By Tammy — Garden to Plate Living
I hadn’t always been aware of my love for gardening. In fact, it wasn’t until my late 20s — 28 to be exact — that I realised how deeply it had been rooted in me all along.
At the time, I was going through a huge life moment that tipped my world upside down. Everything I thought was certain suddenly wasn’t. It felt as though a veil had lifted, and for the first time, I had space to slow down, look inward, and truly get to know myself.
Somewhere in the midst of that season, I found myself spending spare moments gardening other people’s yards. One day someone asked, “Why do you do it?” I remember replying, “I don’t know… I just like it.”
But the question lingered.
As I reflected, I realised this love of gardening had always been there. I remembered volunteering at lunchtime in primary school to help the school gardener maintain the garden beds. After school, I’d cross the zebra crossing to my grandma’s house, where I’d pull weeds and plant petunias for colour while Mum worked whatever shifts she could.
Our own home didn’t have much of a garden — just a few roses that my brother once pushed me into (I can still picture the thorns behind my left ear). Growing up, we weren’t well off, and frugality was a way of life. Hand-me-downs, upcycling, and handouts were our normal. Looking back, that resourcefulness shaped the mindset I carry now — to make do with what you have, get creative, and find beauty in simplicity.
Some of my fondest memories are from visiting my other grandparents’ house. They had a big backyard with a towering mulberry tree that I loved to climb. I’d come down with purple-stained fingers and legs, proudly wearing my berry battle scars. My grandma also had a strawberry patch, and I’d dart through it like a little piglet searching for truffles, hunting for the ripest red strawberries hiding under the leaves. We would spend the morning walking in to the local village to purchase fresh baked goods and produce. Those carefree moments of foraging and feasting on what we’d grown were my earliest lessons in joy, patience, and reward — though I didn’t realise it then.
Years later, with my first “real job,” as Grandma would’ve called it, I bought a modest three-bedroom home. I worked hard to keep it neat and tidy, and I tried time and again to bring the garden beds to life. Dead plant after dead plant, I joked that I must have a brown thumb.
But then, something finally grew — zucchini. Big, thriving zucchinis! Almost everything else bolted, but those zucchinis gave me hope. They were the little spark that kept the ember burning.
Then life changed again. Another big shift. I moved in with my mum, who by then had started her own flourishing veggie patch and a small flock of chickens. Watching her tend to her garden and care for her chooks — and seeing how in return they nourished her — lit something inside me. (Chickens are definitely on my 2026 bingo card!)
Not long after, I moved in with someone new — spoiler alert: he’s now my husband. He was already good at slowing down, enjoying simple hobbies, and spending time outdoors. I, on the other hand, struggled to find something that filled my own cup. Almost naturally, I turned to gardening again.
While I’ve always loved cooking for others (it’s truly my love language), it was around this time that I started to become more mindful about what I was cooking with. I began paying closer attention to the quality of the produce I was buying, learning to eat seasonally, and leaning toward a plant-based, whole-food lifestyle. My husband still eats all animal products, but together we’ve created a hybrid approach — prioritising whole foods, local produce, and high-quality ingredients whenever possible. I also started composting and slowly adopting low-waste habits.
As my hands returned to the soil, I started replanting trees and experimenting with propagation — soon our little yard was full of flowers, seedlings, and a small greenhouse bursting with life. My husband mirrored my enthusiasm, focusing on the lawn. Our elderly Maltese neighbours had the most magnificent cottage garden and orchid collection, and we soon became “over-the-fence” friends, chatting about plants and lawns. My husband eventually left corporate life to start his own lawn care business — one he loves and has built into something truly successful.
In that same yard, I began my second veggie patch — eggplant, capsicum, tomatoes, blueberries, lemon, lime, garlic, and herbs. The possums won most battles, but the eggplant triumphed.
When we relocated 200 km away, I took what I could in pots, but nothing survived the rental life. Still, that blank canvas waiting for us — our new home — gave me a fresh start.
During that time, I started making small but meaningful changes — replacing everyday items with low-tox alternatives, starting in the kitchen and slowly expanding to cleaning, furniture, and even personal care. I began using reusable produce bags at the shops, seeking to live more sustainably in whatever ways I could.
When our newly built home was finally ready, the first thing I did — even before the landscaping began — was set up a compost. I’d been waiting for a permanent place to call home so I could start again.
We landscaped the entire yard from scratch. Out front, native plants that felt authentically Australian; down the side, a tidy formal garden; out the back, a lush native space with soft turf. It took 18 months to bring that vision to life.
While deciding what to plant out back, I experimented again — garlic and pumpkin. That year, the harvest was wild: 32 pumpkins and 28 garlic bulbs! The pumpkin vines grew so fast they took over the yard, and my husband jokingly banned me from ever planting them again.
Now, with the major landscaping done, I’ve dedicated the side of our home to my veggie patch. It’s small but mighty — my own space to grow and experiment. I’ve slowly added fruit trees, herbs, and seasonal veggies. Progress can be slow (I’m prone to paralysis by analysis), but every little change brings me so much joy.
It was here that a dear friend introduced me to sourdough baking and gifted me some of her starter. What began as curiosity quickly became a ritual — the beginning of my sourdough era, one that’s now a regular and comforting part of life.
As my garden grew, I created a local crop swap page for our community — a place for neighbours to share abundance, swap produce, and exchange tips. I was amazed by how many others were on similar journeys toward self-sufficiency and mindful living. It’s now a thriving, supportive space where we learn and grow together.
These days, I can’t wait to step into the garden each morning, coffee in hand, to water, plan, and dream. My weekends are spent with dirt under my nails and a happy heart, and when I have spare time, you’ll often find me watching homestead videos or researching new gardening projects.
What started as a quiet curiosity has become a way of life — one that grounds me, nourishes me, and connects me deeply to the earth and to others.
This is how Garden to Plate Living began. 🌿
