My Snaps from the Garden Series
I've been wanting to carve out my own corner of the internet again for years—something that felt like those early 2000s Xanga days when I wrote whatever was on my heart under handles like "Strawberry Wings" or "Sleepy Sheepies" (yes, those were real, and no, I’m not embarrassed).
But this time, I wanted something different. Something that would anchor me. Something that would help me stay present to the cycles of life happening right outside my door.
So in May 2025, Snaps from the Garden was born.
Where It All Started
That first post in May was pure excitement. The garden wasn't really producing much yet—just hope and potential. Irises blooming in five different colors. Honeysuckles and daisies growing wild. The first brave corn stalk that actually survived (we got NONE the year before, so this felt monumental).
I remember standing in the asparagus fronds for twenty minutes trying to identify a beetle, terrified it was the asparagus bugs that had plagued us the year prior. Turned out to be a soldier beetle—a good guy! A pollinator! It felt like a sign that maybe, just maybe, this year would be different.
Here we’re just getting started!
I had the highest hopes back then. I was going to get these photo blogs out at the end of every month, neat and tidy and perfectly organized.
Life, as it turns out, had other plans.
What the Garden Taught Me
By June, I was learning that gardening is so much more than I'd anticipated. It became one of the most physical activities I'd ever done—which, for someone working through a fibromyalgia diagnosis, meant it was also one of the most important.
Gardening brought me back into my body in ways nothing else could. As someone who spent over a decade dissociated from or hating my body, being one with the Earth has been profound. I have to look, listen, feel, and stay anchored. I squat constantly. Lean over on an uneven hill. Body mechanics become essential.
And the lessons? They're everywhere. Gardening taught me that no matter how many seeds we throw at the ground, some just won't grow. Of thirty-plus fennel seeds, only five germinated. Some desires, wishes, or wants in life are simply not meant to be ours.
But always—always—something grows.
Not gonna lie—July was a miserable month in the garden. There were days Justin and I sincerely questioned why we were doing this to ourselves. We picked hundreds (if not thousands) of squash bugs and cucumber beetles off our plants with tape. We hand-trapped countless Japanese beetles. We fought valiantly against vine borers and lost.
The gladiolus bloomed beautifully before succumbing to heat, storms, and BUGS. The scarlet runner beans attracted bees and hummingbirds in droves, but everything else seemed to be under siege.
And then, on the last day of July, a spectacular storm rolled through. The house shook. The sky crackled. The atmosphere rumbled with thunder. Our corn was battered. Peppers uprooted. Various crops flooded with standing water.
We were in triage mode as soon as the front passed.
But always—the light breaks back through. Such is the cyclical way of this life we live, ever in the Spiral.
Capturing various images of the bees on the scarlet runner bees this year has been a great joy.
Resilience and Abundance
August arrived with a lesson in resilience. Despite several peppers getting uprooted in that storm, there was absolutely no loss of life. The autumn joy sedum began blooming its flowers for the first time—I'd been waiting all year to see this plant's full life cycle, and watching it start was magical.
East Clyde (our groundhog friend) made regular appearances, munching on strawberries and green beans. Praying mantises lounged in the asparagus fronds. The marigolds bloomed orange, yellow, and red all over the garden—prolific and unstoppable.
We harvested corn, potatoes, edamame that we hung to dry. We made the difficult decision to pull all the kale due to bug damage. We learned. We adapted. We kept going.
And through it all, I realized something: I couldn't keep up with my self-imposed deadline of monthly posts. The garden itself was taking up all our free time. So I reminded myself—the deadline doesn't exist outside my head. I make my own rules around here.
The Full Cycle
By September, the Fall Equinox marked the second harvest, and that was so visible in the photos. The difference between the first garden pictures of the month and the last showed the level of die-off, decay, and end of life happening for most of our crops. The slow return to dormancy. The darkening days.
But what abundance we experienced! Peppers overflowing—pepper jelly, pepper breads, multiple pepper-filled meals, three large gallon-sized ziplocs in the fridge that we didn't know what to do with. The fish peppers (a local heirloom) showing their incredible variation from deep red with darker stripes to white and yellow.
The fennel—oh my word, the fennel—requiring two hands, tons of twisting, and much heft to pull from the ground. The root system was absolutely incredible.
And the autumn joy sedum? After tracking it all year, I finally got to watch it bloom from gentle white to full pink, then begin to die away after only a month. How fleeting some things are. Best we stay present enough to enjoy them.
Between the butterfly meditation that manifested in a real monarch posing for several minutes, the mantis friends lounging around, Clyde visits, and watching the autumn joy's complete bloom cycle, September was filled with spiritual significance, symbolism, and moments of pure joy.
Fireball Marigolds.
What This Series Has Meant to Me
Looking back through five months of Snaps, I see so much more than a garden.
I see a mirror of my own growth—the excitement of new beginnings, the lessons in presence and embodiment, the moments of questioning why we do hard things, the resilience that emerges when we keep showing up anyway, and the deep gratitude for cycles of life, death, and rebirth.
As a Druid, tending the land I share is perhaps the most spiritual experience I can have. It's tangibly walking the shadow-light journey, trying to harmonize myself, the plants, and the insects. It's a balance. It's a time. It's an honest undertaking.
This series has become my way of staying anchored. Of remembering to witness. Of documenting not just what grows in the garden, but what grows in me through the process.
It's been such a joy to share these simple things with you. Whether you have your own garden or not, I hope these photos inspire, encourage, and build hope for a future filled with more thriving nature.
See the Snaps
I invite you to walk through the garden with me, month by month:
May 2025 - Where hope springs eternal and every seed feels like possibility
June 2025 - Lessons on embodiment, presence, and what it means to tend
July 2025 - When the struggle is real and the storm breaks through
August 2025 - Resilience, critter visits, and abundant life despite the odds
September 2025 - The Fall Equinox, harvest season, and watching the autumn joy continue its cycle
Snaps from the Garden is a Substack exclusive publication. If you want to follow along with the growing season (and the growing soul), be sure to subscribe over there.
The land gives and gives. Cycles of life, death, and rebirth are visible with each moment communing with it. It keeps me grounded in reality—in the way of life here on planet Earth.
I hope you get something beautiful out of these reflections, too.
How has your relationship with nature been evolving? I'd love to hear.
All My Love,
Safrianna the Druid
Safrianna Lughna, LCPC, MS is a trauma therapist turned transformational guide who has been walking the Druid path since awakening to it at age 18.
For over 17 years, she has been hosting Wheel of the Year rituals, weaving ancient earth-based wisdom with modern trauma-informed healing. As the Queer-Spirit Guide and CEO of Living LUNA, she creates sacred spaces where spirituality honors the full cycles of life, death, and rebirth—both in nature and within ourselves. Her work bridges the mystical and practical, inviting others to connect with the land, the seasons, and their own authentic spiritual practice. When not tending her garden or working with clients, she's writing poetry, playing video games, or spending time with her polycule and cat companions.
The Veil is Thinning: Join Us for Samhain
Just as the garden teaches us about cycles of growth, harvest, and dormancy, Samhain invites us to honor the thinning veil between worlds—the perfect time to connect with ancestral wisdom and revolutionary spirit.
This October 27 - November 3, I'm co-hosting Between the Veils: 8 Days of Revolutionary Awakening with Dr. Melissa Bird. Together, we're creating space for spiritual misfits, revolutionaries, and those ready to reclaim their magic without apology.
What You'll Experience:
8 days of soul-connecting transmissions (live on YouTube with exclusive replays sent to your inbox)
Sacred Samhain Ritual on Zoom (November 2nd)
Personal oracle card reading from me
Daily reflection prompts for integration
Lifetime access to all materials
This awakening experience is not suggesting you add more rules to your spiritual practice. We’re inviting you to strip away everything that doesn't belong to you so you can reconnect with the joy, power, and authenticity your ancestors dreamed you could embody.
Your lineage includes those who survived impossible odds. That revolutionary fire runs in your blood. It's time to light it.
Join us for $47 and receive lifetime access to all replays, prompts, and ceremony recordings.
Learn More & Register at Safrianna.com/8days
The garden reminds us, there's always a season for growth, and always a season for returning to our roots. This Samhain, let's honor both!
