June 2025 Newsletter
Meet a Family of TNGP
When Sam and Judy moved to Katy, the dream of starting a kitchen garden felt both exciting and overwhelming—until they discovered The Neighborhood Garden Project (TNGP). Sam came across a mention of the program and reached out to Josh to learn more. From the beginning, they were eager to get involved and begin growing their own plants.
From the very first day of volunteering, with hands in the dirt, something shifted. Josh’s wisdom reshaped their understanding of gardening: work with the local growing zone, not against it. Rather than simply offering a list of what to plant, Josh invited them to think like gardeners. He helped shift their perception of soil from something “icky” to something sacred, rich with potential for life and growth. That foundation of knowledge transformed how the entire family approached the garden.
Josh’s approach wasn’t about quick fixes—it was about equipping people to think and grow for themselves. That philosophy empowered both parents and children to explore and try new things, from building trellises for beans and cucumbers to understanding the importance of giving each plant enough space to thrive.
Gardening soon became a shared family rhythm. Sam’s mother joined in to help plant traditional vegetables like bitter gourd, red spinach, and long beans—connecting generations through food and cultural roots. Their confidence grew, and they invited Josh and Kayla to help them establish more beds in their own backyard so that Mom could plant even more of what she loved and get her hands in the soil, too.
Over time, the family began to realize something deeper: gardens, like relationships, flourish when given the right environment. With regular watering, attentive weeding, and the right nutrients, both plants and people can thrive and give back in abundance.
Through many hours spent with soil under their fingernails, the garden taught them powerful truths:
Nature is medicine. Time in the dirt and outdoors brought deep calm to body and mind. Even biking together to the garden became a family ritual, offering movement and togetherness, especially valuable for kids who might not otherwise ride much.
Growth mindset applies everywhere. For a long time, they believed they couldn't grow anything. But gardening taught them that with a willingness to learn, openness to adjust, quality materials, and consistent effort, even a novice can grow something beautiful.
There is divine partnership. As 1 Corinthians 3:6 reminds, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase.” That truth rang clear in their garden. Seeds were planted with prayer, water came in its rhythm, but it was God who brought the harvest.
Nurturing takes many forms. Children, like seedlings, require attention, adjustments when struggling, prayer, and plenty of love and light to grow into their fullness.
Community sweetens everything. The friendships cultivated in the garden became a treasure. Shared learning, labor, and laughter fostered connection and reminded them they were part of something greater.
Their kitchen garden became far more than a source of vegetables. It became a classroom, a sanctuary, and a bridge into a meaningful, hands-in-the-soil kind of community.
“Thank you, TNGP, for helping us discover that we had green thumbs all along.”
Planting with the Heat, Not Against It
In mid-June, we enter what we call Summer 2. This is the second wave of intense heat that settles in after the early summer harvests have ended. The soil is fully warmed, the days are blazing, and the nights often stay above 80 degrees. While this may seem like a difficult time to grow, it is actually the perfect window for certain crops that are designed for the heat.
This is the season to plant sweet potatoes, okra, melons, bush beans, and jicama. These plants do more than survive the heat—they thrive in it. Sweet potatoes send out vines eagerly once the soil holds steady warmth. Okra seems to grow overnight and often demands daily harvests once it starts producing. Melons use the sun to concentrate flavor and sugars, and bush beans provide quick, steady yields.
But Summer 2 is not an easy season. It asks for patience, consistency, and a willingness to work with nature rather than against it. When nights stay warm and days push past 90 degrees, most plants feel it. Leaves wilt faster, fruit set slows down, and growth can stall. This is when gardeners turn to quiet tools that help plants stay balanced under pressure.
One of the most effective allies during this season is a foliar spray made from seaweed or kelp. Though it does not change the air temperature, it changes how a plant responds to heat stress.
Here’s how it works:
Liquid seaweed is rich in natural compounds like cytokinins, auxins, gibberellins, and betaines—plant hormones and protective molecules that help regulate growth and support plants during environmental stress. These compounds help stabilize internal water pressure, keeping leaves firm and less prone to wilting. They also activate antioxidant responses that reduce damage from intense sunlight, and they encourage strong root growth, allowing plants to better access water and nutrients.
Some growers describe the effect as making the plant feel five to seven degrees cooler, not because the temperature has dropped, but because the plant is operating with more efficiency, balance, and resilience.
We apply the seaweed spray in the cooler hours of the morning or evening, when the leaves are more receptive. This simple practice, rooted in nature’s own design, allows even the most heat-tolerant crops to stay vibrant and productive through the height of Houston’s second summer.
The Misunderstood Messenger
Dandelions are often dismissed as pesky weeds, pulled or poisoned for the sake of tidy lawns. But beneath their reputation lies a remarkably beneficial plant—one that plays a vital role in ecosystems, gardens, and even human well-being. Their presence is not a nuisance, but an indicator that the soil is trying to breathe again. With deep taproots that break through compacted ground, dandelions draw up nutrients like calcium from the subsoil, making them available to other nearby plants. Over time, this natural tilling improves soil structure and health, especially in places that have been neglected or overworked.
For pollinators, dandelions offer an early and critical food source. Blooming before many other flowers, they provide nectar and pollen for bees, butterflies, and other insects when little else is available. This makes them an essential bridge between winter dormancy and the full bounty of spring. In gardens, their ability to thrive without care can help restore balance, signaling where healing is needed. They attract beneficial insects and contribute organic matter when their leaves and flowers decompose, feeding the life beneath the surface.
Dandelions are quietly generous. Every part of the plant is edible and medicinal—from the liver-supporting roots to the vitamin-rich leaves to the anti-inflammatory flowers. Yet they are misunderstood and rejected, not because of their nature, but because of our preference for control, order, and visual ease. Their offense is not harm but inconvenience. In truth, dandelions remind us of something deeper: that beauty, nourishment, and healing often arrive in humble forms, disrupting our carefully curated spaces with something far more authentic.
And then there’s the moment every child knows well: finding a dandelion puff, closing their eyes, and blowing the seeds with a whispered wish. That simple act is full of mystery and hope. It’s not just play—it’s an unspoken trust that invisible things matter. The seeds scatter on the wind, carried to places unknown, like prayers or dreams or ideas sent out into the world without certainty, yet full of possibility. Maybe the dandelion you’re tempted to pull today was born from a child’s breath, a wish released into the world with pure hope. What if you're not just uprooting a plant, but disturbing something sacred, something dreamed, something spoken, something sent?
So the next time you see a dandelion, pause before you pluck it. Consider what else in your life might be misunderstood simply because it didn’t arrive in the form you expected. The garden, like life, is full of hidden teachers. And the dandelion, persistent, generous, and wildly free, just might be one of the most prophetic among them, especially when its seeds are carried not just by the wind, but by the breath of wonder and the wishes of the young.
When Presence Stings
Ants are some of the most misunderstood helpers in the garden. At first glance, they appear to be pests. Busy, invasive, always underfoot. They bite when disturbed, show up in places we did not invite them, and often remind us of their presence at just the wrong moment. Because of this, many people develop a deep aversion to them. The instinct is often to poison, to kill, to remove them as quickly as possible. We treat them as enemies rather than as part of the ecosystem.
Like so much in the garden, what we first label as a nuisance often turns out to be a quiet gift. If we slow down enough to observe, we begin to notice their purpose. Ants aerate the soil with their intricate tunnels, creating channels for water and air to reach the roots below. This hidden structure supports the entire garden's foundation. They carry away decaying leaves, bits of compost, and even the remains of other insects, helping to keep the garden clean. In the process, they constantly redistribute nutrients and break down matter that would otherwise remain stagnant.
They also serve as defenders. Some species form partnerships with plants, attacking caterpillars, aphids, and termites that threaten the garden’s health. Others protect the base of trees by clearing out weaker organisms and patrolling the area. They do all of this with steady resolve. They are rarely seen, but always present, always working. They do not need praise. They simply continue.
There is a quiet rhythm in their movement. A kind of wisdom in their persistence. They are not trying to be noticed. They are simply being what they were created to be. Small faithful servants who carry the weight of the whole system in ways that often go unnoticed. Their presence teaches something about the value of unseen labor. About doing what is needed, whether anyone applauds or not. About showing up because the work itself is worthy.
We must reconsider how quickly we label life as expendable. The garden does not thrive under control. It thrives by relationship. Even ants, who might sting or invade our comfort, have a role to play. The more we react with poison, the less we understand the harmony that makes true growth possible. Shifting our mindset from control to curiosity allows us to see the bigger picture. It helps us become stewards, rather than managers.
Recently, the ants have become more than just helpers in the garden. They have become reminders. In the stillness of evening, when I finally slow down, I begin to feel the itch of their bites. It is uncomfortable, but it’s also a kind of proof. That itch means I was out there today. It means I was in the soil. I walked the rows. I crouched low to examine a bloom or pulled weeds from a bed. I was there. Present.
Their sting lingers into the night like a soft echo. It whispers that I was part of something today. That I said yes again. That I stepped into the process of tending and becoming. The soil received me. The sun bore down. The work was done. And the ants, whether I noticed or not, were also doing their work.
So I let the bites remind me. Not just of the ants, but of the privilege of being in the garden. Of being part of something growing. Of taking part in something larger than myself. Even when it stings. Even when it lingers, it’s worth it.
Sowing into the Garden
As we advance our mission across Texas, please join us in sowing seeds of change to transform lives through the garden. Sowing seeds today will guarantee a plentiful harvest tomorrow.
