Rootlessness, Climate Change, and the Seasons of Becoming

Grief is a kind of weather.

It rolls in without asking.

Some days it’s a storm, so sudden, wild, uncontainable.

Other days it’s that fog that never quite lifts, just softens everything around the edges.

And then there are the droughts, oh how we know this in Texas—the quiet days when nothing falls, and how heavy it all feels.

But it’s always there, shaping the landscape.

Teaching us how to grow in unfamiliar climates.

I keep coming back to the question: how do we move through such change — through uprooting, loss, and the slow, tectonic shifts of becoming?

This past week in Texas, the grief has been so heavy — not just in the air but in the ground itself. It has not only affected the lives of Texans but brushed itself around the world. The floods came without mercy, reminding us again of how fragile our place is as we walk this earth, how easily the foundations we stand on can be swept away.

And still, even as nature unmoored—or rather uprooted—me with Hurricane Helene in Western North Carolina, it was nature that helped me find my footing again. Walks down to a once wild river in Texas, sitting quietly along the waters most mornings, listening, feeling the gentle breeze stirred by ducks heading to their feeding grounds. The resilience of wildflowers, the Bluebonnets pushing through the rocks and shells — these moments stitched something back together in me.

It felt like remembering.

An invitation back into relationship.

Into the love that I hve always held for this Erth.

But we can’t ignore that the relationship is strained. We’ve forgotten how to live in reciprocity. We’ve built our lives on control, extraction, speed. We leave the house, get into a car, work all day in a building, back into a car and into the house. Maybe a cloud was noticed on the way, or a bird caught the eye.

We’re not living in tune with nature, we’ve distanced her and thus ourselves — and now the Earth is speaking back, loudly. Are we listening beyond the rhetoric, the false narratives? Are we being quiet in ourselves, so we can hear the natural world in her shifting?

Living in denial of climate change, of disconnection, of systemic imbalance, only deepens the damage. It’s not just the environment that's out of balance — our own bodies, communities, and cultures are mirroring the same fragmentation.

We need a new way.

A slower way.

One rooted in reverence and response, not reaction.

A way of living that doesn't wait for catastrophe to come before we wake up to what matters.

In seasons of becoming, it is grief that often prepares the soil. In our grief, we find clarity. We shed illusions. We see what was never sustainable. And from that place, if we’re willing, we can begin again — more rooted, more whole, more aligned with the truth of the land we live on and the lives we are meant to live.

I believe it takes courage in this, to navigate our own inner turmoil, so we can meet this moment, responsive and grounded.

May we remember that healing is not separate from the Earth beneath us.

May we return to the rhythm of the seasons.

May we lean into the language of rivers and wind.

May we build lives that honor the grief and from that scacred ground, grow something whole.

Beneath all of this, I want to offer my heartfelt love to those who lost their lives in the floods this weekend — to their families and friends, to the first responders, and to all who have shown up each day in care and service. To those holding space, in whatever way they know how, with presence, with kindness, with action — your quiet offerings matter. You bring energy that meets the world with compassion. May we meet each other with tenderness and become part of the healing.

Grounded in gratitude,

Christina

Let's Get to the Nitty Gritty About Soil VS Dirt!

I find I often gently correct people when they say to me, 'we just need dirt' or 'This dirt should be okay to plant in.' I even overheard a recent TV ad with doyenne Martha Stewart promoting a soil product, and she said, 'Dirt!' I was like, 'Oh no, Martha!' I'm not too sure if they would appreciate a message from this soil-to-soul mama about it, but still, I can't help myself!

So first, what iss the difference? Secondly, does it even matter? Actually, the two are deeply connected. Soil is alive. It’s a rich, dynamic blend of nutrients, minerals, air, water, organic matter, fungi, and microorganisms. It’s a living ecosystem—a cradle for life that grows more life. It nourishes plants, sustains animals, and ultimately feeds us. So yes, it matters deeply. Dirt, on the other hand, is what’s left when soil loses that vitality. It’s sand, silt, and clay—void of the living ingredients needed to support growth.

Soil becomes dirt through farming practices that strip it of life, like over-tilling, chemical-heavy treatments, and poor land management. When the structure breaks down and the life within it dies, it can't breathe. It can’t hold water. And it can’t feed us. Topsoil is the lifeblood of our food system. According to the UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization, 90% of Earth’s topsoil is at risk of degradation by 2050. The U.S. and other nations are facing a sobering reality, we may have only about 60 harvests left. In the Midwest alone, nearly 58 billion tons of soil have been lost in just 150 years due to tillage and disconnection from the Earth’s rhythms.

It’s daunting, I know, but in my quirky way of seeing the world, I truly believe we were never meant to mass-produce our food. We were never meant to treat the Earth as a commodity. Somewhere along the way, we spun away from the land—into cities, into suburbs—and handed over the sacred responsibility of growing our food to industries. What was once an intimate act of nourishment became a multibillion-dollar business. And with that came the rise of chronic illnesses, environmental damage from pesticides, and large-scale food recalls. We’ve distanced ourselves from the source, and we wonder why our bodies, and our communities are struggling. What we put into our bodies matters deeply. And then there’s the concept of food deserts—places where access to fresh, healthy food is scarce. I honestly go, huh? Has no one heard of community gardens? Or permaculture, or the wave of people moving back to the land to homestead.

So, where do we go from here? How do we shift—not just being better stewards of the Earth, but more mindful nurturers of ourselves, our families, our communities, and this planet, our home.

We are at a crossroads, a serious one, and truthfully, the seeds we plant now— or fail to plant—will shape the path for generations to come. This is more than soil. It is essential work. It is soul work.

In some upcoming Soil to Soul blogs, we'll explore the possibilites right outside your back door—from growing well-being through small garden spaces, to the magic of composting, to thriving community gardens, like last weeks Jacob's Well Community Garden, Wimberley TX.

Remember, friends—Soil to Soul is not just about gardening. It's about a way of living. A life rooted in connection, nurtured by nature, and sustained by intention. When we nourish the soil, we nourish ourselves.

Grounded in gratitude,

Christina

“A Community of Gardeners: Growing Together in Uncertain Times”

It's the Laughs, Lettuce, and Life Lessons in the Garden!

During COVID, many of us sought new ways to stay connected. Community gardens became a place to gather at a distance, offering us focus, fresh air, and a much-needed lift in spirits. They became unexpected sanctuaries, where we could bask in the sun, watch butterflies drift by, sink our hands into the soil, and grow something when life felt so uncertain.

Though I’d been a gardener for years, I’d never been part of a community garden before. Like many, I was navigating a fragile moment—job loss, my daughter suddenly back home from college, and the disappearance of friendly meetups or basic errands that once filled our weeks. Then something serendipitous happened...

One afternoon, on a trail that technically wasn’t open at the time (but where nature called louder than rules), I crossed paths with a kindred spirit, Shiila. We smiled from a safe distance, chatted, and she asked if I’d like to join Jacobs Well Community Gardens. “There are beds about to become available,” she said. I had been wishing for something like this—and suddenly, there it was. I took on two raised beds at the gardens, which are tucked away beside the Jacobs Well Conservation Area in Wimberley, Texas. The site, once 1980s-era tennis courts, now hosts 30 concrete-framed beds on the grounds of the Watershed Association. The Association not only supports the gardens but also helps champion their growth.

Several years later and with much more hands in the soil time, my botanical styling business brought me back to the garden in a deeper way. I sat down with Pascal and Shiila, two thoughtful mentors with a grounded vision for how to cultivate growth, not just in the garden beds, but with the community itself. Their steady involvement and care are helping to further expand the garden's reach and bring even more people together. I asked Shiila what makes for a good community garden and to keep it flourishing. 

She smiled and said, "People who are passionate about their connection with the earth, people who are passionate about community, and working together, then consistency. It is necessary to have a few core people who are always showing up, consistently having visions for the future, and consistently willing to work. Then you have to have fun!" This is not only when seeing your garden grow, but joining in the garden social each month. Bringing gardeners together with their families or friends to share, and cook the bounty fresh from the garden. A true farm-to-table gathering! 

The garden itself is evolving—just as the community around it is. Pascal shared that they’re beginning to refer to Jacobs Well Community Gardens not just as a location, but as A Community of Gardeners. It’s not a renaming of the space, but a reimagining of its purpose and identity. The original name, he explains, felt limited—both in terms of geography and scope. This new expression is more expansive and inclusive. It speaks to a growing network of people—gardeners, volunteers, educators, builders—who are learning from one another, sharing resources, and cultivating something greater together. Even those without a garden bed of their own can play a vital role through volunteering, building, teaching, and supporting the collective in meaningful ways.

A garden depends on water. The Hill Country of Texas, where this community garden is nestled, has been experiencing drought for over four and a half years. This is no small challenge, especially given the gravity-fed water systems in place. The garden has four rainwater tanks, each with about one thousand gallons that previously could not be accessed due to the outlet's location. A recent plumbing project changed all that, linking all tanks so every drop of captured rainwater is now usable. The tanks did run dry recently, but fortunately, some much-needed rain has filled them. 

What began as a quiet search for connection during uncertain days has blossomed into something far greater. This local garden, like most community gardens, is more than earth and rain. They are a living tapestry of resilience, where roots intertwine beneath the soil as friendships do above. Each drop of reclaimed water nourishes not just plants, but the spirit of a community bound by care and hope. 

We are living in urgent times, where our focus needs to radically shift to growing our food, flowers, and herbs in supportive community-based environments. These gardens don't just feed our families, but create new pathways to assist others in bringing fresh, organic food to their tables. Let's face it, pesticide-laced, out-of-season produce, and disconnected food systems are not a sustainable future, especially when we look at ongoing soil depletion. Growing organically, together, is a quiet act of resistance, and the heart of true sustainability. In tending these beds side by side, we cultivate more than food ... we cultivate belonging, renewal, and well-being for us, one another, and for our Earth.

Grounded in gratitude,

Christina