This year, I decided to fully embrace the Winter Solstice ritual of writing down intentions, burning them, and allowing the universe to guide me to what matters most. The process itself was deeply emotional, stirring feelings of both hope and apprehension as I released control over what my focus for the new year would be. What emerged from this ritual was an intention that feels deeply aligned with my heart: Dedicate to my gardens.
At the start, writing down my intentions felt heavy. Each slip of paper carried weight—some with aspirations that felt challenging, others with goals I had put off for years. They all held meaning; they were all good things to pursue. Yet, as I burned each intention night after night, I found myself wondering how the universe would choose for me. Trusting that process was difficult; it asked me to surrender, to let go of the control I’ve relied on for so long.
When the last slip remained, I unfolded it to see those words: "Dedicate to my gardens." At first, it felt almost simple compared to the other intentions I had written. But as I reflected, I realized it wasn’t simple at all. It was profound.
Gardens have always been a significant part of my life. My grandmother, who lived on Lake Champlain, dedicated her life to creating beautiful flower gardens. Her home was my safe haven, a sanctuary where I felt at peace, away from the turbulence of my own home. Her gardens were a source of beauty, a space filled with love, care, and serenity. They were a reflection of her, and they inspired me to dream of one day creating my own.
Now, I live on Lake Huntington, carrying on her legacy in my own way. I have nine gardens in my yard, each one a piece of the sanctuary I’m building for myself and for others. When I step into these spaces, I feel the same peace I once felt as a child in my grandmother’s gardens. They connect me to her memory and to the safety and beauty she created.
Planting at the Ambulance Park with the Girl Scouts
But my gardens don’t stop at my home. I also tend the gardens at the ambulance park. These spaces, supported by grants, have become another extension of my sanctuary—a gift I share with the community. For me, they are not separate; they are all part of the same intention: to nurture, to create beauty, and to provide spaces where people can feel safe and inspired.
My intention to "dedicate to my gardens" has already begun to take shape in my plans for 2025. One of my biggest projects will be transforming my vegetable garden. I envision digging out the space, laying down cloth and gravel, installing raised beds, and enclosing it with a lovely fence. It will be a space of abundance and growth, both literal and symbolic.
I’m also dreaming of a fairy garden—a winding path under the trees, brimming with shade-loving plants and glowing solar lights. This will be a place of whimsy and wonder, a reminder that gardens are not just about practicality but also about magic and joy.
What strikes me most about this intention is how perfectly it aligns with my journey. While some of the other intentions I wrote felt heavy and daunting, this one feels like it holds space for growth, healing, and joy. It’s as though the universe looked at my list and said, “This is what you need. This is where your energy will bloom.”
This intention also reflects something deeper: a desire to feel rooted and connected. For years, I moved from place to place, never staying long enough to feel truly at home. My gardens are the first spaces where I feel secure, where I can put down roots—both physically and emotionally. They are my way of creating sanctuary, not just for myself but for those around me.
Tending to the plants at the Ambulance Park
As I move into 2025, I’m carrying this intention with me. Dedicating to my gardens means more than planting and tending; it means nurturing myself, honoring my grandmother’s legacy, and trusting in the abundance of the universe. It means creating spaces of beauty and safety, both within my yard and within my soul.
This intention reminds me to trust that I am where I need to be, doing what I need to do. Just as I care for my gardens, I’m learning to care for myself and the connections I cultivate. And in this way, I’m starting to believe that the universe truly knows what it’s doing.
May this year be one of growth, beauty, and rootedness—in my gardens and beyond.