Home and Garden

There’s something timeless about irises. Their delicate, ruffled petals dancing in shades of purple, yellow, white, and even deep burgundy—it’s like nature’s own little fashion show every spring. I remember the first time I planted a row of them along the back fence. I was chasing that “cottage garden” look from a magazine spread (you know the one—where everything is magically blooming at once and nothing ever wilts?). Well, it didn’t quite turn out like the picture, but those irises? They showed up and showed out. But like anything in the garden—and life, really—they need a little TLC to keep …

You know, I used to think pruning fruit trees was a spring-only affair — like it had to happen right after the snow melted and before the garden went wild with zucchini. But years ago, an older gentleman at our local nursery gave me a tip that changed everything. He said, “Prune in August, and your trees will thank you come spring.” And boy, was he right. Ever since then, August has become my favorite month to slip on my garden gloves, grab those pruners, and give my fruit trees a little TLC. It’s warm, the trees are semi-dormant, and …

I’m gonna tell you something I wish someone had told me years ago:Your roses aren’t mad at you. They’re just tired. And the reason? You’re probably not deadheading them. Or maybe you are… but not quite right. And I say that with love, because believe me, I’ve been there—with a sad, scraggly rose bush, three measly blooms, and a heart full of hope. Let me walk you through it, like a friend would. Because if you care enough to read about your roses, I know you care enough to help them thrive. Why Deadheading Is a Game-Changer (And Why Your …

I still remember the way my nana’s kitchen window looked on a rainy Sunday morning—lined with plump little African violets, all bursting with color like a row of velvet teacups. She didn’t fuss much with them, but goodness, they bloomed like they had something to prove. Lavender, deep purple, the occasional pink one… every bloom looked like it had just woken up from a spa day. I used to think she had some sort of magic touch. But one afternoon, while helping her make tea, she spilled the beans with a wink: “It’s the Epsom salts, honey.” Well, of all …

A couple summers ago, I had the kind of tomato garden that made me feel like I really knew what I was doing. Fat, glossy green leaves. Clusters of baby fruit. I was already planning who was getting fresh tomatoes in a brown paper bag. And then one morning… they wilted. Not just a little droop — like, fully hunched over, leaves sad and limp like they’d had a rough night. I went from proud tomato mama to full-blown panic mode in about 30 seconds. Sound familiar? If your tomato plants are looking worse for wear and you’re not sure …

You ever drive past those tall, fuzzy plants on the side of the road — the ones with the giant soft leaves and bright yellow flowers shooting straight up like candles? I used to ignore them, too. They just looked like… weeds. Until I found out they weren’t. Turns out, that humble little plant is called mullein (Verbascum thapsus if you’re feeling fancy), and it’s been helping people breathe easier, sleep better, and soothe sore throats for centuries. I wish I’d known sooner. My grandma probably did — she was always simmering oddball teas on the stove when we were …

There’s something heartbreakingly quiet about walking into your garden and noticing your plants aren’t quite themselves. A couple of summers ago, I found myself standing over my tomato beds with a cup of coffee in one hand, staring at yellowing leaves and thinking, “What on earth went wrong?” You know that moment — when the plants you’ve tended to like children start looking a little… sad. Maybe it’s cucumbers with stunted growth, tomatoes with curled leaves, or peppers refusing to fruit. Been there. I’ve sat on the back porch, dirt under my nails, wondering if it was all a lost …

A few springs ago, I was fussing over my roses — beautiful, yes, but a bit lackluster. They were healthy enough, sure, but their blooms were timid. Almost shy. I remember standing in my muddy clogs, coffee in hand, wondering what I was doing wrong. A few days later, my neighbor, Jean — a no-nonsense gardener who always has the kind of yard you see in magazines — leaned over the fence and said, “Try a little Epsom salt. Just a spoonful in a gallon of water. Works wonders.” Now, I don’t usually go chasing trends or magic tricks. But …

Let me tell you something that might sound a little out there — the best thing I ever did for my orchid was squeeze a lemon on it. Not the whole lemon, and not directly, of course. But I had this poor orchid, bless its heart, just clinging to life. Its leaves were soft and droopy, the blooms had long since fallen, and every time I walked by, I could almost hear it sigh. I’d tried everything — less water, more light, fancy orchid fertilizer that cost more than my Sunday roast — and nothing worked. Then one day, while …

I still remember the first time I planted hydrangeas. I was so excited — I picked the prettiest spot in my backyard, nestled them in like babies, and waited for the magic. And oh, did they bloom that first summer — big, pillowy clusters of blue and pink that made the whole garden feel like a watercolor painting. But the next year? They barely bloomed. The leaves drooped. By August, they looked more like a patch of regret than anything else. If that sounds familiar, you’re not alone. Hydrangeas are stunning, but they can also be a bit dramatic when …