We’re standing in a seasonal transition. Can you feel it? The grounding of fall is here. Kids are back to school, we’re in a flow of family rhythms that feel different than the full activation of summer, and the length of sunlit evenings is shortening.
I haven’t had the freedom to linger in the garden as long as I want to, but I was called to wander this evening. With the sun low and the breeze cool, the invitation was clear. I wanted to walk with God in the coolness of the day.
Enjoying a summer sigh
The butterfly pea calling me out to the garden every day with its deep purple-blue hue, inviting me to prune. To pick every open flower so its energy could pour into a fresh flush of flowers the next morning.
I’ve come out every day to collect the blooms. At one point, I thought the season was coming to an end. Days went by without blooms. And I had concluded that this must be when energy begins to shift for her. But I think she was waiting for the transition. A little burnt out from the summer heat and anticipating the pending shift. A late summer rain, temperatures beginning their seasonal descent, and in this liminal space, fresh blooms began to disperse with abundance. At least 40 flowers every day. And today was my largest harvest, 56 butterfly pea (Clitoria ternatea) flowers. Signaling that the seasons don’t just end and begin. There’s a progression of tiny changes…
Days become shorter
The sun rises a little later
It sets a little sooner
The heat drops a couple of degrees
A series of rains water the landIt’s a beginning and an end happening simultaneously. And this exact transition in Central Texas brings what I think of as a second spring. Exhausted plants find new life. Resurrected. For a moment. It’s like the land offers its last full sweep of abundance and harvest before the winter season. Like Yahweh pronouncing, “I will give you abundant provision.”
And the gardens, once feeling the exhaustion that the end of summer brings, find resurgence in the liminal.
The Tulsi is at its peak. Leaves big, flowers erect. It’s abundant in this garden. It’s such a gift, such an ally, that I imagine it’s inviting me to harvest. An opportunity to capture its essence. To cut, process, and dry it so I can enjoy its benefits far after its growing season has ended.
Lemongrass sends a message too. Standing tall throughout the intensity of summer. Reminding me that even in harsh seasons, there’s still beauty. If Tulsi is a reminder of Psalm 23, Lemongrass points me back to Philippians 4:8.
And these 3 herbs: Tulsi, Lemongrass, and Butterfly Pea have become my final medicine of place this summer. An herbal tea blend that encapsulates transitions and transformation. “In the Liminal,” perfectly captures what it means to be in between. That late summer transition into early fall. Feeling like neither and both all at the same time. Do you ever feel like you’re in that transition? Haven’t fully come out of the last season but not fully walking in the next…
When you make a cup of this tea, it’s a vibrant blue color. It’s almost like the electric blue hue is representing the now, but with a squeeze of lemon, the shift in pH causes the tea to transform. It becomes this beautiful hazy purple. And a reminder that we’re always becoming something new. Never to be the same again, season after season. We sprout, grow, change, transform, shift, die, and come back as a new thing.
I love seeing these cycles in the garden. Wisdom is woven within it, and when I slow down enough, I’m able to recognize the lesson for myself.
And the amazing part is that life is constantly shifting in the garden…
Mid-September is bringing
Pods of cotton bursting open like popcorn
Robust bursts of growth for the Pericon
Our first Jamaican Melon has birthed fruit from the vine
An abundance of Passionflower. Patiently waiting to be utilized as medicine.
Zinnias beginning to dull and transition to seed
And a singular bloom of Yarrow.Each plant cycling through its own transition. And with it, bringing transformation…
to the garden
To the plant itself
And to me. Forever shifted by the season.I’ll always look back on Summer 2026 with so much remembrance. The beginnings embraced, the endings we trusted. And all of the medicine made. A capsule of the season. A testimony of the land.
Scripture:
Philippians 4:8
“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”
Until next time,
Jasz
I can’t believe we’re already in August. The days feel long but the months seem to pass in an instant. Summer itself stretches on with long, hot days that seem to go on forever.
In Southern California, the “Endless Summer” posters run rampant. And it always felt true there. Los Angeles felt like an endless summer, warm days, ocean mist, palm trees.
But here in Central Texas, it truly embodies it. Summer feels like forever here. The days go on forever, the heat is intense enough to keep you inside, either with AC or in a body of water. And the sun sets close to 9pm. It truly feels like an endless summer. Most people are counting down to fall. I’m mostly praying for rain.
Around this time last year, I was beaming with excitement to start the Herbalism Apprenticeship that was almost underway. It already feels like a lifetime ago. All of us gathered under the gazebo to soon start working with Flame-Leaf Sumac for a tincture. That was my first time working with bark as medicine, and my heart feels warm knowing that one of those little Sumac babies we dug up from Caroline’s house is now growing in my backyard. I remember the day we dug them up and replanted in our own gardens. It’s the way life keeps giving life.
The gardens right now are both abundant and tired. Somehow, those two things can exist at the same time.
Some plants are thriving even under the current conditions. Those are my heat-loving and Texas natives botanicals. The ones that relish in the heat. I actually feel like them. We share a love for the sun, for summer, for heat. It could be because I’m a summer baby, born in July. Or my constitution being damp stagnation or Kapha. But like them, I enjoy the heat. I love the summer. This season is medicine for the heart. And we still honor it as such. It’s a time for play, it’s activating, it’s heat inducing, it’s buzzing with energy. There’s playdates, pools, swimming holes, late bedtimes, warm nights, and joy parading through each day.
The plants that are enjoying it, right along with me, are:
Butterfly pea – producing new blooms each day. Its vine is multiplying and reaching for something to clutch
Tulsi – my favorite herb. I planted so much from the seeds of last year but it’s popping up in so many spots, and my heart sings. I have all 3 varieties growing in the garden and they’re thriving. I’m harvesting often, and the blooms are blooming, inviting pollinators from every corner of the garden to delight in it. This plant reminds me of Psalms 23. It’s an invitation to lay down in green pastures and besides still waters.
Hyssop – She’s stretching taller and wider. Her purple-blue blooms are beginning to say hello.
Passionflower – This plant is popping up everywhere. I planted her last year and her rhizomes spread underground, emerging wherever she sees fit. The purple alien-like blooms are both other worldly and gorgeous.
Lemongrass – This plant has surprised me. This is my first time growing it and it’s amazing to see how fast it regrows after a haircut. It comes back so plentiful and happy. I’ve been leaning into this medicine more and more this summer. It’s lemony-citrus scent and joyful demeanor has been a pleasure to get to know
Pericon – Even writing about this botanical makes my entire body soften. I have an affinity for this plant. Something about it makes my entire body exhale. It’s a sign that my body needs this medicine. She stands tall, regardless of the heat.
These plants are shaping up to be my next medicine of place. It embodies the essence of High Summer. They’re sun-loving, joy-filled botanicals full of wonder that offer an invitation to take a pause, and let gratitude wash over us like a cool summer breeze.
There’s others that are relishing in the summer season:
The okra keeps producing fruit. So much so, I don’t even know what to do with it.
Zinnias are standing tall and in constant bloom. The jewel-toned gold and fuchsia are showstoppers
Roses are starting to enter a new wave of beautiful blooms
American Beautyberry is offering so many purple berries for the creatures that visit the garden
Goldenrod is growing taller and branching off where those golden blooms will reveal themselves this fall
The cotton is unbothered by the heat, producing plump little balls that turn into delicate flower blooms of white and pink
The thai basil, estafiate, and elderberry are also thriving, strong, and transforming right before my eyes
And in true balance, for every plant that thrives in the summer, there’s plenty that are tired and thirsty
The mint, mullein, exposed lemon balm, the mondardas (fitsulosa & citriodora), Turk’s Cap, sunflowers, yarrow, pink evening primrose, echinacea, sage, and st. john’s wort are looking very tired. The long days and lack of water are getting to them.
And like them, we all need a summer reset. Even in the season of abundance, we need time to slow down. To tend our garden. To weed, clear out the tired, add some nourishment, and make space for what’s waiting to emerge.
Maybe that’s one of the greatest lessons High Summer has to offer:
Abundance doesn’t ask us to keep doing more. Even though it feels like it so often.
It invites us to notice what has already been given and to sit in gratitude for it.
To pause long enough to be present to it and to receive it.
That’s the heart behind our Summer Make. Move. Meditate. gathering.
We’ll spend the evening making a seasonal oxymel together, moving through a gentle, cooling practice, and gathering around the table for a meal inspired by the garden. It’s an opportunity to step away from the busyness of the season and simply be present, with the plants, with one another, and with yourself.
If your heart has been longing for a moment to slow down, I’d love to save you a seat at the table.
Scripture:
Psalm 65:9-13
“You visit the earth and water it; you greatly enrich it… The pastures of the wilderness overflow, the hills gird themselves with joy, the meadows clothe themselves with flocks, the valleys deck themselves with grain; they shout and sing together for joy.”
Until next time,
Jasz
In order to move forward, we must first start from the beginning.
This garden was created in October 2024. That was the season of my Permaculture Design Course, when I began the journey of true land stewardship. Learning not just how to care for the land, but how to care for this land, specifically in Central Texas.
So I began with rebuilding this heavy clay soil through deep mulch. The kind of mulch that’s freshly chipped from an entire tree.
Leaves.
Twigs.
Branches.
Everything.
We layered cardboard over the grass first.
Then leaves.
Then nearly a foot of mulch over everything.
This process allows the soil to regenerate as the mulch slowly breaks down into organic matter. It also helps retain rainwater, soaking it up like a sponge and gradually releasing it back into the soil.
Because of this, our plants have been able to thrive with little to no supplemental watering. In fact, our sprinkler system doesn’t even work right now.
Which made this season especially difficult.
The past few weeks have been blisteringly hot.
Too hot to go outside.
Too hot to stay outside.
Just a long string of days stretching into weeks of relentless heat.
The garden was thirsty.
I could tell.
And so was I.
I found myself praying for rain.
For relief.
For a deep watering.
To wash over all of us.
And then…
it finally came.
The dry ground cried out and became quenched.
We had nearly a straight week of rain in mid-July.
The rains bring restoration.
They bring coolness to the intensity of the heat.
They deeply nourish all life.
Each morning, after another night of heavy rain, the garden drinks deeply.
And newness comes.
I hear the frogs croaking.
The birds singing.
The bees buzzing and dancing inside every open flower they can find.
New life springs up.
The melons ripen.
Watermelons seem to form like magic.
Morning dew settles heavily across the foliage.
We all begin to thrive.
Then, after the first rain…
I saw it.
An ancient covenant.
A promise.
Wrapped in beauty.
A rainbow.
Not one…
but two.
A double rainbow.
As I knelt in the garden, completely in awe…
I found myself even more overwhelmed with gratitude for Yahweh.
Not just for answered prayers.
But for His promises.
For His love.
For His redemption.
We all needed it.
The garden.
The birds.
The frogs.
The bees.
Me.
We had all cried out for it.
An opportunity to receive blessing.
To receive nourishment.
And, like the garden always does…
It taught me something.
The summer heat can feel daunting.
Relentless.
Unforgiving.
But it also creates potent medicine.
Plants become more resilient.
Their roots reach deeper into the earth.
They press forward, not simply to survive, but to thrive.
I think we’re a lot like that.
Our circumstances change.
Life shifts.
Evolves.
Transforms.
The dry seasons are rarely the ones we would choose.
Yet they often become the places where our roots grow deepest.
Where our dependence on God becomes less of an idea and more of a necessity.
When the rain finally comes, we receive it differently.
We remember where we were.
We recognize how far we’ve come.
Gratitude becomes deeper.
Perhaps that’s why Paul could write that he delighted in weakness.
Not because weakness was beautiful…
But because it became the very place where Christ’s strength was made visible.
That’s true transformation.
Just like the waters bring.
Wherever they flow…
New life springs up.
Scripture:
2 Corinthians 12:9-10
“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
Until next time,
Jasz
This morning began the way it usually does…
In conversation with God.
It always starts with a gratitude list: ten things I’m thankful for. Sometimes they’re sweeping gifts that shape the course of my life. Other times they’re the smallest details that might otherwise go unnoticed. I move freely between the two.
This rhythm has been part of my mornings for years. It anchors my heart in gratitude before the day unfolds, giving me something to return to when life inevitably brings its challenges.
But today in particular, I added a familiar prayer
“Give me a sign Lord. If this is the path you’ve laid out before me, give me a sign that this is Your Will over my life.”
By 6:30, I stepped into the garden. The sun had not yet made its ascent. These quiet moments, before the world fully awakens, have become some of my most cherished. I love welcoming the morning light.
I started my wandering by greeting Tulsi. Making a mental note that she’s in need of another bloom harvest.
I sat with St. John’s Wort, which is spreading so beautifully. They allege she never blooms in central Texas.
But I whispered to her anyway.
“Miracles do happen. Don’t let people box you in from your fullest expression and potential. You can soften here. In this garden, you’re safe.”
I continued meandering through the lush vibrancy of the plants until I reached the melons. It’s one of those playful plants that is stellar at hide and seek. I always have to kneel down, lifting vines and peeking beneath the canopy of leaves to see whether they’ve been quietly producing fruit!
To my delight, they had.
A tiny Kajari melon
Just enough to lift my spirits a little higher!
As I walked by the pomegranate tree, something caught my attention. The morning light had begun filtering through its branches in the most mesmerizing way. This tree has experienced remarkable growth over the past couple seasons, and today it seemed almost to glow.
The Turk’s cap nestled against its trunk, the way gentle waves meet the shoreline.
This was the moment.
So I knelt down, pulled out my camera, and framed the shot.
And then it happened.
Out of nowhere, not one, but two hummingbirds flew into the frame.
I have always loved birds, but hummingbirds have held a special place in my heart. They visited me constantly when I lived in California, but here in Texas, I rarely see them anymore.
My jaw dropped.
My heart raced.
My camera was already in my hands.
All I had to do was press record.
Hummingbirds are known for their speed. They’re here one second and gone the next.
But these two lingered.
They hovered beside the Turk’s cap blossoms, sipping the morning nectar before darting back into the air. Then, almost unbelievably, they floated directly in front of me for what felt like forever
…almost as though they had mistaken me for another flower in the garden.
The moment felt suspended in time.
Pure wonder.
I sat there in complete disbelief.
And in that instant, I knew.
This was God’s answer.
Not because hummingbirds are magical.
Not because I believe every bird carries a hidden message.
But because I had asked my Father for a sign.
And in His kindness, He answered in a way so personal, so unexpected, and so full of delight that I never could have orchestrated it myself.
Sometimes His answers don’t arrive with thunder.
Sometimes they arrive on tiny wings.
Scripture:
Isaiah 30:21
“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’”
Until next time,
Jasz
This morning, when I went out to the garden, it was refreshingly cooler than it has been. Big, heavy clouds were floating north and I prayed a little prayer, hoping for some rain. A little relief from this intense Central Texas Summer heat. But I sat in gratitude for a cooler 8am morning in the garden and I know the plants felt it too!
The Elders have been in bloom and are continuously blooming, but what’s fascinating to me is watching the formation of little green berries.
And those little green berries will one day be little purple berries that I’ll use for an elderberry syrup or throat spray. It’s beautiful to notice that the stems near the formed berries are a deep purplish color, sending a premonition of what those berries will be soon.
The flowers are all in full bloom.
Explosions of colors: yellow, purple, fuchsia. There are:
zinnias
monarda
black cherry sunflowers
echinacea
butterfly pea
tulsi blooms
sunflowers
It made me reach for the scissors to harvest a bouquet for our home. Bringing the outside, inside and allowing the nourishment to continue through seeing it’s beauty.
My greatest revelation was that there’s 3 varieties of tulsi growing.
I planted krishna and rama last spring and harvested the seeds at the end of the season. So this spring, I put down seeds for a tulsi keyhole garden bed and it’s thriving.
But I saw another Tulsi that looked more delicate than rama and green in color, and realized that somehow, another variety showed up here.
The more I harvest the bloom tops, the more abundant it becomes. I believe that’s how Tulsi worships Yahweh. Being a reflection of His abundance and provision.
Scripture:
Philippians 4:8
8 Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.
Until next time,
Jasz
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