Hey there, I’m Michelle Margaret -

Teen boy-mom, lifelong gardener, mindfulness teacher, garden educator, and first-year flower farmer figuring it all out one bloom (and mosquito bite) at a time. I believe that getting your hands in the dirt, slowing down, and eating a whole lot of tacos can fix more than you’d think.

Gardening has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I was the queen of mud pies, flower crowns, and magical backyard potions. I spent entire afternoons turning garden beds into fairy kingdoms, and I had a very loose understanding of property boundaries—much to the dismay of the neighbors whose prize tulips I "borrowed" for my artistic creations. I got in trouble more than once for picking flowers that weren’t technically mine. But I just couldn’t help it. Even then, I knew that flowers were meant to be shared.

That curiosity stuck with me through the years, but it wasn’t until I bought my first property at 24 that my gardening journey really took root. I suddenly had my very own plot of land to experiment with—and I went all in. I planted everything I loved with zero understanding of what would actually thrive. I made every classic mistake: full-sun plants in shade, thirsty plants in dry soil, spacing things too close together (because who reads those little tags anyway?). I composted more dead plants than I care to admit.

But here’s the truth: becoming a great gardener means killing a lot of plants. It’s humbling. It’s messy. It’s the best kind of teacher. Every failure taught me something—usually the hard way—and slowly, I got better. I developed an eye for naturalistic gardens, fell in love with native plants, and started tuning into the quiet rhythms of the seasons instead of trying to control everything. The garden became not just a hobby, but a partner in growth.

Before I turned gardening into my life’s work, though, I took a different path. I spent years working as a production coordinator in the film and television industry. It was fast-paced, intense, and often creatively fulfilling—but also completely exhausting. I was great at organizing chaos, but I ignored my own burnout until it caught up with me. I was constantly pushing, proving, producing. And somewhere along the way, I stopped enjoying the story I was helping to tell.

That’s when I turned inward and found yoga. First as a student, then as a certified teacher, and eventually as the owner of my own yoga studio. It was a beautiful space, filled with breath, movement, and community. For the first time, I felt like I was creating something that truly aligned with who I was. I taught people how to slow down, reconnect, and tune in to what matters most.

And then... 2020 happened.

Like so many small business owners, I was forced to close the studio during the COVID-19 shutdowns. What started as a temporary pause turned into permanent closure. I tried to hold everything together, but the financial strain was too much. I made the painful decision to declare bankruptcy. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

My son and I moved back in with my parents so I could regroup and figure out what was next. It felt like starting over—but not in the exciting, shiny way. More like the “what just happened and where’s the chocolate?” kind of way.

But in the stillness that followed, I found myself back in the garden.

I started with just a few pots and raised beds—something to occupy my hands and quiet my mind. But the more time I spent outside, the more I felt like I was coming home to myself. Gardening wasn’t just about growing food or flowers—it was about healing. About being present. About learning to trust life again, even when it’s messy and unpredictable.

I leaned into naturalistic gardening, native plants, and the messy, beautiful ways nature makes space for everything. I began sharing what I was learning, not just about plants but about mindfulness, resilience, and starting over. I saw how the garden could be a refuge for others too—not just a place to grow things, but a place to grow through things.

That realization planted the seed for my next chapter.

Today, with over 20 years of hands-on gardening experience and a whole lot of life lessons under my belt, I guide others in growing their own gardens—and themselves. I blend practical garden education with mindfulness, personal storytelling, and a whole lot of encouragement. Whether I’m coaching a first-time gardener, teaching a workshop, or stumbling through my first season as a flower farmer (which includes equal parts joy, chaos, and learning on the fly), I’m showing up with muddy hands and an open heart.

I don’t pretend to have it all figured out—because I don’t. I still kill plants. I still have weeds. And I still sometimes forget to water things that definitely needed watering. But I’ve learned that perfection has no place in the garden. What matters is that we keep showing up.

I believe gardening is about so much more than plants. It’s about connection—to the earth, to ourselves, and to something greater. It’s about slowing down, noticing beauty, getting your hands dirty, and remembering that life—even in its messiest moments—is always capable of blooming again.

If you’re looking for someone to help you grow a garden, find your footing, or simply fall in love with the dirt again, I’m here. We’ll laugh, we’ll learn, we’ll probably compost a few mistakes along the way—and we’ll create something beautiful together.

Oh, and if I had to eat one thing for the rest of my life? Tacos. No contest. Preferably outside, with flowers nearby and a gentle breeze reminding me how far I’ve come.

Let’s grow something beautiful—inside and out.