connection between butterflies, a dear friend of hers, and that friend’s late husband. The kind of story that feels too sacred to repeat in full, a private thread woven between memory and love.

But as she spoke, I could feel the goosebumps rise on my arms, the tears in my eyes and the joy in my heart.

Sometimes the things we create seem to know exactly where they are meant to land.

A small object.
A quiet flutter of beauty.

And somehow it arrives in the very place where it is needed most.

Moments like that remind me that giving is rarely just about the object itself.

It is about the connection it carries.
The memory it awakens.
The way something simple can suddenly hold a much deeper meaning than we ever could have planned.

And in those moments, I am always left with the same quiet thought:

Perhaps we are not just making things.

Perhaps we are sending small messengers of care out into the world.

And in that moment I was reminded that giving is very much like planting a garden … we never quite know where the seeds will take root, only that when they are offered with love, they almost always find the soil they were meant for.

Flutter

Aligning With the Roots

At the beginning of this year, I chose five words to guide me.

The first was Align.

And as this quarter is unfolding, another word quietly stepped forward beside it.

Rooted.

Because alignment without roots can easily be blown off course.

But when we are rooted in what matters most, our path becomes clearer.

Our choices become steadier.

And the work we offer the world grows from something deeper than ambition.

It grows from truth.

A Garden Nearly Ready

These final days before the book arrives feel a little like standing at the edge of a garden just before the first blooms appear.

The soil has been turned.
The seeds have been planted.
The roots have taken hold.

And now we wait.

Not with impatience … but with gratitude.

Gratitude for the people who have supported this journey.
Gratitude for the stories that shaped these pages.
Gratitude for the simple, sacred act of creating something and offering it forward.

In many ways, this book is a garden of memories.

And very soon, it will be harvest time, and I will get to place it in your hands.

A Gentle Reflection

As you move through your own season this week, I invite you to ask yourself:

What am I planting right now?

And perhaps even more importantly…

Where are my roots growing deeper?

Because every meaningful harvest begins exactly this way.

Quietly.

Beneath the soil.

And in just a couple of weeks, I’ll have the joy of placing this little garden of stories into your hands.