Doña Joyce's garden

Sunday, April 5

I stepped onto the terraza before the noon arrives. The sky had already started to let go, and a gentle rain was settling over everything. The drops hit the roof sheets above my plants like morning music—a steady, rhythmic tapping that seemed to wake every leaf. I stood there for a moment and just listened. It’s the kind of sound that makes the whole space feel alive.

I moved a few pots closer to the edges so they could catch the rain properly, making sure none would sit in standing water but all could drink their fill. You could almost see them respond. The soil darkened, the stems lifted, and yes… they looked happy. Plants have their own quiet way of saying thank you, and today, it was in the way they stretched toward the sky.


Right beside this little green corner is my kitchen, always waiting. It never rushes me. It just knows that when the rain slows, I’ll step back inside with my hands full of fresh ingredients. This morning, it was a generous handful of malunggay leaves—tender, bright, and still cool from the rain. But it’s rarely just one thing. There’s always another ingredient ready to join the pot: a plump chili, a fragrant stalk of lemongrass, a few basil leaves, or a tomato that finally decided to ripen on its own time.

There’s a quiet magic in this rhythm. From roof sheets to soil, from raindrops to stove. The terraza doesn’t give me a harvest that feeds a whole neighborhood, but it gives me exactly what I need: food that tastes like it just came to life, mornings that ask me to slow down, and the gentle reminder that growth doesn’t need to be loud to be real.

What’s growing in your space right now?

Or is there a plant that always finds its way into your cooking?
I’d love to hear about it. 🌿💧

— Joyce