How I Accidentally Fell Into Dahlias (and Stayed)

I’m not going to pretend to be some lifelong dahlia expert. I’m not. I didn’t grow up in a garden, I don’t have a greenhouse with a fancy irrigation system, and I definitely didn’t start out knowing what a tuber was.

What I did have was curiosity, a willingness to fail, and—strangely enough—a neighbor who needed company more than I needed a hobby.

It Didn’t Start With Flowers

It started with loss.

A gentleman in our neighborhood had recently lost his wife—and not long before, his dog too. His wife had been the gardener. The yard, once full of life, had gone quiet. And honestly, I just didn’t want the guy to be alone.

I’d read somewhere—maybe in something by Dick Van Dyke—that the key is to keep moving. Keep doing. So I did the only thing that made sense at the time:

I showed up.

Baptism by Fire (and Dirt)

One day he offered me some dahlia tubers if I helped him dig them up.

I said, “Sure, why not? I like work.”

Two hours later, I was waist-deep in what can only be described as a crater, trying to excavate a massive three-foot bed of tubers like I knew what I was doing.

I did not.

There was talk of “eyes” and “roots,” and I nodded like I understood, but internally I was just hoping I didn’t kill anything important. Six five-gallon buckets later, we had them out, cleaned, split, and back in the ground.

That was my introduction to dahlias: confusion, dirt, and commitment.

Learning the Hard Way

If you’re familiar with parts of Washington State, you know the wind doesn’t play around. Gale-force winds showed up like uninvited guests, and my poor dahlias—unsupported and unprepared—took the hit.

Lesson learned.

Round two, I added proper supports. I fed them. I fought off slugs like I was defending a medieval castle. (If you’ve dealt with slugs, you know this is no exaggeration.)

It wasn’t perfect. I failed more than once. But I kept going.

Seeds, Mistakes, and Small Wins

At one point, I decided to try growing dahlias from seed in my workshop.

Turns out, seeds like heat. Who knew?

After some trial and error (and a little help from a heated blanket setup that probably wasn’t OSHA-approved), I got things going. Later I learned you can just use proper seedling heat mats and grow lights—much simpler and might I add safer.

Out of 50 seeds, about 25 made it. Then pests and mold took their share, because of course they did. By the end of the season, I had 12 survivors.

But those 12?

They were incredible.

More Than Just Flowers

What started as digging up tubers turned into something a lot bigger.

A friendship.

My kids would come over while I worked in the garden. He’d teach them Spanish, tell my daughter stories about fairies, and somehow convince them that dirt was the best toy imaginable.

My son—two years old at the time—earned the nickname “Dig and Dump.” He’d show up, find molehills, destroy them with enthusiasm, and then carefully smooth everything out like a tiny, chaotic landscaper.

And somehow, that became part of the routine.

The Real Reason I Kept Going

Sure, the dahlias were beautiful. Bright, bold, completely worth the effort.

But that’s not why I stuck with it.

I kept going because it gave someone purpose again. Because it gave me perspective. Because in between the failures, the windstorms, the slugs, and the half-successful seed trays, something meaningful was growing.

Not just in the soil—but between people.

The Adventure Continues

I still wouldn’t call myself an expert.

I’ve read some books, watched some videos, picked up tips here and there. But at the end of the day, I learned the only way that really sticks:

Just do it.

You’ll mess up. You’ll lose plants. You’ll question what you’re doing more than once.

But if you stick with it, you might end up with something better than a perfect garden.

You might end up with a story.

And maybe, if you’re lucky, a few really great dahlias too.