Newsletter Articles & Archive

By Lauren Wade Walsh

As many of us know, there is no flower bouquet quite like the one you make from seasonal flowers out of your own garden or yard. Whether you use it as a centerpiece on your own dining table or give a vase full of your homegrown flowers to someone special, the flowers always seem more dear and beautiful than ones you find at the grocery store or florist.  I adore making huge bouquets of peonies the first week of May for teacher appreciation week at my children’s school.  However, I am now a dedicated fan and customer of some of the local, urban micro flower farms that are popping up in neighborhoods and farmer’s markets. Their bouquets are something special; you can feel the passion and knowledge the owners of these farms bring to their flowers…and now to my dining table and friends. 

McIntosh Field & Flower sells at local farmer’s markets, including East Nashville, Richland Park, & Murfreesboro. Tara and Erin, two sisters from Atlanta, both who work other jobs, own and run this flower farm on the northside of Murfreesboro.  The sisters have fascinating and contrasting backgrounds, but in 2019, they decided to buy a few acres and turn their retirement dream into reality much, much sooner.  They began selling flowers direct to consumer in 2022 and quickly expanded to farmer’s markets.  With a background in Agriculture Science, Tara was well aware the land was low on nutrients when they purchased it, and she worked extensively with the TN Dept of Agriculture on soil testing and diligently listened to recommendations on how to improve soil quality.  Currently, they farm three acres with three high tunnels and have goats and pigs on two acres.  When I spoke to Tara and asked about any tips she might have, she was very clear that -  even with a background in Agricultural Science and lots of research on what others were doing - being patient and truly understanding the microclimate, soil, and other conditions of your specific property is the best way to learn and be successful.

McIntosh offers flowers nearly year round, particularly at the Richland Farmer’s Market which runs eleven months a year.  Last year, the sisters forced tulips  - all in the TV room of Tara’s home - but with a high tunnel this year, they should have even more. Of course, they will also have many gorgeous varieties in spring, summer and fall.  You can find them on social media @mcintoshflowerfarm (IG & FB), www.mcintoshfieldandflowerfarm.com, and  at the Richland Park, East Nashville, and Murfreesboro Farmer’s Markets.  

Riverside Gardens Flower Farm is a smaller scale operation in East Nashville.  Liz, the owner, started as a hobby farm, just growing flowers for her family and friends.  She is a full-time teacher with a young son, but her husband suggested she might start a business selling her flowers after the covid years accelerated her hobby and skill.  Though she uses the term ‘farm’, her growing space is about 2,000sq ft and has both raised beds as well a cottage garden with perennials and herbs.  Her goal is to eventually grow 60-70% perennials, and she loves planning and growing with the color palettes of her bouquets in mind.  She also intends to find land where she can expand and grow flowers full-time.  Liz offers individual bouquets, seasonal flower subscriptions, and currently has gorgeous dried flower holiday wreaths available.  You can find her on social media @theriversidegardens or at riverside-gardens.com. 

By Barry Kolar

With centuries-old oak, maple and hickory trees being cut down by the dozen to make room for giant new houses, residents of the West Meade neighborhood have been scrambling to find a way to protect the tree canopy that defines the West Nashville neighborhood of about 2,000 residents. 

Few options have been available through metro zoning and construction statutes, and efforts to develop a tree ordinance that would protect this natural resource have stalled. So this summer, leaders in the West Meade Neighborhood Association came up with a new strategy, launching the Save Our Trees Initiative, a strategy that relies on education and cooperation with builders. 

"We wanna work with the developers,” neighborhood association president Paul Garland told the News Channel 5. “We don't want to stop them from working. We couldn't do that anyway if we tried." 

With that in mind, Garland and association board member Hans-Willi Honegger crafted a memorandum of understanding that they are presenting to builders and developers in the neighborhood. The MOU lays out the details of mutual agreement, giving cooperating builders a “Seal of Approval” to their work in West Meade. Those signing will have their company highlighted on the westmeade.org/ website, in the association newsletter and at community meetings. The website will also list builders who are tree un-friendly or do no respond to the initiative.

“We thought this was the only way we could interact with the developers,” Honegger said. “Maybe these agreements will help us save some really valuable trees.”

Among the considerations asked for in the MOU are: 

(1) Prior to construction, to inventory and assess the health of all trees currently existing on the property, in order to preserve, to the maximum extent possible, those that are mature and healthy. (A Certified Arborist, and/or Licensed Landscape Architect can assist with the inventory.)

(2) To, in good faith, share this inventory and a building plan with the WMNA board members in advance of destruction or removal of trees and plant life.

(3) To grant permission for experts of the WMNA or invited experts to enter the property in order to remove native plants prior to development.

(4) To establish safety areas around the drip line (at least 10 feet to either side of the tree by fencing) of remaining trees to protect their trunks and roots from being damaged by construction equipment and to avoid compacting the soil above their root system.

(5) To replant with mature native trees and bushes (caliper of at least one inch for trees), in order to replace heritage and other large native trees which had to be removed for a new dwelling on the site and to ensure the newly planted trees are watered for the first 2 years to aid their growth and replace those trees which did not survive the first year after planting

(6) To use only native trees and bushes for new landscaping.

(7) To require that contractors and builders under the employ of, or contracted by, owner/developer are aware of posted road speed limits and parking requirements and are cognizant of the fact that most of West Meade / Hillwood does not have sidewalks, and that residents with children and dogs often walk on the side of the street.

So far the effort has had mixed success. Some builders have signed on, but it has been difficult for the association to make contact with the builders before trees have been taken down. “We don’t have great leverage,” Honegger said. “We just have to depend on their good will. It’s a slow process, but I think it is a start.”

In addition to the MOU, the association is working to educate builders and realtors on the value of a healthy tree canopy for keeping the neighborhood attractive to buyers; building an identity for the neighborhood based on its natural resources; and helping residents learn best practices for growing and maintaining the tree canopy. So far this effort, led by Blair Tramel, has resulted in the distribution of signs that say “West Meade (Hearts) Our Trees. Help Protect Our Canopy and Our Wildlife.” Also in planning are resource packets for residents, new arrivals and real estate agents that would include information from the Smart Yards program, Root Nashville, UT Extension and others. 

By Blake Davis

Last year on the solstice, I sat around the fire with a small group of close friends who had just experienced the darkest year of our lives.

I handed out slips of paper and pens, and we wrote down the things we needed to release: grief, failures, heavy moments… and threw them to the flames.

Some were read aloud, some were burned in silence. 

Fire somehow cleanses and transitions me. Burning what no longer holds me helps me move forward. 

Winter always hits hard for me. Last year, I strove to prepare the garden and soil for the first freeze, but I hadn’t prepared my mind or spirit. I went to bed with a green, life-filled garden and a few late-blooming hydrangeas. When I looked out the window in the morning, it was brown, still, and lifeless. And yet I still layered up, put my headlamp on and forced myself to go out into the cold and continue striving to make progress. When spring came I still didn’t feel ready, and I was exhausted.

In Down To Earth, Monty Don describes the garden in December as “stripped of all dignity.”
He writes about the melancholy of the season, but also reminds us that this is the time to sharpen our secateurs to prepare for spring.

My grandfather called it "lay by time." A time of resting, of family gatherings, sharpening tools, repairing machinery, and planning for the next growing season.

Mulch: Covered and Deprived of Light

I have three young kids, so when the clocks change, our household experiences some… emotions… as young bodies shift meal, sleep and activity schedules.

My thirteen-month-old has a precise and consistent inner clock that wakes him ready for an adventure at 5:30am every morning. 

Unfortunately, on November 2nd his body clock remained consistent without understanding the clocks all fell back an hour.
In the summer, I loved our sunrise walks. Now he pounds his little palms on the door, wanting to go out into the cold dark. I’m not as impervious to cold; my cheeks aren’t as cutely insulated. 

The season of layers and covering, of warmth, protection and preservation has begun.
It’s time to cover our bodies and our roots. This is where mulch comes in.

I have literally tons of wood chip mulch in my yard.

Last year I built a relationship with a local tree service that dumped some mulch for me (this saves them dumping fees, so it’s a win-win).

This year I told them they could drop more if they were in my area.

There was a bit of a language barrier, and when my wife called me at work as they were dumping their 6th five-foot-tall pile of mulch, I had to rush out to thank them for their enthusiasm, but explain that until I could finish saving for an old tractor with a bucket, it’ll take me years to spread more with my pitchfork and small gorilla cart. So asked them no to delivery more until I call. 

On a completely unrelated note, if you know anyone who needs mulch, please, dear God, send them to me. 

Mulch is fascinating. It can cover, protect, warm, AND nourish. A good layer keeps cold air from stealing warmth and moisture from the roots, protecting water when the topsoil freezes, and blocking weeds from competing for energy. 

And what I love most is that even when I can’t get to the 5 full remaining piles, it still does its work.

Beneath the surface, fungi and bacteria break down the wood fibers, creating heat as they decompose. That’s why steam rises from the mulch mountains in my back yard.
Over time, those microbes turn the wood into dark, crumbly humus rich in minerals and organic matter which feeds the soil it’s been protecting all along.

Explaining this to my 3-year-old as she helped me spread some mulch before our first freeze, she said “It's like a warm winter sweater for the roots.”

Even deprived of light, even if I can’t pread all the mulch before my youngest goes to college, it keeps working. Its natural state is to break down and nourish whatever is beneath it. 

That’s what I remind myself when the sun sets at 4:30pm (or the baby wakes up at 4:30am) and I feel trapped as the sunlight hours shrink to be in line with the hours I have to spend working to pay the bills.

Progress and nourishment is still happening in the dark, beneath the surface, tending the plants when the sun and I cannot. 

Sharpening and Tending

Like the everests of mulch, quietly decomposing, it’s good for me to take a rest to honor this changing of seasons rather than resist it. Winter is our permission to pause, reflect and reset. 

I’m practicing seeing the solstice season as a time to sit in the darkness intentionally. To name what failed, to release what burned, and then to sharpen my tools and plans for what’s coming next. To oil the wooden handles with linseed oil. To file the nicks out of shears and give them new edges. To make sure I have clear plans before the seed catalogues start arriving in my mailbox so this year I don’t black out and buy more than I can possibly tend or stratify in time. To schedule time in my calendar to have coffee with other gardeners who may also be feeling surrounded by the dark and cold so we can dream about spring together. 

The little acts feel like a prayer to me. Mulching and praying over the plants with my daughter. Preparing for spring without rushing me towards it. Not a distraction from the dark and dormant seasons, but a conscious leaning into the rest and biological act of helping insurmountable mountains decompose into mineral rich nourishment from which warmth and new life will bloom with the coming of the sun. 

The Light Returns

Last week I took my kids camping for the first time. We set up a tent in the back yard, cooked hotdogs and s’mores around the fire, and I told old boy scout stories. 

After my wife took the baby inside, the older two and I huddled in the tent and slept horribly. 

As we trudged back to the house, winding around the giant mulch piles, my five-year-old said, “Daddly, I LOVE fires. And camping. I don’t mind the cold.” 

This is what the solstice is. Last year I burned those written expressions of struggle so that I could try to move on to the net thing. Now I’m trying to lean in, not to distract from and cope with the dark just to get me to spring. But to seek ways to make light and warmth within it. 

The ashes from notes of last year’s solstice fire have already mixed with the soil alongside the mulch that warms the ground and feeds the roots.
Everything that has burned, broken down, or covered is still working. Not distracting itself to get to spring faster. But doing its work within (not despite) the cold.

I can let the mulch and ash do their job while I rest and sharpen and trust the work being done in the dark without feeling like I need to strive in discomfort. 

And in its time, without rushing, spring will always come again.
This year, I might even feel ready for it. 

​​A Few Things I’m Going to Try to Help Me (and my garden) Weather the Season

• Mulch the trees and trust their work.

• Get outside daily to stare at the sky, no matter the weather.

• Clear out some clutter to make room to rest, sharpening and tinkering.

• Attend the in-person Master Gardener gatherings. 

• Schedule coffee with another gardener who’s also missing the extended daylight.

• Rest intentionally.

• Give my houseplants some much-needed prioritization.

• Make s’mores with my kids.

Why container gardening is the easiest way to enjoy color, flavor, and life in the Fall and Winter seasons.

By Brenda Peterson

As the long days of summer fade and the air turns crisp, many gardeners tuck away their gloves and resign themselves to a dormant season. But here’s the secret: your garden doesn’t have to hibernate just because the calendar says so. With container gardening, Fall and Winter become an opportunity to cultivate resilience, creativity, and even a little magic on your doorstep.

A Garden That Moves With You

Unlike traditional in-ground beds, containers are wonderfully adaptable. They can be moved to chase the low-angled sun, clustered together to create microclimates of warmth, or pulled under shelter when frost threatens. On a chilly afternoon, nothing feels more rewarding than stepping outside to snip a handful of fresh parsley or admire a pot brimming with winter pansies, their faces lifted brightly against a gray sky.

What to Plant When the Days Grow Shorter

Cool-season vegetables thrive in pots and often develop richer flavors after a light frost. Imagine a container of kale or Swiss chard on your balcony, leaves ready to be harvested for soups and stews. Carrots, radishes, and beets settle happily into deep pots, their roots sweetened by the cold. Herbs like rosemary, thyme, and chives not only endure the chill but also perfume the air each time you brush past them.

And don’t overlook ornamentals. Ornamental cabbages and kales add sculptural beauty, while pansies and violas lend bursts of color that seem almost defiant against winter’s muted palette. Small evergreens or dwarf conifers provide structure and life when most of the landscape lies bare. Together, they create container compositions that are equal parts practical and breathtaking.

Simple Practices, Big Payoffs

• Choose wisely: Opt for sturdy, frost-resistant containers with good drainage. Darker pots help trap warmth, giving roots a cozy buffer.

• Protect tender friends: A quick cover with burlap or a frost cloth can mean the difference between losing a plant and savoring fresh greens in January.

• Water thoughtfully: Even in cold weather, container plants need moisture—just less of it. Water early in the day so soil has time to absorb before night temperatures drop.

• Mix and match: Pair edibles with ornamentals for containers that nourish both the body and the spirit.

A Touch of Indoor Comfort

Some plants prefer not to face winter’s bite at all. Herbs like basil or tender geraniums can be brought indoors, thriving on sunny windowsills or under modest grow lights. These indoor transplants connect you to your garden when outdoor spaces are snow-covered or damp.

The Joy of Winter Gardening

Container gardening in the cooler seasons isn’t simply about stretching the harvest—it’s about shifting perspective. Instead of seeing Fall and Winter as the end of the garden’s story, you begin to see them as new chapters filled with texture, color, and quiet abundance. Whether it’s the satisfaction of harvesting a handful of spinach for dinner or the beauty of frost-dusted evergreens in a clay pot, container gardening reminds us that growth doesn’t stop just because the days grow shorter.

By Amy Dunlap, Extension Agent, Davidson County

Each fall, monarch butterflies migrate from the northern United States and Canada to the mountain forests of central Mexico. This journey can stretch up to 3,000 miles and takes the butterflies across multiple states and landscapes. Tennessee lies right in the middle of their flyway, so the monarchs we see in September are on their way south.

The monarchs that make this trip are often called the “super generation.” While summer generations live only two to six weeks, the fall generation survives for eight to nine months. That extra lifespan allows them to complete the long flight to Mexico, spend the winter clustered together in oyamel fir forests, and then begin the journey north in the spring. It takes several generations to return north again, completing the full cycle.

Monarchs depend on two things to survive: milkweed for their caterpillars and nectar-rich flowers for the adults. Without milkweed, monarchs cannot reproduce, since it is the only host plant where they lay eggs. In Tennessee, important native milkweeds include common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca), swamp milkweed (A. incarnata), butterfly weed (A. tuberosa), and whorled milkweed (A. verticillata). Planting these species provides breeding habitat for monarchs and supports other pollinators as well.

Nectar plants are equally important for fueling migration. Native species like goldenrod (Solidago spp.), asters (Symphyotrichum spp.), ironweed (Vernonia spp.), and Joe-Pye weed (Eutrochium spp.) bloom in late summer and fall, right when monarchs are moving through. These pair well with other pollinator-friendly garden plants such as zinnias, lantana, salvias, and Mexican sunflowers. Together, they create a continuous supply of food from spring through fall.

By planting native milkweed and nectar sources, and by avoiding pesticides, Tennessee gardeners can play a direct role in supporting monarchs as they pass through our state each year. Even small plantings in backyards, schools, and community spaces add up to meaningful habitat along the migration route. And exhibits like the one at the Nashville fair give us the chance to share these stories with the public, sparking interest and inspiring more people to take action for monarchs.

By Gloria Ballard

From spring through summer, members of Davidson County Master Gardeners have seen their colleagues’ gardens grow and evolve during the 2025 Garden Tour season. And while gardening may be winding down (though some would say the season’s still in full swing!) it’s a good time to take a tour of Tours, looking back at the highlights of this year’s garden tours so far. 

April 26: Donna Jo Carey’s pollinator-friendly spring garden, which she says is “constantly in motion” in Donelson.

April 27: Ginny Russell’s beloved irises – she estimates 300 different varieties that line the driveway and wrap around her Donelson home.

May 3: Rob Quinn & Sheila Armstrong’s west Nashville “learning” garden that Rob compares to art: “It’s like a canvas,” he says, explaining how they see the blank spaces in the yard and decide how to fill them.

June 7: Portland Park, a public space at 21^st Ave. So. And Portland Ave. that Master Gardener Maureen May developed with Second Sunday Gardeners as a pollinator park in the Belmont-Hillsboro neighborhood.

June 8: Ellen Wright’s ever-evolving garden of “ongoing experiments” in Belle Meade, including perennials, shrubs, about 25 tree species, and several areas of white clover in lieu of grass, “for the pollinators.”

June 14: Stacy Fisher’s transformed landscape in the Crieve Hall neighborhood, which began as “an acre of weeds, trees in trouble and over growth on a six foot tall chain link fence in the backyard.”

June 15: Doris Weakley’s meandering paths through her extensive, mature garden of shrubs, perennials, annuals, trees, trellises, garden ornaments and more in Hillwood.

June 22: Amy Thomas’s hillside garden in Brentwood, with its elegant stone stairs winding through terraced beds and leading to a serene pond.

June 28: Amy Peterson’s small-space-big-impact garden of perennial and annual blooms and veggies in the ground, in containers, spilling over porch rails and hanging from the eaves of her home in Old Hickory.

July 27: Genma Holmes’s extensive garden spaces in Hermitage that began as a form of therapy for her son recovering from an injury, and has become a special space for experimenting that she shares with family, friends and especially her “three grands, who believe my backyard is a never-ending field trip.”

August 23: Rachel Esterday’s small but sunny garden space in Sylvan Park, where she embraces the idea of “chaotic gardening” with raised beds, trellises and containers, and where she also enjoys creating cyanotypes (sun prints) of items from the garden.

There’s Still Time to Host a Garden Tour!

Any member ofMaster Gardeners of Davidson County member can show off their garden by hosting a tour or open house. When you host a garden tour, you earn 15 volunteer hours. In addition, any Master Gardener who assists a host in preparation for the tour can record one volunteer hour for every hour you assist (including travel time to and from the garden). Master Gardeners who visit the tour garden can count the visit for one CEU hour.

Decide on a date and time for the tour. Email the request at least two weeks in advance to gardentours@mgofdc.org. Along with the date and time, include the address of the tour, a bit of information about your garden, and a couple of recent images that we can include with the announcement. We encourage tour hosts to include an educational component. Possibilities could include visible labels on plants, including botanical names; a listing of plants in the garden; a handout with information on design/planting/maintenance, or other learning opportunities relevant to your garden.

Plus my favorite recipe for Southern collards.

by Susanna Hadley

One of the reasons I love gardening is because I can always look forward to the change of the seasons. Each one offers a fresh start. Some seasons bring abundance, while others bring more bugs than harvests, or more heat than rain. But no matter what, you always get the chance to try again. Gardening reminds me that there’s always another season ahead and always something to learn along the way.

Of all the seasons, fall is my favorite to garden. I’ve always loved September: the evenings turn cooler, kids head back to school, and football season begins. I don’t even follow a team these days, but my hometown had a strong high school program, and the sound of Friday night games always takes me back. While some people save their “fresh start” for January 1, mine has always been September.

Like many of you, this summer was a challenge for me. My time was spread thin between work and family, and my garden suffered under the hot sun and long stretches without rain. More than once, I stood at my kitchen window wishing I could spend a few hours outside, only to be pulled back to everything else demanding my attention. To be blunt, my summer garden was a flop. But even in that disappointment, I kept reminding myself: there’s always fall. I also learned that even a little work every day adds up. I don’t always need to carve out hours at a time in order to make progress.

This fall, I decided to focus on planting what I love to eat. Growing up, my mom usually cooked kale if she made greens, so collards weren’t on my table until I moved to Atlanta for college and started spending time in south Georgia with my now-husband. That’s when I fell in love with them. These days, collards are a staple at my table for dinners and holidays. I even save the pot liquor, that rich, smoky broth from the greens, and sip it from a mug once the last of the collards are gone. So this season, I dedicated two of my 4x8 raised beds to Southern Georgia collards, along with cauliflower, broccoli, bok choy, and lettuce throughout my garden. Clearing out my summer beds and filling them with fall crops felt like stepping into that fresh start I had been waiting for.

So while my summer didn’t give me much, my fall garden may give me more than I can eat. Hopefully I can share my collards with my neighbors as the weather continues to cool. Here’s one of my favorite ways to cook them:

Instant Pot Collards with Smoked Turkey

Ingredients

• 2 bunches collard greens, washed, rolled, and sliced into ribbons
  

• 2 smoked turkey wings
  

• 2 cups water + 1 tablespoon Better Than Bouillon (or 2 cups chicken broth)
  

• 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
  

• 1 tablespoon garlic powder
  

• 1 tablespoon onion powder
  

• 1 small onion, sliced

• 1 tablespoon avocado oil
  

• Salt and pepper, to taste
  

• A few dashes Louisiana hot sauce
  

Instructions

1. Prep the greens: Wash collards thoroughly (multiple times—few things worse than sandy greens). Remove stems by folding leaves in half and pulling the stem from the back. Roll the leaves into bundles and slice into ribbons. Set aside.
   

2. Sauté onions: Slice the onion thinly. Set Instant Pot to sauté mode, add avocado oil, and heat for a few minutes. Add onions and a pinch of salt, cooking until tender.
   

3. Add turkey: Rinse and pat dry the smoked turkey wings. Add them to the pot with onions and sauté briefly.
   

4. Build the broth: Add water with Better Than Bouillon (or broth), vinegar, garlic powder, onion powder, hot sauce, and salt and pepper. Stir.
   

5. Cook the greens: Add collard ribbons, stir everything together. Don’t worry if it looks like too much — they’ll cook down. Close the Instant Pot and cook on high pressure for 45 minutes.
   

6. Release & serve: Let pressure release naturally for 10–15 minutes, then quick release. Taste and adjust seasoning. Add a few extra dashes of hot sauce before serving if you like heat.
   

Tip: Best enjoyed with cast iron cornbread on the side. Save the collard stems for homemade veggie stock!

Gardening teaches me that even when the outcomes are different than expected, there’s always another season. 

By Mollie Henry

As urban gardeners, strong soil health is a major factor in the health and vitality of our plants. Through mulching, crop rotation, cover crops and other best practices, we can protect soil from nutrient depletion and erosion. However, even these practices can sometimes fall short, and many gardeners turn to buying commercial fertilizers and store-bought soil with unknown origin.

But there’s a better way! By composting kitchen waste and leaves, you can “grow” your own soil, which saves money, provides better nutrients for your beds and cuts down on your household garbage and yard waste.

Kitchen waste – also known as “greens,” provide the critical nutrients of nitrogen, phosphorous and potassium that plants need for root, flower and fruit development. Dead leaves – also known as “browns,” provide carbon, the main fuel source for plants. Trees capture solar energy in their leaves, store it as carbon, use that carbon as fuel to grow, and when they drop their leaves in the fall, much of that carbon remains in those leaves that can feed the microbial workforce that turns compost into humus and continues to make soil good for plants. Humus provides structure and a continued source of carbon for our homemade soil. 

Composting is the way we make soil and is essentially mixing kitchen waste and leaves (or other dead plant matter) at a ratio of 1:3 and letting the mixture decompose. The rate of decomposition will vary, and you can accelerate the rate by chopping (mowing) your leaves before adding them to your compost, making sure your compost pile is large enough to retain heat (or is in a container that you can expose to sunlight), mixing the compost every week and keeping it moist (this isn’t very difficult, because kitchen waste generally contains a lot of water – but if your compost ever appears dry, it’s OK to water it). In my yard, I can convert a load of compost into a rich, dark amendment in about six months, which is why I have four separate compost containers in production all at once, at various stages. They give me about three one-gallon buckets of fertile, energy-rich, organic soil every quarter that I use for side-dressing or working into new beds. 

The fall season is a great time to start your soil farming career – in fact, soil farmers call this the annual “gold rush,” because free carbon is everywhere in places with deciduous trees. Many people have climbed aboard the “leave the leaves” campaign to support their yard’s insect ecosystem, which needs leaf cover for overwintering – and that’s a worthy endeavor. If you’re on that team but still want to grow your own soil, leave your own leaves and help yourself to your neighbors’ bags of leaves that will inevitably appear on curbs throughout Nashville. Pro tip: Bags in paper (rather than plastic) are easier to manage and save. Four or five leaf bags can be enough to feed your soil farm for an entire year!

By Melanie Brewer

As September begins, I think my pollinator and shade gardens look a little weary and worn as summer merges into autumn. Bee balm, coneflower, salvia, phlox, black-eyed susan, and hardy hibiscus have spent blooms and tattered foliage, as well as the hydrangeas, hostas, coral bells, and ferns. Then I notice the goldenrod and asters just beginning to flourish. A variety of bees are feasting on agastache. Buddleias are full of blooms providing for butterflies. There’s still life in my gardens! And there’s my American beautyberry. I’ve waited all summer for its crowning moment.

Although it is native to the southeastern US, I first saw an American beautyberry only four years ago. The American beautyberry (Callicarpa americana) is a woody, deciduous, perennial shrub that establishes quickly, requires little maintenance, and is beneficial to wildlife. In spring the leaves slowly appear, followed by clusters of tiny buds. By midsummer, the buds have opened into small pale pink flowers which turn into green berries by late summer. The magic begins in September when the berries ripen to a vibrant magenta. The shrub’s arching branches and sprawling shape become stunning when full of beautiful berry clusters. Berries may last through early winter and are a good food source for songbirds.

Keeping in mind “right plant for right place,” the beautyberry prefers part shade to full sun (mine is happy in part shade.) It will grow 3’-8’ tall and 3’-5’ wide in all types of soil provided it has good drainage. Consider using it as an accent plant, at the back of flower beds, or along woodland edges. It may also be used as mass planting in large spaces. Pruning may be done in late winter. It has no significant insect or disease problems. It can be propagated by seeds or stem cuttings. Learn more at plants.ces.ncsu.edu

By Tammy Carpenter

Let’s be honest, cities aren’t exactly known for their lush greenery. They’re more about honking horns, coffee-fueled chaos, and pigeons with attitude. But tucked between concrete and chaos, something quietly magical is happening. People are growing gardens. Real ones. With tomatoes, herbs, and kale that looks like it could bench press a bus.

Urban gardening is what happens when someone looks at a fire escape and thinks, “You know what this needs? Cucumbers.” It’s the kind of optimism that turns a cracked sidewalk into a flower bed and a forgotten windowsill into a basil jungle. These gardeners aren’t waiting for perfect conditions, they’re making do with milk crates, mason jars, and whatever container hasn’t already been claimed by the recycling bin.

And the plants? They’re thriving. These are city plants, resilient, scrappy, and just a little dramatic. They grow despite air pollution, nosy neighbors, and the occasional squirrel turf war. They lean toward the sun like they’re chasing a dream, and honestly, they are. But urban gardening isn’t just about growing food. It’s about growing connections. Neighbors swap seeds and zucchini like they’re trading baseball cards. Rooftop gardens become gathering spots. Bees show up like tiny VIP guests. And suddenly, the city feels a little less lonely, a little more alive.

Sure, there are challenges. Space is tight. The soil might be questionable. And sometimes your mint plant tries to take over your entire life. But urban gardeners are undeterred. They’re rebels with watering cans, dreamers with dirt under their nails, and poets of potting soil.

So, if you’ve got a sunny corner, a spare pot, or even an old boot lying around, why not plant something? You don’t need a farm. You just need a little hope, a handful of soil, and maybe a tomato that believes in you.

Because in the middle of all the noise and neon, a single sprout is a quiet act of joy. And that’s something worth growing.