Greenhouse Notes

Thirteen days ago I left for cigarettes and came home with lily bulbs, onion sets, and a vow that THIS IS IT for a while. I meant it. Mostly. Monday I went outside with purpose. Not a plan, exactly — more like a general direction and the muscle memory of someone who has done this before. The retaining wall is in, as it has been for years now. The red clay is tilled and waiting. The plum tree — a veteran of this particular hillside — is leafing out like it does every year, unb

I did one of my "should probably be infamous by now" went to the store for birthday cards and came home with another plant. Obviously. And this one is...a little worse for wear.

First, you have to have a great best friend. My SO, being the wonderful, thoughtful human that he is, runs marinas for a living. Lake life and all that good stuff. Then you just...build a trellis.

The other night my SO noticed the grow lights were still on in the spare room after he went to bed. This is something I'd never noticed, being a Benjamin Franklin-style early-to-bed human. He, on the other hand, stays up and does whatever it is people do who stay up late in the living rooms of suburban houses. Watch things, presumably. Exist in the dark. Anywho. Nobody knocked over the grow light. Allegedly. This is a mystery in three parts.

Why is it my brain automagically pops to "let's plant something" every time the temp drops? I spent the January ice storm and subsequent snow storm re-potting every plant in the house, much to my SO's chagrin. I set up tables in the other half of the living room, flung Not Dirt everywhere, and had an absolute blast while he watched TV and the dogs looked on boredly.

I have a water prop thingy. It's an AHopeGarden — twelve holes, tray, lives on the buffet in the living room that holds office supplies and dongles and apparently also lives rent-free in the back of my mind as "I should really clean that."

What nobody tells you about launching a small business in 2026. I knew it was going to be hard. I accepted that. I still do. What I didn't know was how incredibly frustrating it was going to be — fighting the tech stack, fighting the people closest to me, watching my best efforts get relegated to "oh, that's cute" or lost in the void of the internet while Google pondered whether or not it had time for me.

Conversationally with a plant person, I would absolutely NEVER tell you what's in that tub. The water looks like someone pulled a blue baby out of it, and we are not going to discuss why. I dropped a felt-tip pen in there. It looks blue now. Moving on.

I left for cigarettes. That was it. It's a bad habit, I know, but that's not the point here. Focus people. LOOK at this?!?

My SO got me this water prop thingy for Christmas, as he knows I like plants. I think he intended me to use it as a seed started for my yard garden - which is probably a really good use for it - but that's absolutely not what I did. Not (only) because I'm contrary, but because I kept seeing all these people multiplying their plants and it looked cool! Plus I'd get to say "chop & prop" naturally in conversation, which is about as good a reason to do something as anything else

If you've scrolled my socials, you've likely seen pics of this pineapple that's actually pineapple'ing (inside no less), as I'm particularly pleased with it and like to show ERRbody. What you haven't seen is why in the heck we have a pineapple. Inside. In Georgia.

Working out of 1,000 square feet for a nursery is a constant challenge. I’ve reworked this room no less than three times so far, trying to balance space for repotting and maintenance with the massive light and airflow needs of the plants. It is generally anything but "Insta-worthy," but it’s where the magic happens.

Stop using "Leaf Shine" sprays. They’re the "fast food" of plant care—looks good for a second, but it’s toxic long-term. Think of like that shiny film the drive-thru car wash sprays on your tires. Sure, they glisten, but they also attract every piece of dirt and road debris anywhere near your tire.

As a self-proclaimed crazy plant lady, I spend a lot of time browsing. I’m dreaming about my next "wishlist" addition, comparing prices, and marveling at the sheer variety out there. But every time I log on, I’m startled by the sheer number of "perfect" plants I see. It’s almost clinical.

Harry was a Ficus who had been with his family for three decades. Unfortunately, a 40° Georgia night was too much for him, even under a cover. When the leaves stay brown and crispy after a few weeks, it’s usually a sign the internal plumbing has failed. We performed a "Scratch Test," but the stems were dry. Harry’s journey had come to an end.

I moved to Flowery Branch a little over six years ago, following my heart like a lovesick 30-something romantic. Our whirlwind summer dating got serious in October, and I got to experience my very first NE GA fall & winter roller-coaster in our suburban home. The house sits on ¾ of an acre or so, and anyone who has experienced the joys of fall and early winter around here knows one thing that I did not at the time: there are leaves. Lots and LOTS of leaves. (Like “we accident