About Me Big Mulch Command (BMC)

 Gardening is supposed to be a thoughtful, peaceful endeavor—an art of patience, planning, and gentle nurturing. But who has time for that? Not me. This adventure started the moment someone handed me a bag of mystery seeds, and instead of asking reasonable questions like “What are these?” or “Should I prepare the soil?”, I just threw caution (and the seeds) to the wind. Thus began my reign as a full-time plant neglecter and part-time soil gambler, bringing reckless optimism to the world of horticulture.

But if I’m being honest, gardening wasn’t just about growing plants—it became part of my own messy, ongoing journey with mental health. Somewhere between battling my sprinkler and questioning if my tomatoes were sentient, I started seeing reflections of my own struggles in the soil. Growth isn’t always pretty, sometimes it’s chaotic. Sometimes it’s unpredictable. But it’s still growth.

Now, I stand before you—not as an expert, but as someone who’s figuring it out one questionable decision at a time. My garden is a wild, lawless jungle, much like life itself. Tomatoes? Melons? Something that looks mildly carnivorous? Who knows. If it sprouted, it stays. If it thrives, it wins. Survival of the fittest—and by fittest, I mostly mean “stubborn enough to keep going.”

There is no strategy here, just vibes. I have zero expertise but maximum confidence, which is arguably more important. I garden like I navigate life—high risk, zero planning, fully committed to letting fate decide. My sprinkler? An actual menace. A rogue agent of chaos. The sun? Unforgiving. My plants? Probably judging me.

But here’s the thing—whether my garden flourishes or descends into absolute ruin, it is mine. Just like life, it is built on bad decisions, resilience, and moments of unexpected victory. And that, I believe, is legendary. Because being an expert is overrated—being a chaotic force of nature who refuses to quit? That’s where the real magic happens.

So if you, too, find yourself deep in the trenches—whether in gardening, in life, or just trying to keep your head above water—you are not alone. You, dear Plant Warrior, are surviving, thriving, and growing in ways you don’t even realize yet.

We are not professionals—just humans sharing our experiences in the hope that they help someone else. Use anything gained at your own risk.

Keep growing, keep winging it, and remember—weeds are just plants with better marketing.

🌱🔥

Popular posts from this blog

About Me and How We Got Here

 —  A Tale of Dirt, Drama, and Discovering the Divine in the Mundane — Hello there, dear internet traveler — a digital being nestled inside my screen, possibly sipping lukewarm coffee while trying to escape the slow-motion car crash that is modern life. First off, welcome. Second, take a breath — seriously. Inhale. Exhale. You’re still alive, and in today’s world, that is no small feat. That alone deserves a celebratory stretch, a snack, or at the very least, a smug little smile. Now, who am I, you ask? Well… my  real  name is on a “need to mulch” basis. You won’t find it here. Around these parts, I go by  Big Mulch Command  — BMC if you like (and if you  know , you  know  😉). I’m your host, your guide, your occasionally profane narrator through this little blog I’m planting into the internet soil. Why am I here? Why are YOU here? These are big questions, but let’s start with mine. This blog began as a desperate attempt to find myself — to r...
Read more

Dirt Therapy & Mental Clarity (Heavy on the Dirt, Light on the Clarity)

Okay. So it finally happened. The last cold snap has yeeted itself into the past, the wind has stopped shrieking like it found out it wasn’t the main character, and now? The birds are out here putting on a full Disney musical—harmonizing like they’re auditioning for  The Voice: Backyard Edition . Nature is in heat, or harmony, or whatever happens when everything suddenly decides to wake the hell up and start doing things again. And watching all of it unfold, I had a thought: “Damn. Same.” Because we, too, go dormant sometimes. But our version isn’t as cute as a tulip bulb in a nap. Nah. Our dormancy shows up in the form of depression, anxiety, grief, burnout, or that weird void-feeling where you stare at a spoon for ten minutes wondering if it’s judging you. It’s not glamorous—but it’s real. And it’s part of the rhythm. The soil rests. Trees rest. Bears literally sleep for months without paying rent or texting anyone back. So maybe we need to stop acting like being tired or sad mea...
Read more