Yesterday was one of those days that reminds me why I’m building this life — not because everything went smoothly, but because it all came together in that imperfect way homesteading does.

I’d spent the morning driving Uber, bouncing between passengers and quiet moments alone in the car. My last drop-off of the day happened to be at Home Depot, and since I was already there, I decided to walk through the garden center. My original plan?

To look for materials to build a butterfly sculpture for the garden. The goal is to perfect the process so I can sell them. 

Colorado Springs is filled with public art — bright butterflies, metal horses, painted boxes, sculptures tucked into unexpected corners. It’s one of the things I love most about living here, and it’s been inspiring me to add more whimsical pieces to the homestead. So I walked toward the garden center out of habit, they have live Christmas trees, wreaths, and garland. I’ve wanted to grab some fresh garland so I thought I would take a look.

It was unusually warm for late November. A few display tables were pushed outside, something you don’t typically see this time of year. And that’s when I saw them:

Emerald Green Arborvitae.
1-gallon containers.
Little red holiday pots.
Tied with red bows.
$6.88 each.

A handwritten Special Buy sign marked them down from $12.98. I still don’t know if these were leftover holiday trees or if the other stores had simply sold out — but I knew a deal when I saw one. Especially here in the mountains, where trees usually come at mountain prices.

So I grabbed 15, I should have bought the entire table.
Loaded them into the back of the SUV.
And felt like I’d just won the garden lottery.

These trees are the beginning of my natural fencing and berm design — the quiet green walls I’m building to create a more peaceful, sheltered property. Today I went back and bought the last 3. That puts me at 18 trees total, ready to overwinter until they’re big enough to plant without becoming deer snacks.

And the funny thing?
I didn’t even go there for trees.
I went because butterflies inspired me.

Sometimes creativity leads you exactly where you need to go.

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The Garlic Race Against Dark

By the time I got home, the sun was already dropping behind the ridge. I knew the cold was coming, and I had garlic ready to plant — but most of the garden beds were frozen solid. I couldn’t dig in a single one.

Except the strawberry bed.

I had covered it earlier in the fall with frost cloth and thick straw, and that small bit of protection kept the soil soft and unfrozen. So I knelt down, used my gloved hands, and dug the holes one by one — no shovel needed.

Forty-five minutes later, under the glow of a headlamp and the last scraps of daylight, every clove was in the ground.

Not perfect.
Not planned.
But done.

That’s homesteading.
That’s mountain life.
That’s building an intentional life — one small victory at a time.

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And One More Win: Marigold Seeds

On Wednesday evening, before the weather changed, I harvested the last of the marigold seeds. Today I sat and cleaned them, sorting each dry seed from the spent petals. It’s meditative work — slow, steady, grounding. The kind of work that reminds me why I’m doing all this in the first place.

Come spring, these seeds will explode into the bright color that makes this place feel alive.

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What Comes Next

This week’s unexpected wins — from the butterfly sculpture idea to the arborvitae sale to the garlic race — reminded me of something simple:

When you follow your curiosity, everything else falls into place.

These 18 little trees are the beginning of my natural fencing, my berms, and the quiet sanctuary I’m building on this land. The garlic is tucked in for winter. The marigolds are ready for next season. And the butterfly sculpture?
That’s still coming.

One day soon, I’ll record an art walk and share some of the Colorado Springs sculptures that inspire this place — because they’re part of this story, too.

For now, I’m just grateful for warm days in November, unexpected sales, loose soil, and the small, steady steps of creating the life I want.

More than a decade ago, our high-altitude garden in the mountains of Colorado began as a small experiment in growing food and flowers. Over time it evolved into Cheesecake Bear Ranch, a living classroom where art, creativity, and nature meet.

Here in the quiet of the mountains I have come to see gardening not only as cultivation but as a form of expression and mindfulness. Even in a fast-moving world, simple living can open space for joy, clarity, and renewal.

Many of us now spend hours in front of screens or televisions, disconnected from what lies just beyond our doors. Yet when you step into a garden, even a small one, something shifts. You begin to notice light, color, movement, and scent. You remember that you are part of a living world.

Whether you tend vegetables or flowers or simply sit with the sound of wind through the trees, nature calls you back into presence. Growth and beauty do not happen on a schedule or behind a screen. They happen when you take part in the world around you.

As a nation, we once recognized that the natural world belongs to everyone. Through the creation of state and national parks, open spaces, and public trails, we chose to protect places where anyone could walk among trees, rest beside rivers, and breathe freely. Those spaces remain open invitations to rediscover connection, creativity, and peace.

Throughout history, artists have understood this truth deeply. Their gardens were not places to flee but doorways into life itself, sources of reflection, creation, and renewal.

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Claude Monet: Painting Light, Living Color

At Giverny, Monet did not simply grow flowers. He orchestrated color and light like a symphony. The water lilies, the Japanese bridge, and the reflection of the sky on water all became living elements of his art.

His garden was both muse and mirror, reflecting his moods, his grief, and his endless curiosity about perception. Monet once said, “My garden is my most beautiful masterpiece.” Perhaps he knew that tending life, not just painting it, was what kept his spirit alive.

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Frida Kahlo: Nature as Self and Sanctuary

Frida Kahlo’s garden at Casa Azul was vibrant, wild, and full of native Mexican plants. After the accident that left her in chronic pain, her courtyard became both refuge and rebellion. Amid the palms and cacti, she found beauty that grew from hardship, symbolic of her own resilience.

In many of her paintings, vines and flowers emerge from her body, blurring the line between self and soil. Her garden was not a place she escaped to; it was a place where she became whole again.

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Georgia O’Keeffe: Silence, Space, and Clarity

In the desert of New Mexico, O’Keeffe found peace in simplicity. She tended small gardens, collected bones, and painted the silence between things—mountains, sky, and petals.

Her relationship with the land was almost monastic. “I wish people were all trees,” she once wrote, “so I could climb them.” For her, the earth was not a backdrop but a language of stillness that spoke directly to her soul.

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The Garden as an Inner Landscape

Every artist’s garden is, in a way, a self-portrait. The rows, the colors, and the textures reflect the artist’s need for order or wildness, solitude or bloom.

Modern research now confirms what artists seemed to know intuitively. Gardening lowers stress, improves mood, and fosters creativity. The rhythmic and sensory act of tending plants engages the same “flow” state that painting, writing, or composing does.

The garden gives us permission to slow down, to listen, and to participate in creation itself, one seed and one season at a time.

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Science of Gardening and Mental Health

• Reduced Stress Hormones: Studies show that 30 minutes of gardening can lower cortisol, the body’s main stress hormone, more effectively than reading indoors.

• Improved Mood and Focus: Soil microbes such as Mycobacterium vaccae may increase serotonin levels, improving mood and mental clarity.

• Creativity and Flow: Research on our natural connection to living things shows that time in nature supports creative problem solving and emotional balance.

• Healing and Recovery: Horticultural therapy programs in hospitals and veteran centers help people process grief and rebuild self-worth by caring for living things.

Tending a garden is more than an act of care for the earth. It is also care for the self.

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Growing Beauty, Inside and Out

As I walk through our food forest and see the plums, currants, and strawberries, I think of the artists who found peace in the soil. Like them, I have learned that art is not only what we make with our hands but how we move through our days.

A garden is a living canvas. It changes with the light, evolves with the seasons, and reminds us that growth, in all its forms, is its own kind of beauty.

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If You Are Struggling

Gardening and art can both support mental well-being, but professional care matters too. If you are facing depression, anxiety, or grief, these organizations offer trusted, evidence-based support:

• National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI)

• Mental Health America

• Crisis Text Line – text HOME to 741741 for immediate help in the U.S.

• American Horticultural Therapy Association

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Closing Reflection:
To plant a seed is to believe in tomorrow. To tend it each day is to live fully in the present. Every leaf, every bloom, every bit of soil on your hands is proof creation and healing grow side by side.