Roxy's Doxies

11/03/2025

Windowsill Whispers: Tiny Tortum

I’ve always been a big leaf girl—drawn to the drama of Monstera splits and the bold presence of Elephant Ears. But last week, something unexpected caught my eye: a Philodendron bipinnatifidum Tortum, all skeleton grace and quiet rebellion. Her leaves don’t shout; they whisper. Long, narrow, and deeply lobed, they look like botanical lace—delicate yet defiant.

She’s small, for now. A single pot, tucked near the window where the light lingers longest. I’ve named her Tiny Tortum, not just for her size but for the way she holds space. There’s a kind of wisdom in her restraint, a reminder that beauty doesn’t always need volume.

For two weeks, she’ll stay solo—acclimating, observing, becoming. It’s a ritual I’ve come to love: letting new plants settle before introducing them to the others. It’s not just about root health; it’s about respect. Each arrival deserves its own moment.

And when she’s ready, she’ll join the windowsill chorus. Not as a standout, but as a quiet harmony. A whisper among giants. Farmer Brown Organic Garden

10/30/2025

Houston - we have a touchdown!

Neno & Sweet Nena's litter due around January 1, 2026

Neno - red brindle with black tiger stripes smooth
Sweet Nena - cream longhair

More pictures to come ..................... and the crowd goes wild!

Send a message to learn more

10/19/2025

Grateful for the recognition — and even more grateful for the people who make it possible.

This week, I received the 2025 Behind the Scenes Support Recognition from the King County Extension Master Gardener Program. It’s an honor that reflects not just my efforts, but the incredible teammates, garden leaders, and volunteers who show up with heart and purpose every day. Going “above and beyond” only happens when you’re surrounded by the best of the best.

As a Board member, my role is clear: I work for the Master Gardeners of King County — supporting their needs, amplifying their impact, and helping grow 39+ programs and more than a dozen gardens across King County. After the recognition event, I walked the room, checked in with each garden leader about how the soil was working out, and received thoughtful feedback. I didn’t wait for introductions — I listened, I learned, and I saw firsthand what we hope to accomplish together in 2026.

10/14/2025

Vision + Activity = Movement.

Firefly—the driftwood horse head named after my first Arabian c**t in Alaska—now hangs proudly on the center beam, illuminated by commissioned lighting I’ve long envisioned. He was my first investment in garden art, and today he anchors a space that’s becoming something more: a reflection of purpose, persistence, and joy.

There have been seasons when I questioned the path, when momentum felt elusive. But seeing this space come together reminds me: movement doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it glows quietly, affirming the journey.

Next spring, I’ll hire someone to paint the beams and ceiling—another step toward transforming this outdoor space into my “she-shed.” A place of light, legacy, and creative restoration.

Don’t fulfill someone else’s dreams. Work yours. And enjoy the journey.

10/13/2025

A dear friend once told me, “Not everyone gets another sunrise.” This morning’s light brought that memory gently back to me.
Tony—my driftwood garden sculpture—will be heading to the stables today to winter alongside Jimmy Finn. Both will be tucked safely away from the season’s wind, rain, and occasional snow.
Today is also Columbus Day, observed in many places as Indigenous Peoples Day—a moment to reflect on history, resilience, and the stories we choose to honor. I’m thinking of the land beneath our gardens, the wisdom carried by those who tended it long before us, and the beauty of pausing to listen.
Wherever you are, whatever your goals may be, I hope you pause to take in what surrounds you. Celebrate what you have. Appreciate what may come. And if you’re lucky enough to witness another sunrise—let it remind you of the beauty in simply being here.
Wishing you an incredible day.

10/12/2025

Is the soil under oak and pine trees always extremely acid?
Not necessarily. It’s quite likely to be acid, but it should be checked, because acid levels can vary depending on what type of rock is in the soil. Fall is a good time of year to test your soil. If it is acid, it will need lime.

10/10/2025

https://www.facebook.com/reel/1498722542254443

10/02/2025

MOVING GARDEN ART AROUND

As my summer blooms settle into rest, I'm shifting more of the garden outward, gathering around the Alaskan Blue Cedar Diadora for passersby to enjoy. It's a quiet gesture of welcome as the season turns.

If you can find them, 3 birdhouses, 1 garden troll with fern and 1 dragonfly. Can you see them? The cowboy boot birdhouse developed by my son years back with the license plate from one of my father's vehicles years back, rooster and hen are at the other end of the trunk.

Also—there’s a new dragonfly sculpture in the mix, and I’m on the hunt for the perfect name. Suggestions are always welcome. She’s whimsical, a little wild, and right at home among the wood chips and cedar.

Current names under consideration include but not limited to:

Lulu Cedar feels like a gentle guardian of the garden—soft, lyrical, and rooted in place. She could be the quiet whisper of fall, fluttering near the Diadora, inviting reflection.

Roxywing, on the other hand, is bold and legacy rich. She’s got movement, memory, and a touch of sass—like she’s carrying the spirit of Roxy’s Doxies into the skies.

How does your garden grow?

09/25/2025

Fall Reflections from the Garden As the season shifts and the garden begins its quiet descent into rest, I find myself reflecting alongside two soulful companions: Tony, my driftwood horse sculpture named after my mother’s childhood horse, and the last of my dahlias, still blooming with quiet pride.

Tony stands watch in the garden—a tribute to memory, resilience, and the artistry of nature. Commissioned from a gifted driftwood sculptor, he’s more than garden art; he’s a reminder of legacy and love. The dahlias, vibrant even as the days shorten, mirror the accomplishments of this past year. Each petal feels like a celebration of what’s been planted, nurtured, and harvested—not just in soil, but in spirit.

Fall is often framed as a time to clean up and prepare for next year’s garden. And it is. But it’s also a season for gratitude and intention. I’m thinking about crop rotation, new flower varieties, and how to shape next year’s garden to reflect both growth and grace. It’s a time to honor what bloomed and imagine what’s next.

09/25/2025

End of Summer Reflections

It’s the end of summer—a time to pause in gratitude for the warmth of golden sunshine and the gift of gentle rains. A time to count blessings as the last potatoes are unearthed from the soil, and the sweet scent of fennel—like a whisper of licorice—rises with each harvest. It’s become one of my new favorites. I’m not sure why I haven’t embraced fennel before; it’s rich in nutrients, vitamins, and flavor, and somehow feels like a plant that’s been waiting for me to notice.

There’s a quiet sadness as I clean off my fairy houses and trolls, brushing away the dust of the season before gently boxing them up for winter. Stay safe, my little friends. Rest well. Come back to me next spring, when the garden wakes and I plant you once again among the blooms.

As we each prepare for the slower rhythm of fall, may we honor what grew, release what’s fading, and carry forward the magic—both seen and unseen—that made this summer unforgettable.

09/16/2025

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09/07/2025

German Butterball Gratitude

Earlier this year, I invested in 5 lbs of German Butterball Seed Potatoes from Johnny’s Selected Seeds (ID: 3110.36). Today, I completed my third harvest—4.5 lbs from just one round—and I’m thrilled. These golden beauties are everything their name promises: buttery, tender, and deeply satisfying. One meal down, and tonight’s oven holds a boneless pork tenderloin surrounded by these gorgeous spuds.

I’ve been growing my own fruits and vegetables for years, but this season feels different. Better. More intentional. I amended all my raised beds with Kellogg’s Raised Bed Organic Mix and a generous helping of organic compost. The results speak for themselves—each harvest is more abundant, more flavorful, more affirming.

And I’m not done yet. I still have 8 or 9 grow-bags filled with German Butterballs waiting patiently for their turn. In a week or two, I’ll dig into those final treasures.

As summer’s warm sun begins to fade, I find myself breathing deeper. Resting more. Celebrating the small wins. This garden—this soil, this seed, this cycle—is teaching me how to grow not just food, but resilience.

Here’s to organic structure, soulful meals, and the quiet joy of improvement.