Barefoot souls with a passion for planting
My name is Focel Lensman. I am 42 and I grow more than just vegetables. I grow peace of mind, a sense of rhythm, and the kind of patience I never thought I had until I started planting things and watching them grow. I live in a small town in northern California, where the fog rolls in before breakfast and the soil is just stubborn enough to keep you honest.
I did not come from a long line of farmers, and I do not have some romantic childhood story about tending the land. Honestly, I stumbled into gardening in my thirties during a rough patch when the noise of modern life felt too loud and the screens never stopped glowing. I picked up a packet of lettuce seeds on a whim at the hardware store. I planted them in an old storage bin I drilled holes into. Three weeks later I had leaves. Actual edible leaves. It felt like magic.
That small miracle turned into something bigger. Raised beds. Compost piles. Late night research about slug deterrents and companion planting. I went from a guy who could not keep a houseplant alive to someone who gets excited over a perfect row of garlic sprouts.
Now I grow nearly all the salad greens we eat, along with tomatoes, squash, sugar snap peas, herbs, berries, and the occasional experiment like watermelon radishes or Thai basil. I have built a backyard that buzzes with bees, smells like damp earth and rosemary, and gives back more than I ever thought a few hundred square feet could.
I cook with what I grow. Nothing fancy. Just honest food. My partner swears by my grilled eggplant sandwiches and the tomato spread I make every summer. Of course I have had plenty of failures too. One year I planted corn too close together and it flopped like a collapsed tent. Another time my dog dug up the entire carrot bed chasing a mole. But I keep going, because gardening teaches you to show up even when you are tired or unsure.
I am not into perfect gardens. I let wildflowers pop up where they want and welcome self seeded surprises. I believe in growing food with your hands, sharing what you learn, and never pretending to know it all. Every spring I host a little neighborhood gathering to help people start their first beds. I trade cuttings. I talk about compost over coffee. It is not a business. It is just community.
