tiff ✦ on the creek blog

Sunday, August 09, 2026

How I Reset My Overgrown Mint Garden Bed

My Mint Bed Was a Mess, So I Completely Reset It

I think I’m officially calling it on the garden this year.

Not the garden forever. Just this particular gardening season, because apparently my plants and I had very different ideas about how 2026 was going to go.

The garden was kind of a bust.

I didn’t have a lot of things make it to maturity, and I even had to get tomato clones from my parents because all of my tomato plants died.

Every. Single. One.

My Mint Bed Had Gotten Completely Out of Control

If you've ever grown mint, you already know that mint basically has two settings:

Not there.
I OWN THIS PROPERTY NOW.

Mine had definitely entered its landlord era.

The mint itself was growing just fine, but underneath all that new growth was a thick layer of old stems and plant material from previous growth.

Over time, that old growth had become uneven across the bed.

Instead of having a nice, full carpet of mint growing across the entire space, I had some areas where the mint looked great and other areas with practically nothing.

In the thinner spots, some of the new mint was growing ridiculously long and awkward just trying to make its way around all the old growth underneath.

Technically, the mint was alive and well.

Aesthetically?

We were struggling. 😂

So I decided to basically reset the entire mint bed.

Step 1: I Cut Back All the Mint

The mint was already beginning to go to seed, so the timing worked out perfectly.

I cut all of the fresh mint growth down and set it aside instead of throwing it away.

Cutting mint back this hard can look slightly terrifying when you're standing there staring at what used to be a lush green bed.

But mint is also one of the few plants I can absolutely disrespect like this without losing sleep.

Mint is practically immortal.

And because I did this while there was still plenty of growing season left, I knew there was a good chance I'd see fresh growth again before the season ended.

Step 2: I Leveled the Old Growth

Once all the fresh mint was out of the way, I could finally see what was happening underneath.

There was old mint growth everywhere, but it wasn't evenly distributed across the bed.

Instead of removing all of it, I decided to use that plant material right where it was.

I spread and leveled the old growth into a more even layer across the bottom of the bed.

Basically, I turned the mess into organic material that could break down right there instead of hauling it somewhere else.

Lazy gardening?

Maybe.

Efficient gardening?

I'm going with that one.

Step 3: I Put the Fresh Mint Cuttings Back

Remember all that mint I cut down?

I put it right back into the bed.

Now, there are certainly much more precise ways to propagate mint. You can take individual cuttings, root them, plant them carefully, and probably whisper encouraging words to them.

I did none of that.

😂

I simply spread the fresh mint cuttings in a layer over the old growth.

My thinking was pretty simple: mint roots ridiculously easily, I already had plenty of plant material, and if even some of those cuttings decided to root, great.

If they didn't?

Also fine.

The established mint underneath wasn't going anywhere.

Step 4: I Added Fresh Soil

Once everything was spread evenly, I covered the bed with a fresh layer of soil.

Then I leveled everything out so I finally had the nice, relatively even surface I'd been missing.

And then?

I left it alone.

Which might actually be one of the hardest gardening techniques I've ever attempted. 😂

A Few Weeks Later... We Have Mint!

It has now been a few weeks since I completely chopped down and resurfaced the mint bed.

And there is already fresh green growth popping through the new soil.

🌱🌱🌱

Because of course there is.

Mint looked at the entire renovation and basically said:

Cute. Anyway, I'm back.

And that's exactly what I was hoping would happen.

I don't expect the bed to look completely full and perfect overnight. Part of the reason it became so uneven in the first place was that I let it get away from me.

This time, I'm planning to keep up with it a little better.

Regular trimming, removing or redistributing old growth when it starts piling up, and keeping the surface relatively even should help the mint fill back in instead of creating those weird sparse patches again.

Sometimes the Garden Needs a Reset

This definitely wasn't the gardening year I pictured.

There were dead plants. Failed experiments. Tomatoes that apparently woke up and chose death.

But I'm trying not to look at the whole season as a failure.

Gardening isn't really a pass-or-fail hobby anyway.

Sometimes you grow tomatoes.

Sometimes you learn why your tomatoes didn't grow.

And sometimes you find yourself spreading chopped-up mint across a garden bed thinking, Well... let's see what happens.

This year taught me quite a bit about what isn't working in my garden, and now I have the chance to fix some of those things before next spring.

The mint bed was just the beginning.

Instead of waiting until everything dies back this fall and forgetting every complaint I had about the garden by spring, I'm working through it now.

Cleaning.

Resetting.

Adding soil.

Planning.

Figuring out what needs moved, changed, expanded, or completely reconsidered.

Because maybe a disappointing garden season doesn't have to end with, Well, that sucked.

Maybe it can end with:

Okay. Now I know what I'm doing differently next year.

And if my freshly resurrected mint bed is any indication, sometimes cutting everything back isn't the end of the garden.

Sometimes it's exactly how you start again. 🌿

Wednesday, July 01, 2026

2 Books with Endings So Unhinged, I Just Sat There Staring at the Wall Afterward

Tiff Alice Feeney , Book Recommendations 1 Comments

If you're looking for books with plot twists that completely derail your emotional stability...I've got two recommendations.

I normally fly through audiobooks one after another without much of a break. I'll finish one, immediately open the next, and keep it moving. It takes a pretty special book to make me stop and just...exist for a minute before starting something new.

Recently, two psychological thrillers managed to do exactly that.

One of my favorite things about using Libby is also one of the funniest. I'll add a book to my holds list because someone swears it's incredible, wait several weeks (or months), and by the time it finally becomes available, I've completely forgotten what it's about.

Honestly? I kind of love that.

Going into a thriller completely blind is one of my favorite ways to read. No spoilers. No expectations. Just vibes and trust issues.

Recently, two books on my hold list became available almost back-to-back, and somehow both turned out to be absolute winners.

Both had endings that left me staring at the wall, trying to process what had just happened.

My Husband's Wife by Alice Feeney

From the very beginning, you know something isn't right.

A woman returns home from a run only to discover her key no longer works. Another woman, who happens to resemble her, is inside the house, claiming to be her... and even her husband insists the "intruder" is the real stranger.

Immediately, you're asking yourself, What in the world is happening?

I had a few theories while reading, and I definitely thought I had some of it figured out.

Reader...

I did not.

The ending completely yeeted my brain into another zip code.

Every time I thought the story had settled into its lane, it swerved somewhere I wasn't expecting. I absolutely love books that convince you they're headed in one direction before pulling the rug out from under you.

If you enjoy unreliable narrators, identity mysteries, and endings that make you question everything you just read, this one's worth picking up.

2. It's Not Her by Mary Kubica

This book grabbed me almost immediately.

I'm a sucker for thrillers that open with the main event and then slowly rewind to show you how everything unraveled. In this case, it starts with the murder of an entire family vacationing at a lake resort before working backward through the events leading up to that night.

As the surviving family searches for answers, every chapter seems to introduce another possibility.

Just when I thought I'd untangled the mystery...

Nope.

Here comes another twist.

Then another.

And just when I finally convinced myself I had it all figured out...

Mary Kubica casually walked in with a folding chair and hit me with one last wild card.

I genuinely didn't see the full picture coming, and I love it when a thriller can still surprise me.

If you enjoy: layered mysteries, multiple suspects, family secrets, and endings that leave you sitting in silence for a few minutes, this one's for you.

Final Thoughts

I read these two books almost back-to-back, and somehow they both managed to accomplish something that rarely happens anymore.

They made me pause.

Not because they were confusing.

Because I needed a minute to recover.

If you're looking for psychological thrillers with unforgettable endings, I'd happily recommend both.

Now it's your turn.

What's the last book that left you staring at the wall after you finished it? Because apparently that's my favorite genre now.

- My Husband's Wife by Alice Feeney

- It's Not Her by Mary Kubica

Monday, June 29, 2026

I Almost Didn't Plant a Garden This Year

Tiff gardening , homesteading 0 Comments

Sometimes the biggest thing standing between us and the life we want is the idea that we already missed our chance.

This year's garden almost didn't happen.

By the time I finally looked outside and thought, I should really get the garden going, I felt like I'd already missed my window. The frost dates had come and gone. Everyone else had seedlings twice the size of mine. Garden centers were full of thriving plants while I was staring at unopened seed packets, wondering whether I should just wait until next year.

It would've been easy to call it a loss before I ever got started.

Honestly, life has a funny way of convincing us there's only one "right" time to begin something. Miss that window, and suddenly it feels pointless to try. We tell ourselves we'll start next season, next month, next Monday, next year.

But sometimes starting late is still better than never starting at all.

So I decided to plant the garden anyway.

I grabbed my seed packets, many of which were practically destroyed after I accidentally left them on the porch during a rainstorm. I dug through the soggy mess, salvaged whatever seeds I could find, filled up my little seed-starting greenhouses, and hoped for the best.

I even direct sowed a few things.

One unexpected perk of planting late? You don't spend weeks obsessing over frost dates when they're already behind you.

Then came the hardest part.

Waiting.

Not everything made it.

Truthfully, most of those old seeds were duds. A few trays never sprouted at all. Every empty cell was a reminder that sometimes you really do lose things by waiting.

But then... little by little... green started popping through the soil.

A handful of tomato plants survived. My herbs, which I've somehow managed to struggle with every single year, are actually doing pretty well. Tiny seedlings pushed through the dirt after I'd almost convinced myself nothing would.

And somewhere in the middle of watching those little sprouts appear, it hit me.

Maybe life works the same way.

Maybe we spend too much time worrying about whether we're "behind" and not enough time appreciating that we're still here.

Still planting.

Still trying.

Still growing.

Sure, maybe I would've had more tomatoes if I'd started in March. Maybe my peppers would've made it. Maybe my harvest will be smaller this year.

But if I had decided it was "too late," I'd have exactly none of it.

No fresh basil.

No tomatoes.

No rainy mornings checking the seedlings.

No evening walks through the garden to see what changed overnight.

Nothing.

Sometimes the harvest isn't just what grows in the garden.

Sometimes it's the reminder that progress is still possible, even when you don't start on time.

So if you've been putting something off because you think you've already missed your chance, maybe this is your reminder.

Start the garden.

Write the book.

Take the class.

Plant the seed.

Starting late doesn't mean you're starting wrong.

It just means today became the day you finally decided to begin.

- Seed starting trays
- Veggie Garden Seed Vault

Monday, June 15, 2026

June 15, 2020: The Day My Life Split Into Before and After

Tiff Grief & Loss , Life Reflections 0 Comments

If you asked me when my life started to change, when it became a clear case of before loss and after loss, I would tell you it was June 15, 2020.

Exactly six years ago today.

There have been plenty of defining moments in my life, but I can look back now and see that this was the beginning of a chain reaction that would completely reshape my world. At the time, I had no idea. Looking back, though, I can draw a straight line from that day to many of the biggest losses and life changes that followed, culminating in my husband's death on December 15, 2021.

On June 15, 2020, our beloved dog, Rain, passed away.

His death wasn't unexpected. He was around fifteen years old and had lived a long, happy life. Even so, the experience was incredibly traumatic for James and me. Losing a pet is one of those grief experiences people often underestimate until they go through it themselves. For us, Rain wasn't "just a dog." He had been woven into the fabric of our everyday lives for years.

Oddly enough, his death became one of those defining moments that strengthened our marriage.

There are events in life that either push couples apart or pull them closer together. For us, losing Rain brought us closer. We grieved together. We leaned on each other. Looking back now, I think we needed that connection because neither of us knew the storm that was waiting just around the corner.

Around that same time, James and I were in the process of becoming licensed foster parents. Part of that process involved a home study, which is essentially a deep dive into your life, your family, and your relationship. There were interviews, paperwork, background checks, and countless conversations about who we were as people and as a couple.

I remember one question in particular.

The social worker asked us to describe a time we had faced significant challenges together as a couple. We were asked about financial struggles, family conflicts, health issues, marriage difficulties, and other major obstacles we had overcome.

The funny thing is, at that point, we didn't really have an answer.

I don't say that to brag. Quite the opposite.

The next couple of years would hand us more challenges than I ever thought possible.

But at that moment in time, James and I had been remarkably lucky. We had experienced normal life stressors, of course, but we hadn't yet been tested by the kinds of losses that fundamentally change who you are.

Sometimes I joke that God, Source, the Universe, or whatever higher power is running the show looked down at my life and realized they'd forgotten to sprinkle in the hard times.

Then they dumped five years' worth on me all at once.

Of course, that's not really how life works. But there are seasons when challenges seem to arrive one after another, so quickly that you barely have time to catch your breath before the next one appears.

And for me, that season seemed to begin with Rain.

He was one of those once-in-a-lifetime dogs.

Even six years later, he still shows up in my dreams. Sometimes they're vivid enough that I wake up expecting to see him lying in his usual spot. There was always something special about him, something difficult to explain. Maybe every pet owner feels that way about their favorite dog, but I've never been able to shake the feeling that Rain was different.

Looking back now, his death feels like a threshold.

Not because losing him caused everything that came after, but because it marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

Within the next eighteen months, we would experience a failed foster placement, welcome our son into our lives, receive James' cancer diagnosis, and eventually say goodbye to him far sooner than anyone should have to.

The version of me that existed before June 15, 2020, had no idea what was coming.

I've heard people say that our bodies remember trauma anniversaries, even when our minds aren't consciously thinking about them. I don't know if that's scientifically true.

What I do know is that every year around this time, I start feeling something shift.

A heaviness.

A sadness.

A sense of reflection.

Maybe it's grief. Maybe it's memory. Maybe it's simply recognizing a date that quietly divided my life into a before and an after.

If someone asked me what moment changed my life, they would probably expect me to say the day James died.

But I wouldn't.

I would say June 15, 2020.

Because that's the day the old version of my life quietly began to disappear.