Beyond the Garden Gate

There is a strange little moment that happens when you’ve been preparing for something for so long that preparing has simply become part of your everyday life.

You make another batch of tea.

Tie another label.

String another bracelet.

Print another card.

Pack another tote.

And somewhere along the way, you stop thinking about the day you were preparing for and just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Then suddenly you look around and realize—

It’s here.

This week, my garden is getting packed into totes.

The jars, the herbs, the stones, the bracelets, the little pieces of Of Herb & Stone that have slowly taken over corners of my house for months are being gathered up and prepared for a journey to Raven & Roses.

And I have to admit, there is something almost surreal about it.

Because I remember when this was just an idea.

Actually, most of Of Herb & Stone started that way.

A little thought.

A what if?

What if I made the tea?

What if I created the bracelet?

What if I built the website?

What if I applied for the festival?

What if people actually liked what I made?

And then one little what if became another.

Before I knew it, there were hundreds of tea sachets on my table, stones scattered across my workspace, labels coming out of the printer, crates being stained, signs being built, and a checkout counter taking shape in the middle of all of it.

There have been late nights.

There have been things that didn't work the first time.

There have definitely been moments when I looked around my house and wondered what on earth I had gotten myself into.

But there has also been so much joy.

Because every piece was made here.

Every tea was blended here.

Every bracelet passed through my hands.

Every label, every little detail, every ridiculous idea that somehow turned into an even more ridiculous project—it all grew here.

And now comes the part I don't think I fully considered when I started.

Eventually, you have to stop preparing.

Eventually, you have to take the thing you have nurtured so carefully and carry it beyond the place where it feels safe.

You have to let other people see it.

That might be the most frightening part of creating anything.

It is one thing to sit at your kitchen table late at night and love what you've made.

It is another thing entirely to place it on a table in front of strangers and say:

Here. This is something I created.

There is vulnerability in that.

But there is also something incredibly beautiful about it.

Gardens aren't meant to stay hidden forever.

Eventually something blooms.

Eventually something ripens.

Eventually the seeds you planted become something you can gather into your hands and carry with you.

And sometimes, if you're very lucky, the garden grows farther than you ever expected it to.

So this week, there isn't much left to create.

There are boxes to wrap.

Things to pack.

Lists to check.

A few last-minute details that I am absolutely certain I will remember at an unreasonable hour.

And then...

We go.

I don't know what this weekend will bring.

Maybe it will be wonderful.

Maybe I'll learn a hundred things I hadn't thought about.

Maybe I'll come home with new ideas, new stories, and another list.

Probably another list.

But whatever happens, I already know something important.

I took the idea beyond the garden gate.

And sometimes, that's the bravest part.

Until next time,

I'll meet you Through the Garden Gate. 🌿