Where Our Stories Intertwine
- Carrie Woodcock
- Jun 4
- 5 min read
Updated: Jun 5
This week, I put together a video showing the progress of the Becoming Garden. What I expected to be a simple collection of photos documenting the journey somehow became a reflection on something much bigger.
The video begins with the garden as it looks today. The lights are glowing, the flowers are blooming, and the space feels alive in a way that I could only imagine a few months ago. From there, the video moves backward through time, revealing all of the small steps that brought it to life—the planting, the building, the waiting, the watering, and all of the moments in between that rarely make it into the final picture.
As I watched it come together, I found myself thinking about how much of life works this way. We often see the bloom but not the seasons that came before it. We see the result without seeing the uncertainty, patience, and quiet persistence that made it possible.
Last week, the first rose bloomed on the trellis near the garden gate.
I've watched that rose grow slowly over the past several months, stretching upward and outward, reaching for something to hold onto as it found its way. What began as a small plant has gradually woven itself around the structure supporting it. Looking at it this week, I realized there was something symbolic in that image.
Our stories are not separate from one another.
They grow alongside each other. They influence one another. They become intertwined in ways we often don't fully recognize until much later.
As I reflected on the garden this week, I found myself thinking about all of the people who have walked beside me throughout this journey. Some of you have been reading these blog posts from the beginning. Some of you have participated in workshops, focus groups, coaching programs, or conversations that have shaped the Becoming philosophy itself. Some of you have followed the books, listened to the podcast, or shared your own stories with me over the years.
While I may have been the one planting seeds in this garden, the truth is that this project has never belonged entirely to me.
Every conversation has shaped it. Every story has influenced it. Every person who has shared a piece of themselves along the way has become part of what this community is growing into.
That realization became even more meaningful this week because of a gift from my daughter-in-law.
She gave me a beautiful journal with a Tree of Life embossed on the cover. What made it especially meaningful was that it perfectly matched the design on the gate leading into the garden. We originally planned to use it to preserve the story of the garden itself—the planting logs, the notes about what was growing, and the memories of how this space came to be.
But as we talked about it, the purpose of the journal began to evolve.
It will still tell the story of the garden, but it will also become a place for others to add their own chapters.
Guests who visit the garden will be invited to leave a reflection, a memory, a sketch, a lesson, a story, or simply a thought they want to remember. Over time, the journal will become a record not only of what was planted in the soil, but of what was planted in the lives of the people who spend time here.
The idea immediately reminded me of my dad.
Years ago, my father kept a notebook in his hunting cabin. Anyone who visited would leave something behind in its pages. Sometimes it was a story about the day. Sometimes it was a drawing. Sometimes it was simply a few words about what they were thinking or feeling in that moment.
Over time, that notebook became something far more valuable than anyone could have anticipated. It became a collection of lives intersecting in one place. A record of friendships, memories, laughter, and moments that might otherwise have been forgotten.
After my dad passed away, that notebook became even more precious. One of his entries was eventually used as part of his eulogy, and to this day we still return to those pages when we want to feel close to him. His words are still there. His thoughts are still there. A piece of his story continues to live on through the people who loved him.
As we prepared the Becoming Garden Journal, I couldn't help but feel like that tradition was finding a new home.
What began as a notebook in a hunting cabin is becoming a journal in a garden.
Earlier this week, after finishing the video that documents the garden's transformation, I walked toward the garden gate at twilight to capture the final scene. As I watched the footage back, I noticed something unusual moving alongside me as I approached the entrance. Whether it was a trick of the light, a coincidence, or something I can't explain, the moment caught my attention because I had spent much of the day thinking about my dad and the role he unknowingly played in inspiring this journal.
I don't know what it was, and perhaps that's not important.
What stayed with me was the feeling that his story had somehow found its way into this one too.
And maybe that's what stories do.
They continue beyond us. They weave themselves into new places, new people, and new experiences. They connect generations in ways we never planned and could never predict.
The Becoming Garden Journal is my hope that those connections will continue to grow. That people will leave pieces of themselves behind. That stories will intersect. That years from now, someone might turn these pages and discover not just the history of a garden, but a collection of lives that became intertwined here.
The Becoming Garden was never meant to be simply a backyard project or a venue for a gathering. It was always meant to be a place where people could come together to reflect, connect, learn, create, and grow. A place where conversations could happen. A place where stories could be shared. A place where people could leave feeling a little more connected to themselves and to one another.
In a few weeks, the garden gates will open for Becoming Twilight.
When they do, people will see the flowers, the lights, the vegetables, the rose-covered trellis, and all of the visible pieces of what has been created here. What they may not immediately see is that every part of this space has been shaped by the stories, relationships, lessons, and experiences that came before it.
The garden may have started in my backyard, but its story has never been mine alone.
Like the rose climbing the trellis, our stories have a way of growing together, supporting one another, and becoming intertwined. The longer I work on this project, the more I realize that the most meaningful things we create are not created alone.
And that is what makes me most excited about what comes next.
Because before the garden gates open, I want you to know that this isn't simply an invitation to visit a place.
It is an invitation to become part of its story.
Continue the Story
Becoming Twilight takes place on June 20th in the Becoming Garden.
Event details and registration:
Becoming, always returning,
Carrie
Founder, Total Transformation
NBC-HWC Health Coach
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