When we moved to Pauline Manor, I didn’t set out to create a massive garden. I just wanted to grow a few things now that I had the land to do so. It started with a single 8x4 raised bed from Amazon, a small experiment to see what I could make thrive in the Florida heat. But one garden bed turned into two, then four, then eight, until suddenly the garden was over 1,000 square feet —bigger than my first apartment! Now, the garden is full of life, producing everything from tomatoes and bell peppers to watermelons and more okra than I know what to do with. If the neighbors ever need okra, they know where to find me.
Alongside the vegetables, I’ve planted an abundance of herbs that fill the air with their scents and keep the pests at bay. Rosemary, mint, sage, and lemon balm grow in wild, sprawling clusters, always ready to be snipped for cooking, tea, or whatever concoction I feel like experimenting with. The bees and butterflies seem to appreciate my efforts, buzzing from bloom to bloom, turning the garden into my little oasis to enjoy a cup of coffee... or a glass of wine. It’s a mix of planned chaos and happy accidents—some plants carefully placed, others sprouting wherever nature decided they belonged.
One of the biggest transformations on the property has been the old glass building which the former owners raised fish for eating and feeding their livestock. Not wanting to keep the fishery going, we repurposed it into a greenhouse. Instead of holding tanks of fish, it now shelters trays of tiny seedlings, giving them a strong start before they head out into the garden or find new homes with local friends. There’s something deeply satisfying about growing a plant from a tiny seed, watching it sprout and stretch toward the sun, knowing that soon it will provide food for a meal or brighten someone’s yard.
This garden has become more than just a place to grow food—it’s a part of my daily life, a space that connects me to the land and to the history of this home. I like to imagine past owners standing in this very spot, watching the seasons change, growing their own food, and finding the same sense of peace that I do now. And while the house itself tells one story, the garden tells another—a story of growth, resilience, and a whole lot of okra.
