painting

How Can Gardens Inspire Creativity?

| Flora Doehler

A Book Full of Garden Dreams

I’ve been immersed in a hefty coffee table book from the library called The Writer’s Garden: how gardens inspired the world’s great authors. As the title suggests, these literary giants found creative fuel in their personal gardens—sanctuaries of beauty, and solitude.

Many of them dreamed of a self-sustaining life, planting sprawling vegetable gardens, fruit trees, and berry bushes alongside beautiful flower beds. Some chose the lifestyle to stretch a modest income and make room for writing. Others used their royalties to create the dream environment they had long imagined. But all of them shared one thing: a deep need for the beauty of a garden. It wasn’t just a backdrop—it was fuel. The natural world grounded them, offered rhythm and renewal, and gave them the energy to focus deeply on their craft.

Their garden visions echoed my own when Larry and I left our narrow semi-detached home in downtown Toronto in 2007, heading toward a rural life in Bear River. Like those writers, I longed for a quieter life, rooted in nature—one where creativity could grow alongside the tomatoes and flowers.

Our First Garden Oasis

Back then our Toronto garden was small, about the size of a modest room, tucked in the backyard and ringed with tall, gangly trees that cast shifting shadows on everything below—especially on the few brave vegetables I attempted to grow. Still, it was our precious little oasis. Private, lush, and alive. In the warm months, it became an outdoor room where we ate most of our evening meals. I painted out there too.

The Reality of Garden Work

But back to the book. What struck me most was that like us, some of these writers hadn’t anticipated the work involved in homestead farming—or even maintaining a small home garden. Some said that gardening pulled them away from their writing.

Reading that made me smile and feel so much better about my own efforts. I often feel that same tug-of-war between my garden, my studio, and daily life with the endless rhythm of meal prep. And yet, I enjoy my garden time as much as painting. Theoretically, I now have the time to develop my ideas for painting, writing, and gardening—but I don’t have the same stamina I had at 47. I confess that at 74, I still haven’t quite mastered how to schedule my time effectively.

Still Creating, Still Growing

But I keep trying. I enjoy everything I work on whether it’s with a brush or a shovel, and that’s a very good thing.

But it feels even better to read that I’m in good company. Many creatives—past and present—have wrestled with the same balancing act. It’s oddly comforting to know that the struggle to manage time and energy and tasks is part of the human condition.

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A Helpful Habit

One thing that has truly helped me maintain my strength and stamina for this life is attending yoga two mornings a week here in Bear River. But more on that in another post.

The Gift of Change

| Flora Doehler

It’s been about a year since I last posted, and over that time, three significant shifts have reshaped my creative life.

Last fall, after ten fulfilling years in a co-op gallery I helped to found in Bear River, we made the difficult decision to close its doors. Letting go of Bear River Artworks Gallery was bittersweet — a goodbye to a community space, shared energy, and the experience of seeing my work alongside others’. But it also opened up personal room for quiet, for personal expansion, and for a different kind of creative exploration.

Then came winter, and with it, an unexpected stretch of illness — first shingles, then Covid. Both forced me to slow down, to listen more closely to my body, and to let go of any expectations, schedules or illusions of control. I watched the shifting winter light across my bedroom wall, and slowly an idea unfurled. I needed to realign my creativity, to expand it. I needed to rethink my studio activities and space.

I spent weeks in my head, rearranging my studio. What began as a practical response to shifting circumstances became something more meaningful — a quiet recognition that I am not the same artist I was a year ago. Part of my recovery was to sit in the studio and visualize a new layout and organization. The space I’ve created now feels like a reflection of that: a place to write, to experiment, and to allow the next phase of my work to emerge. I’ll tell you more about this in my next post.

I share this here because I know many of you, too, are living through seasons of change — creative, personal, or otherwise. I’m reminded that creativity doesn’t just live in the big, finished pieces we show the world, but also in the quiet ways we adapt, heal, and prepare the ground for what’s next.

Thank you for being here, reading along. I’d love to hear how this past year has shaped your own creative life. What have you had to let go of? What have you rearranged — inside or out — to make space for what’s coming next?

started in 2020
almost finished in 2025