From Forest to Soil: Nothing Wasted

By Josh Singleton | Founder, The Neighborhood Garden Project

People often ask us, “What kind of wood do you use to build your garden beds?”

It’s a fair question. But most of the time, what they’re really asking is: “What’s going to last the longest?” They’re thinking about how to save time, effort, and money down the road. And that’s how a lot of us are taught to think—get the most out of something, make it last, don’t have to touch it again.

But the garden doesn’t work that way. Life doesn’t either.

At The Neighborhood Garden Project, we don’t choose materials based on how long they’ll last. We choose based on how much they’re willing to give. That’s why we use basic, untreated pine. It’s not pressure-treated. It’s not made to resist decay. It’s real wood—still alive in a way. It breathes, it moves with the weather, and over time, it breaks down. And that’s the point.

We don’t build beds to last forever. We build them to serve well while they’re here.

Most of our beds last around two or three years. Not because they fall apart, but because they’ve done their job. They’ve held soil, supported plants, and made room for people to grow. And even when the wood starts to crack or wear down, it still holds. It still serves. It’s still useful.

Sometimes we even see mushrooms growing out of the cracks. That’s how we know the wood is starting to give back to the soil. It’s not just holding anymore—it’s feeding. That’s when the wood stops resisting and starts becoming part of something bigger. That’s when the real exchange begins.

Those mushrooms are a sign that life is still moving, even through the broken places. They remind us that healing and growth often show up in the soft spots. Not when things are strong and perfect, but when they’re open and surrendered.

And when the boards can’t do their job anymore, we don’t toss them out. We lay them in the compost pile and let them finish their work. The same beds that once held the soil now return to it, slowly becoming what they once carried.

First they hold life. Then they become life.

This is the rhythm we trust in the garden. Nothing wasted. Everything given.

We’re not chasing perfect. We’re not chasing forever. We’re learning to honor the process. That’s why we don’t pick materials that fight decay—we pick what reflects the heart behind what we’re building: relationships, generosity, and the courage to let go when it’s time.

This wood teaches us something. That strength isn’t always about holding on. Sometimes strength is about knowing how to let go. Sometimes it’s about giving everything you have.

So no, our beds won’t last forever. But while they’re here, they’ll give their best. And that’s enough. Because in the garden, when something gives fully, it’s never wasted. It just becomes part of what comes next.