Composting My Life by Toya L. Walker

I am a woman with seventeen spreadsheets, three funding deadlines, and a compost pile that could testify in court. I label seed packets as though my seeds might arrive unannounced and ask to see my methodology. Sunflowers are numbered because chaos is not educational and hope requires a system. I run a business called Organically Grown Queen, which sounds impressive until you realise it means explaining soil health to people who think herbs come with instructions. I teach children that food comes from the ground, not the supermarket, not a lorry, and certainly not good intentions alone, though those help if properly watered. I apply for grants with the optimism of someone who has read the guidelines and still believes. Micro grants. Macro visions. Budgets written politely, as if I am not asking strangers to fund my belief that gardens can save things. They ask for measurable outcomes. I offer improved confidence, stronger communities, and carrots that taste like effort. They ask for scalability. I suggest we all calm down and start with one bed and a spade that works. I winter sow because I do not trust spring to remember me without notes. Milk jugs line the garden like a polite but concerning display. Neighbours assume recycling. This is incorrect. This is optimism with ventilation. I am married, which means land use, time, and emotional labour are discussed with the seriousness normally reserved for planning permission. We do keto together, which mainly involves staring suspiciously at fruit while planting orchards anyway. I believe in regenerative systems except when it comes to myself, where I run entirely on tea, deadlines, and the vague promise of April.

People call me resilient. This is British for “please continue coping quietly.” What I would prefer is a biscuit and someone else to water the seedlings without rearranging them. I am the healer who keeps tending the village while Googling how to stop being the reliable one. I plan gardens for future years as if time has agreed to behave itself. Fruit trees are selected with the seriousness of long-term relationships. I remember seed varieties better than birthdays. I forget where I put my phone while checking the weather on it. I write curricula that smell faintly of compost and then translate them into respectable language that does not alarm committees. I tell children the soil remembers you. I tell myself to sit down and eat something. My to-do list has ambitions. This is my adventure. Not derring-do, but dedication. Not conquest, but continuity. If you are looking for me, I am outside, politely arguing with a plant about patience.

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Toya L. Walker is an urban farmer, educator, and founder of OrganicallyGrownQueen.com, a regenerative lifestyle brand rooted in food, land, and feminine power. Her work blends soil science, ancestral wisdom, and emotional healing, exploring how tending the earth mirrors the process of self reclamation.

Insta: @organicalygrownwithme