Our Story

Some people learn to garden from books. I learned from a woman in an old faded apron who could grow anything.

Every summer of my childhood was spent in my grandma Pat's garden in Kirkland, WA. She'd hand me a trowel almost as big as I was and put me to work — and somewhere between pulling weeds and snapping beans, she taught me everything I know. How to tell when the tomatoes are ready by smell alone. Why you talk to the peonies. That the best gardens aren't the tidiest ones, they're the ones that feel loved.

But what I remember most isn't the vegetables or the flowers. It's her things. The brass watering can with the dent in its side. The dinner bell by the back door that called us in at dusk. The little copper markers, green with age, standing guard over the herbs. Her garden wasn't just planted, it was furnished, with pieces that had been there longer than I had.

Somewhere along the way, gardens filled up with plastic. Neon-handled tools. Flimsy supports that buckle by July. Things made to be thrown away.

Grandma's Garden is my answer to that.

Every piece in this shop is chosen the way she would have chosen it: by picking it up, turning it over, and asking, "Now, will this last?" Rain chains that earn their patina. Trellises that rust beautifully instead of falling apart. Garden signs, gloves, and hand tools with the kind of charm that makes you smile every time you step outside.

These are the pieces your garden has been missing, and the kind your grandchildren will remember.

From my garden to yours,

Natalie Lewis Founder, Grandma's Garden