I always laughed at those who talk to flowers. Until one day I caught myself doing the same. And not just with flowers - I argued with rosemary, persuaded mint to survive, and was seriously offended by the sunflower, which apparently decided to ignore my efforts.

It all started trivially: I just wanted to pull out the weeds. It was the end of April, and after a hard winter, I wanted at least some sense of renewal. I bought a few packets of seeds "to try" - mostly greens, because it seemed so easy. Spoiler: it was not.

The first two weeks I fought with the earth. It did not want to be kind. I was digging around on the internet, watching tutorials, subscribing to a blog by a French gardening grandmother (I love her). Then the first shoots appeared. Everything changed. I fell in love with the process. Meditative, honest, grounding. You dig — and your thoughts become clearer. You water — and it’s like hugging someone.

Then came aesthetics. Wooden signs with the names of herbs, colorful buckets, an old parrot cage — now there’s a lavender nest there. I learned to compost. I started getting up earlier to greet my “green children.” I never thought I’d say things like that. But here I am.

And now, when I walk into the yard, it looks like a fragment from Pinterest. But the main thing is not the decor. It’s the feeling of life. Every leaf is a reminder: everything grows, even things you didn’t believe in.