How My Love for Flowers Took Root
A story of how beauty, faith, and hard work grew into 180 roses—and a lifetime of gratitude.
My love for flowers began in my mid-twenties, when I was living in Seattle, Washington. For eight years, I shared a home with a lovely lady who had one of the most beautiful front-yard gardens in the Wallingford neighborhood.
Each morning I would step outside and stand in awe at the colors, shapes, and endless variety of blossoms that filled her yard. Having spent most of my life in condos, I had never even seen a bi-color rose before. The first time I did, I was completely mesmerized.
Even now, years later, I can still remember the perfume that drifted through the air. Every flower seemed to have its own personality—its own scent, curve, and shade. I often wondered, how can blooms from the same branch look so different from each other? The diversity fascinated me. I never grew tired of that garden or of discovering something new each time I stepped outside.
A garden is a living thing; it changes from one hour to the next. Some days bring new buds, others bring fading petals. For me, every day there was an adventure. Sometimes my friend invited me to help with the yard work, and I always said yes. I loved being outdoors—feeling the breeze on my face, sipping iced lemonade between tasks, and working on something that brought me peace. It was also the best kind of exercise. Who needed a gym when gardening gave me a stronger body, a happier heart, and a little summer tan all at once?
Just fifteen minutes away was Woodland Park Rose Garden—and what a dream that place was! To this day, I can still picture the perfectly manicured rose beds, each plant pruned to the same height, every design thought out with precision and love. It was a tsunami of color that overwhelmed my senses, an explosion of beauty so powerful it felt heavenly. Bees hummed, birds sang, and the air was thick with the fragrance of thousands of blooms. Standing there, I prayed quietly, asking God to one day bless me with a garden of my own.
From Dream to Reality
Years later, when I moved into Château Pinacho, that prayer began to unfold. I spent hours visiting nurseries, studying catalogs, and choosing my first plants. My very first roses were Joseph’s Coat and Zephirine Drouhin—two classics that still make me smile.
What started as a small passion quickly became an obsession. Today I grow more than 180 varieties of roses. They’re breathtaking, but they also keep me humble—especially in May! In the early years, I watered each plant by hand, spending almost five hours every other day with nothing but a hose. When my daughter stopped taking naps, that routine became nearly impossible to maintain.
Then came the summer of 2017—a brutal drought that almost destroyed everything I had built. Watching so many roses struggle under the blazing sun was heartbreaking. That’s when I finally decided to install an irrigation system throughout the beds. It was a major project, but it saved the garden.
If someone had told me six years ago that I’d have a rose garden like this, I never would have believed them. Every morning now, I look out my kitchen window, coffee in hand, and smile.
More Than a Garden
For me, these flowers are more than petals and perfume. They are prayers made visible—a living blend of blessings, miracles, and hard work. The peace and beauty they bring fill my heart in ways I can’t describe. Gardening gives me purpose, patience, and joy that keeps growing right along with the plants.
And even though I’ve long called myself a rose collector, I’m learning to open my heart (and my soil!) to other kinds of flowers too. Life, after all, is about growing—and I’m still blooming right where God planted me. 
