Shaping the Land: The Backyard Origins of Curated Cuttings

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 accidentally set a leaf mulcher on fire trying to clean up just the front yard” amount of leaves…that fiery lesson in 2018 was my first real introduction to the sheer power of Georgia’s biomass—and a reminder that in gardening, nature usually wins if you don’t have a plan.)

That first year, we didn’t have a whole lot of yard equipment together. You know the story: I brought some things; he brought some things; only a few of those things were actually applicable to our new yard. So, in fits and starts whose durations lasted as long as the battery on our E-Go leaf blower, we blew, bagged, and raked until we each lost 5lbs and we could hardly stand upright. We swore we’d NEVER do it like that again.

Spring FINALLY came around, and when the spring hits here, the sun shines, the temps fluctuate, people start flocking to Lake Lanier, and the allergens will literally knock you off your feet. My beloved is an allergy sufferer, so when the sun finally started shining, I was ready to emerge from my winter cocoon into the beautiful butterfly I knew I could be. That said, I was limited in where I could go and what I could do, not wanting to leave him sniffling and sneezing miserably in my dust.

So I thought: “I grew up on a farm; I like vegetables; It’s not THAT much further north here than Greenville, AL.” And then I got to work. I ordered seeds, I bought bags and bags of garden soil, heaved them in and out of my crossover, wheeled them around back, and dumped them in the yard. Then I grabbed my utensils and went outside with a purpose.

First I had to pull up the very “dead-looking” Microbiota covering our small hillside, and it did NOT want to let go of the clay. After much tugging and some underground root clipping with garden shears, I had cleared enough of a plot to hold what I was planning on planting for the year. I decided (or rather my back decided for me) that I should probably give myself a day or three to rest before beginning anew. When my aching muscles let me back outside, the plan was to “terraform” in such a way to create a level bed. Basically, I had to flatten out a portion of the hill.

It couldn't have been more than a single shovelfull before I hit a rock - or what felt a lot like one. I had found what happens when Georgia clay meets something shiny … I’m still not sure exactly what it is, but when those two things compress, they make something that looks a lot like red sandstone but feel like you’re hitting a brick with the end of a shovel. I fought it nonstop for three days, and finally ended up with around a 6’ x 3’ mostly level plot. It was time to start mixing in the garden soil I’d been hoarding - which by now was doubly heavy, soggy from a spring rain or two. I thought the six bags I had would be more than enough for the plot, but it turns out I was wrong. 

Once I started mixing it with the red clay, that garden soil disappeared faster than I would have imagined possible! I ended up having to get another three large bags just to finish the first pass, and intermittently throughout the next few years I supplemented with hundreds of dollars more. What I gained, though, was an entire hillside that over time was full of tomatoes, zucchini, yellow squash, sugar snap peas, hot peppers of various ilks, bell peppers, cabbage, okra, runner beans, sage, oregano, rosemary, thyme, cilantro, strawberries, cantaloupe, a plum tree, and probably more that I can’t remember. 

We’ve had pantryfuls of green tomato salsa when a hailstorm took down the vines and odd-looking scarecrows crafted from outgrown kids' clothes. I’ve sent my beloved to work with “fruit & veggie gift baskets” to distribute to his friends, and one year I had so many strawberries that I dug half the plants up and gifted them to a friend, then gave the fruit off the remaining plants to every home maintenance person who came calling and showed any interest at all. Every year it was a success, but every year the garden required almost the same amount of soil, digging, clearing, and harvesting. Eventually, it got tiresome. I still plant a small plot, but instead of buying the latest heirloom tomato seeds each year, I started picking up more decorative bushes (gardenias and hydrangeas) and eyeballing the indoor plants.

That’s when I realized that green, leafy things felt tropical and lush. And when I brought a few of them into my home - beginning with a split-leaf philodendron from Home Depot - the HOUSE itself started feeling warmer, cozier. It reminded me of those years during college when I island hopped on a early 20-something's budget for fun (because I couldn’t feel the jet lag, the sunburns, or the hangovers). Slowly but surely, I started buying furniture and plant stands - for the leafy green indoor babies that were encroaching on our living space, of course. I moved couches, relegated dogs to a particular side of the den so that the plants could have more space, and purchased those cheap halo and clip-on LED grow lights, because I didn’t know any better and I thought one was as good as another. What started as a 'mood-lifter' in the corner of the den slowly evolved into a technical plant obsession.

The same sort of back-and-forth I had when leveling that red sandstone hill was being funneled into measuring Kelvin levels and testing water aeration schedules. These days, we have four distinct areas of houseplants: the den, the living room, the office, and the foyer. Each has built-in grow lights on plant-specific furniture, and each has at least one large, multi-spectrum grow light (the ones that can easily sell for $50). Every time the equipment gets upgraded, the plants give me a little more growth, a little better color, a few more fenestrations, or a bit brighter variegation. 

I started experimenting with propagation, filling our kitchen windowsill with jelly jars of various cuttings. I bought rooting hormone and changed out water on differing schedules to see what worked best, quickest, and produced the healthiest plant. I got a seed-starting/cutting growth garden that includes a water aerator and built-in grow lights, and the propagations starting sprouting roots even more quickly. I think I’m getting close to balancing my light quality (measured in Kelvin), with the oxygen availability in the rooting medium or water.

I have even been known to take finds from the Flowery Branch Farmer’s Market and try my hand at prolonging their lives. Everything from scallions to bok choy to heads of leaf lettuce have spent time on my plant shelves, basking in the “grow light glow” and sharing space with an assortment of tropicals in various sizes, shapes and colors.

Now, I’ve decided to try my hand at making plants my business, which brings us to Curated Cuttings. My goal is to give you an option for boutique, gift-style plants for your next “just because” gift to your bestie in packaging that doesn’t make you have to lift a finger. Additionally, I’m having a Collector’s Drop once a month, so when you get the urge to pick up something just for you “just because”, there’s a local option that you know has made sure your special baby is set up for long-term success. If you want to see how my outdoor garden turned into indoor precision, check out my previous post on why we’ve ditched standard dirt for our custom 'Lab Mix,' and join 'The Lab Notes' for early access to the March 1st Drop.