Funk-N-Fiction

I love our “Blank” Makes Me Happy posts — a chance for authors to share a little about the things that make them smile. Today Chrissy Chicory gives us a peek into a tiny thing that brings her big joy.

“Tiny Gardens“ Make Me Happy
by Chrissy Chicory

There is something wonderfully hopeful about a garden small enough to fit on a balcony.

Mine is a collection of herbs, flowers, tomatoes, peppers, and one beloved little fig tree—all tucked into pots and gathered just outside my door. It may not be the sprawling garden of storybooks, with winding paths and overflowing flower beds, but it has become one of the happiest corners of my home.

Living in Florida can sometimes make the seasons feel distant. We do not always have the clear turning of the year that I remember from living farther north—the first sharp chill of autumn, the long winter rest, or the unmistakable excitement of green shoots breaking through cold spring soil.

Here, the changing seasons speak more quietly.

They arrive in the angle of the sunlight, the heaviness of the afternoon rain, and the weeks when certain plants suddenly stretch toward the sky. They reveal themselves in the first tomato beginning to blush, in new leaves unfurling on the fig tree, and in knowing which herbs will flourish in the heat and which ones are beginning to ask for a little more shade.

My balcony garden helps me notice those subtle changes.

Each day, I step outside to see who needs water, who has grown, and whether anything new has appeared overnight. I run my fingers over the leaves and turn the pots so each plant can reach toward the sun. It is a small ritual, but it adds an intentional rhythm to the day.

The lemon balm may be my favorite to touch. Its leaves are soft and almost silky in the hand, with that fresh, gentle fragrance released whenever my fingers brush against them. Mint is less subtle. The moment I begin cutting it, its bright scent rises into the air, and I know that before long those leaves will be steeping in a pot of tea.

There is something deeply satisfying about drinking tea made from herbs I have tended myself. It is not simply the flavor. It is the whole lovely sequence: watering the plant, watching it grow, gathering the leaves, and carrying them inside. The tea becomes part of a relationship rather than something taken from a box.

Gardening invites all the senses to participate. There is the damp smell of soil after watering, the softness of leaves, the fragrance of herbs, and the sweetness of that first ripe tomato still warm from the sun. Even the smallest harvest feels like a tiny celebration.

I think that may be why the garden feels so connected to my writing. Both ask me to slow down, pay attention, and trust that something worthwhile is growing even when I cannot see much happening on the surface.

Sometimes, as I walk among my little collection of pots, I imagine Nan Nettles—the innkeeper at the heart of my whimsical Nettles B&B Mysteries—moving through her own garden, brushing her fingers over the herbs, deciding what might be added to a pot of tea, and keeping one eye open for pixies. Perhaps a few bits of my balcony have quietly found their way into her world without my even realizing it.

Of course, a garden also teaches humility. Not everything flourishes. Some plants sulk despite my best efforts, while others enthusiastically take over their containers. Gardening means experimenting, adjusting, and occasionally accepting that a plant had plans entirely its own.

But perfection was never the point.

The joy is in tending. It is in stepping outside each morning and discovering one new blossom. It is in cradling a tomato in my palm to see whether it is ready. It is in the scent of mint clinging to my fingers and the quiet pleasure of watching my tiny fig tree grow one leaf at a time.

A garden does not need acres of land to connect us to the earth or the turning of the seasons. Sometimes, all it takes is a balcony, a few mismatched pots, and the willingness to pay attention.

My garden may be tiny, but the happiness it gives me is abundant.