I admire so many of you here on Substack. I love hearing the numerous stories of those who were raised in an environment where their lives centered around books and literature. What a fantastic way to start a life.
My story is quite different. My parents were hard-working and loved me and my sister, we both knew and felt it. Books were not the center of attention in our family, although I was fascinated with our collection of Encyclopedia Britannica. My father was a farm manager, and my mother was a bookkeeper for a construction company. My memories were about exploring the farm and the many acres around it. There were many creeks to play in, barns, and forested areas. Nature was my playground, and with my vivid imagination, I was never bored. I didn't realize it then, but it created a firm foundation for my creative life.
When I began school, I did ok in those early grades but soon began to struggle. It was only years later that I realized that I must have had a learning disorder of some kind. I limped through school and made it through the first year and a half of college before dropping out. I saw many of my friends go on to finish college and beyond and land great jobs with the hope of a great future. I felt like a failure in many ways, and my future was bleak.
I got a job working in a garden center that my dad co-owned, and I at least had a job making some money. I had to take a deep dive into learning about plants and business and quickly discovered that I was doing much better with the plants part of the equation than on the business side. Some years passed, and I acquired a great deal of plant knowledge, but it was not a passion of mine. I later left that company and became a sales representative for a prominent West Coast nursery. I was growing weary of the travel required and wondered if there was a job I would be better suited for. Not long after I began having these thoughts, I got a call from my father in 1979 asking me if I wanted to come home to Nashville and start a garden center business together. I immediately said yes, packed up my car, and drove home.
Those early years were physically and mentally challenging, but we had early success. I began hiking and photographing on my day off to unwind and take a break from the rigors of business. I started noticing the native plants on my woodland walks and wondered what these plants were and why they weren't offered in garden centers. It seemed apparent that these native plants might be better suited than the exotic plants we and other garden centers provided, but I knew little about them. With my curiosity sparked, I began in earnest reading everything I could get my hands on regarding native plants, rapidly learning the names of the plants. I advocated for native plants in gardens and landscaping, and we slowly began to add them to our traditional offerings. I joined the Nature Conservancy and other environmental groups to learn more about the role that native plants play in the environment. Within a few years, we became known as a source of native plants, and both landscape architects and designers would consult with us on how to add and offer native plants to their clients. Garden clubs and other organizations wanted more information about native plants and would ask if I could come and speak about them. Local radio stations and newspapers often visited our garden center to see all the excitement about native plants. The response to this was so gratifying, and the excitement was palpable.
Little did I know then that this newfound love and appreciation would become the vehicle that would change the course of my business and my life. My enthusiasm for what I loved and cared about helped me overcome my limitations and self-doubt. It’s a reminder that it’s never too late to find your calling and make a difference in the world.
You are not only a great photographer and plant expert, but an excellent writer.
What a great story! A reminder that the path is often winding, and by remaining open and paying attention, we might end up somewhere better than we could've imagined for ourselves.