Growing up in bustling Federal Hill, Baltimore, I thought the closest thing to gardening was watching weeds push through cracks in the sidewalk. Backyards were rare, and if you had even a tiny patch of grass, you were practically royalty.
Fast forward to today, and here I am, reigning supreme over hibiscus, lilies, and a backyard beach paradise—complete with its very own swimming pool and homemade sand area. Who knew I’d trade my city shoes for gardening gloves?
Of course, my journey to garden goddess hasn’t been without hilarious mishaps. Like the time I proudly watered what I thought were exotic lilies, only to discover they were stubborn weeds thriving on my confusion. Or when Oscar, my sweet Salvadoran love, decided “gardening” meant accidentally pulling out my prized perennials while enthusiastically clearing weeds. Oops!
And let’s not forget my canine gardening assistants, Jenny and Dolly. They adore butterflies—maybe a bit too much. Dolly sees them as flying snacks, and Jenny thinks they’re tiny intruders requiring fierce Chihuahua-Pomeranian protection. It’s an ongoing comedy.
I sometimes miss the city—late-night snack runs, vibrant street life, the constant hum of energy. But nothing compares to evenings spent lounging in our gazebo, backyard movies under the stars, and quiet mornings sipping coffee surrounded by blooms and bird songs.
Oscar jokes he’s training to become an expert gardener for our future Mediterranean-inspired bed and breakfast in El Salvador. I’m not sure hibiscus qualifies him yet, but practice makes perfect!
Turns out, happiness really does bloom right in your own backyard. So here’s to trading skyscrapers for sunflowers and honking horns for hummingbird traffic. The city girl in me will always cherish my roots, but the garden goddess in me is loving every sunny second.
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