At one point during the pandemic, in the middle of an online meeting where we traced how the virus was spreading from one family to the next, a wave of anxiety came over me that I couldn’t quite shake off with deep breathing. I was overwhelmed with dread, and instinctively walked toward my secret garden.

It was tiny, this secret garden of mine. A pergola stretched above, two vintage garden chairs rested on the ground, and countless pots—mostly floral and ornamental—filled the space. At different times during the pandemic, different flowers climbed over the pergola—yellow bells, bougainvillea, butterfly pea. At that particular moment, yellow bells bloomed overhead, with strands of Swiss cheese vine reaching down as if trying to get my attention. Pots of calathea watched silently as I tried to steady my breath. Surrounded by such greenery, I soon calmed down. It wasn’t the first time I had run to this sacred space for comfort and peace.

This secret garden is gone now, because I have a more ambitious plan. The calathea is still there, and so is the monstera, but these beauties now grow alongside tomatoes, eggplants, calamansi, papaya, basil, chives, rosemary, and Italian oregano. The idea is to grow a garden where I can pick vegetables and herbs to cook for meals—my version of farm to table.

In the Blue Zone that is Okinawa, residents live longer than the global average because of a lifestyle built around purpose, healthy eating, community, activity, and—would you believe it—gardening. Many elders tend small gardens where they source much of their vegetables, and some of the plants they grow even have medicinal properties. It’s like having a supermarket and drugstore in your own backyard.

I could see the appeal.

In the mornings, I take a walk around the yard, checking what needs to be done. I always have a little project going on. The other week, it was preparing squash seedlings for replanting into individual pots. Sadly, the little squishy squashes couldn’t take the aggressive heat and died on me. I had been planning to experiment with pechay seeds I scored from my plant vendor, but that’s off the agenda for now. I’ll have to wait until the weather is more favorable.

I was happy to note, though, that the talinum plants I replanted in one section of the garden are slowly but surely finding their footing. These leafy thingies used to grow like crazy around the yard, and I would just pull them out. I would later find out that they are all sorts of wonderful—and virtually indestructible.

An ongoing project: removing all the rocks and bits our gardener had embedded along the sides of the yard as a border. I thought the rocks looked “heavy” aesthetically, like they were pulling the garden down. And so, every so often, you’d find me doing manual labor—pounding at rocks, loosening them up, then hauling them over to one side of the yard for disposal. I fancied myself a young Howard Roark in The Fountainhead, working at a granite quarry. Mwahahaha. But this is also why I do a Farmer’s Carry—so I can actually carry all those rocks. Mwahahahaha.

Afternoons are my favorite, because that’s when I can spend more time in the garden. I pull out weeds, trim branches, and sweep fallen leaves from the mango and duhat trees into a neat little pile. I admire how my Italian oregano is growing nice and bushy while birds chirp overhead. I’ve even thought of getting a pair of binoculars, because at times I see them flitting above, and I find myself wanting to know their names.

When I do some actual planting, I always thank the Lord and say a prayer. My sister thought this was a crazy idea, this praying over plants. But to me, it felt perfectly logical. I was simply giving a nod to my Creator.

I am slowly turning the yard into a working garden. I’ve already harvested a couple of ampalaya and installed a trellis for their vines to climb on. I still have to figure out why my calamansi isn’t bearing as many fruits as I’d like. And my kamias—well, it’s grown quite tall, but I’ve only ever harvested a handful of fruits.

There is so much to learn. And every time a new leaf unfurls or a flower transforms into fruit, I am always humbled and amazed. What a wonderful thing it is, to be part of the small, steady miracle of life.

When I started gardening, I remember not being able to squat for long stretches of time. I’d be pounding on the soil, then standing up after a couple of minutes because my legs were on fire. These days, I can dig, pound, and putter, and it ain’t a bother. Funny how the garden I set out to build ended up building me as well.