How Growing Plants Saved Me From Addiction
I was born in Grand Rapids, MI in 1977. Michigan to me was sand dunes, the beach, corn fields, a cabin in Pentwater, and the Holland tulip festival. It was also a large helping of trauma.
My dad, a large, charismatic man with a stocky build, and a million dollar smile, could put down a highball glass full of corn liquor in a few short gulps.
Family life wasn’t for him. My parents divorced when I was 6. Later, when I was 17, he died in prison, his body shut down from years of alcohol abuse at 42.
My own demons and life in FLA
When I was 9, my mom Florida was the promised land for Michiganders of that generation.
Florida, while not having snow, was a struggle for us, and now we were separated from much of our extended family.
My mom had her own special demon, bi polar disorder. The disease manifested as almost exclusively mania in her case, very similar to schizophrenia when off her meds. The heavy meds and hard living (Sierra Mist on the rocks and Doral 100’s was her typical evening) took its toll. She struggled making ends meet and a string of boyfriends who woudn't stick around for her manic episodes. We were always on the verge of losing what little we had.
No surprise that I’d end up nursing my own demons. I loved alchohol as soon as it touched my lips, a stolen bottle of Dekuyper peach shnapps when I was 15. High school was a blur of house parties, all night raves (early 90's), and skipping school to hunt mushrooms. Whatever mischief we were doing, booze and cigarettes were at the center of it.
Dirty hands in the spring sunshine.
Fast forward a couple of decades of jumping from job to job, state to state. In my 30's my life was a mess, divorced and a single dad, still barely keeping my life together, worshiping myself, alchohol, and lust.
That’s when things started getting scary. Hangovers day after day. Chugging rhodies in the car on the way home. Downing a twelve pack of Sierra Nevada without eating just to pass out in bed with my clothes on. Living for the moment I was out of work to start it all over again.
For those who know addiction, it's the same old story.
Finally, at 41, I had enough of this life. I had my last drink on 12/31/18. It was 6am in the morning after drinking hard and chain smoking all night. My head was pounding before it hit the pillow. I was sick of myself to the bone.
Covid hit the scene about a year later, and I needed to figure something out. I couldn't keep living the same life and expect to make the changes I needed to make.
I started growing seeds with one grow light in a tiny Michigan-style basement, and three short rows of cloddy soil. If you live around Asheville, you know the soil.
I was terrible. The few veggies I was able to grow just ended up as deer or groundhog food.
What it did do is took my mind off of the booze and gave me a passion for growing things. There is nothing like putting your hands in the dirt in the spring sunshine. That passion hits fresh every spring.
And the rest is history. We are always learning and improving, knowing what does well in this area and how to dodge the deer.
Sarah, the love of my life joined me a few years in and for some reason decided to marry this mess of a human being. My son, now 22 is getting ready to serve in the military. Life is good. Up and down sometimes, but good.
But hands down the most important thing that's happened to me is accepting the Lord in my life in 2024. It turns out he's been looking for me.
I am so grateful to be growing with you, my friends.
We all come from somewhere, and have our own good fight to fight. I’m grateful for all of it, and wouldn’t change a thing. I've had a lot of love through the years, and good family by my side. What I wouldn’t give to give all of those flawed people in my past a great big hug again.
Stubborn and Prideful
Thank you for making it this far. Every year I debate taking all of this down, that it's all too personal and that I'm just playing the tiny violin, as my mom would say.
But I leave it up because our story matters. What is yours?
Jesus came into my life story one Sunday five years ago, sitting in my dentists chair getting urgent fix on a new crown that had fallen out.
I don't even remember the details of what he said, just the tears streaming down my cheeks as he told me about Him, while my mouth was propped open and I could only respond with grunts.
I wish I could say that I marched out of the office that day convinced of the truth, but I'm way too stubborn and prideful for that.
Doc had planted a seed, that and this persistant but niggling sense that I had things all wrong, that I wasn't the lord of my life, and that if I kept up the delusion that I was my own God, anything that I achieved would end in tragedy.
For three years I beat around the bush with it. Dabbling in church, reading books, and maybe a little of the Bible here and there. I had a lot of questions and had a pretty thick defensive wall up. I really didn't want to believe it.
The truth is, I thought Christianity wasn't smart or cool enough. All my life I had decided that every negative thing that modern western culture says about Christians was true, and that it was set up to keep people in line and not thinking critically.
Funny thing is, it's the exact opposite. This is not a religion for dummies. God does not want us to blindly follow Him without using reason and logic. He doesn't want blind faith.
How wrong I was, about so much.
Is this you? Do you have a strange sense that there is something you are missing? That maybe what makes the most sense is that there is a creator and that he longs for a relationship with you?
Let's get coffee sometime.
"What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love Him.
1 Corinthians 2:9