The May Garden Mission

The May Garden exists because I needed to find something beautiful that could still grow from loss.

It’s named for May — not just the month I happened to be born, but the time my mama and I would finally, finally get to plant things in the ground after Colorado’s long, frozen winters. May was our beginning. It meant life was coming back. 

It meant color after gray.

And yes, my Mom called me her flower child — and I wear that like a badge made of wild lilac and stubbornness.
The hubs would radio “Mayday” upon my ideas that required power tools and multiple trips to the hardware store.

He’s likely still shaking his head at me for that one fence that our dog literally just hopped over after weeks of construction.

But May isn’t just a month on the calendar. It’s also a word that holds quiet power.

“May” doesn’t command. It doesn’t demand. It simply offers.

It says: you may begin again. You may celebrate. You may stop and smell the the roses. You may feel joy. You may grow something beautiful in soil that’s been depleted. 

That’s what this space is for. That’s what this mission is built on.

I believe that flowers are more than pretty things — they’re natural miracles of life.

Memory keepers. Mood shifters. Little explosions of hope you can hand to someone in need of a silent uplift- or someone already experiencing joy and it’s worth celebrating. 

I’ve seen them do what words can’t describe.

So this is my work now: to grow joy on purpose. To make something that might brighten a day, soften a thought, or remind someone — even for a moment — that they’re still here. Still blooming.  

Welcome to The May Garden.

You may stay as long as you need.