Last spring, we planted sixteen apple trees.

They line the dirt road on our property now, barely taller than my littlest kids, their thin branches still reaching out with all the hope of something much bigger. It was a family affair—muddy hands, mismatched shovels, sun-warmed shoulders, and kids running barefoot between holes. My husband dug. I placed roots. The kids patted dirt like it was treasure. It was one of those core memories I hope I never forget.

They were just tiny twigs in the ground. But I saw what they could become.

As we planted, I caught myself daydreaming—of heavy branches filled with apples, of pies on fall mornings, of the first crisp bite into something we grew ourselves. I pictured my younger kids growing up alongside those trees, and then the far-off future: little grandkids racing each other down our dirt road, weaving between tree trunks that started as sticks but grew alongside generations.

But here’s the honest part: there’s also a quieter voice in me that wonders if I’ll ever get to see it.

Because seven years ago, I planted something else.

The Dreams That Don’t Always Stay

We bought our dream home on a little island. A house with the ocean in the distance. And on one of our wedding anniversaries, my husband got me two palm trees that we planted in the front yard.

My husband dug the holes, one on each side of where a hammock would hang. We knew we’d have to wait years before we could actually use it—before the roots would settle deep enough, before the trees would grow strong enough to hold our weight. But that was part of the dream. I still remember standing back, thinking about the salt air, the slow mornings, the stories we’d read to the kids under those trees. It felt so sure. So right.

But we had to leave that dream behind.

And I never did get to enjoy that hammock.

And I still think about those palm trees. It’s a soft ache—that reminder that not every seed we plant is one we get to harvest.

That not every dream plays out the way we hope.

But Still, We Plant

And yet, last spring, I knelt down in the dirt and planted again. Even with that uncertainty.

Because something in me still believes in planting.

And maybe you’re there, too. In business. In life. Planting seeds that you hope will grow—a new offering, a new idea, a new rhythm for your days. Maybe you’re holding both the hope and the fear. Maybe you’ve planted before and watched something beautiful bloom, only to have to let it go.

And still—here you are, planting again.

What Business Has Taught Me About Roots

I used to think success was fast. Loud. Certain.

But now I see it’s more like those apple trees. Slow. Quiet. Rooted in intention. It takes time.

I think back on my business and how many seasons I’ve been through. The big ideas. The pivots. The launches and the letdowns. There were moments I was sure something would flourish—and it didn’t. And there were other times I planted something almost casually, and it grew in ways I never imagined.

The truth is, you don’t always know what will take root.

But when you plant what matters most to you—when you build something aligned with your values, your joy, your gifts—you’re creating more than just a business.

Even if you don’t see it bloom right away.

That’s the success I want.

Last spring, we planted sixteen apple trees.

They line the dirt road on our property now, barely taller than my littlest kids, their thin branches still reaching out with all the hope of something much bigger. It was a family affair—muddy hands, mismatched shovels, sun-warmed shoulders, and kids running barefoot between holes. My husband dug. I placed roots. The kids patted dirt like it was treasure. It was one of those core memories I hope I never forget.

They were just tiny twigs in the ground. But I saw what they could become.

As we planted, I caught myself daydreaming—of heavy branches filled with apples, of pies on fall mornings, of the first crisp bite into something we grew ourselves. I pictured my younger kids growing up alongside those trees, and then the far-off future: little grandkids racing each other down our dirt road, weaving between tree trunks that started as sticks but grew alongside generations.

But here’s the honest part: there’s also a quieter voice in me that wonders if I’ll ever get to see it.

Because seven years ago, I planted something else.

The Dreams That Don’t Always Stay

We bought our dream home on a little island. A house with the ocean in the distance. And on one of our wedding anniversaries, my husband got me two palm trees that we planted in the front yard.

My husband dug the holes, one on each side of where a hammock would hang. We knew we’d have to wait years before we could actually use it—before the roots would settle deep enough, before the trees would grow strong enough to hold our weight. But that was part of the dream. I still remember standing back, thinking about the salt air, the slow mornings, the stories we’d read to the kids under those trees. It felt so sure. So right.

But we had to leave that dream behind.

And I never did get to enjoy that hammock.

And I still think about those palm trees. It’s a soft ache—that reminder that not every seed we plant is one we get to harvest.

That not every dream plays out the way we hope.

But Still, We Plant

And yet, last spring, I knelt down in the dirt and planted again. Even with that uncertainty.

Because something in me still believes in planting.

And maybe you’re there, too. In business. In life. Planting seeds that you hope will grow—a new offering, a new idea, a new rhythm for your days. Maybe you’re holding both the hope and the fear. Maybe you’ve planted before and watched something beautiful bloom, only to have to let it go.

And still—here you are, planting again.

What Business Has Taught Me About Roots

I used to think success was fast. Loud. Certain.

But now I see it’s more like those apple trees. Slow. Quiet. Rooted in intention. It takes time.

I think back on my business and how many seasons I’ve been through. The big ideas. The pivots. The launches and the letdowns. There were moments I was sure something would flourish—and it didn’t. And there were other times I planted something almost casually, and it grew in ways I never imagined.

The truth is, you don’t always know what will take root.

But when you plant what matters most to you—when you build something aligned with your values, your joy, your gifts—you’re creating more than just a business.

Even if you don’t see it bloom right away.

That’s the success I want.