Rooted in the Real: Raising a Generation That Remembers
On gardens, grandchildren, and why real health begins in the soil.
“The soil is the great connector of lives, the source and destination of all. It is the healer and restorer and resurrector, by which disease passes into health, age into youth, death into life. Without proper care for it we can have no community, because without proper care for it we can have no life.”
— Wendell Berry
Over the last few years, I’ve found myself being called back to the land — not just physically, but in the way I think about health, healing, and wholeness. After decades of caring for my own body, learning from herbalists, raising animals, and preparing nourishing food, I’ve begun to weave those threads into something more formal: a deeper commitment to functional health.
Functional health, for me, isn’t a trend or just a certification — it’s a remembering.
A remembering that our bodies are living systems, just like the earth. That healing isn’t about treating symptoms in isolation, but about tending to the root — to the soil beneath the surface. It’s about understanding how everything is connected: the gut and the brain, the food and the mood, the nervous system and the immune system, the seasons and our cycles.
This perspective has shaped how I live, how I guide others, and how I hope to contribute to a healthier future — starting right here at home.
This morning I watched a TED Talk that reminded me just how vital it is that we pass on the wisdom of the earth to this next generation — especially as they grow up so immersed in screens, swipes, and short attention spans.
My husband grew up on a farm. Actually, several farms. He didn’t even realize Labor Day was a holiday until he was a teenager, because his dad always had a full list of projects lined up.
“That’s why it’s called Labor Day!” he’d say with a grin.
The days were long — filled with tractors to drive, cows to milk before school, coal furnaces to light, and fields to tend. But the lessons were even longer-lasting: grit, discipline, humility, and the ability to find joy in the rhythm of hard work.
Fast forward, and now I’m the one bringing those values back into our daily life — only this time, on a much smaller scale. Our little 1/3-acre urban lot has slowly transformed into a vibrant farm of its own. Thirteen fruit trees, grape arbors, berries, raised beds overflowing with vegetables, herbs, and flowers… and yes, we have chickens too. We’re even registered with the USDA, though this is more a labor of love than anything else.
And the real magic?
It’s in all of us — in the way this garden has become the heart of our family.
I’m out there every day with our grandson, Wolfie, digging, planting, harvesting — teaching him with my hands and my heart. My husband, whose farm-boy roots run deep, gently passes on those same values he once learned, showing Wolfie how to find the ripest blackberries or listen for the songbirds.
Our son, who grew up on a small farm of our own, cherishes this time too — watching his child delight in the same simple pleasures he once knew. And Wolfie’s mother joins us in the garden, snipping herbs for dinner or plucking kale for a morning smoothie.
We’re all out there, connected by sun, soil, and love.
This little plot of land has become our sanctuary — grounding us, healing us, bringing us home.
Our bodies are ecosystems too.
It’s just like the garden. The visible beauty — the fruit we harvest, the flowers we pick — depends entirely on the unseen health of the soil below. Everything above ground is connected to what lies beneath.
You can’t grow vibrant life in depleted soil, and you can’t build lasting health by treating symptoms in silos.
Our systems are deeply interconnected, and true healing happens when we honor that.
It’s not enough to have one doctor look at the gut, another at the skin, another at the mind.
Like a garden, everything must work together — nourished, supported, and in harmony.
We live in a world that’s constantly pulling us into digital distraction.
But I believe we’re healthiest — physically, emotionally, and spiritually — when we stay connected to nature’s cycles.
Even if it’s just one tomato plant on a balcony fire escape, something happens when we root ourselves in the earth.
We slow down. We remember.
A garden, no matter how small, is not just a source of food — it’s a teacher.
Of reverence. Of responsibility. Of relationship.
And perhaps most of all, of hope.
“The greatest service which can be rendered any country is to add a useful plant to its culture.”
— Thomas Jefferson
If this resonated with you, I’d love to have you alongside me as I continue exploring what it means to tend both garden and body with care.
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