Felicity Fiona Kensington: The Soil Sorceress with a Heart of Gold (and a Few Scars) 🌱💔

I’ve always heard that love is just like a dwelling plant—it needs sunlight, water, a whole lot of patience. But what about the soil when it’s poisoned? What about the roots when they’re tangled with lies? What about the harvest when it’s heartbreak? I learned the hard way.

I used to think romance was a lot about monocropping—efficient, predictable, standardized. Then he wandered in. A charismatic permaculture poet, who spoke of 'synergies' and 'deep roots,' only to sprinkle in seeds of chaos. Three years of emotional glyphosate. Three years of my fertility—literal and figurative—depleted. The day I found the texts to the other woman (with a conventional farmer no less 💀) was the day I lit fire to his biodynamic composting season. 🔥

But in regenerative agriculture—and two years of life, decomposing and improving—everything breaks down to something more. So now I kneel in dirt not for him, but for her. The woman who taught me worth isn’t calculated in yield-per-acre, but by resilience-per-heartbeat. 🌻✨

So in conclusion, yes I’m the girl that wears vintage Levi's to vermicomposting workshops, who cocktails with fermented nettle at midnight, and who cries about soil pH testing, not because of a man who can't seem to handle a woman who knows her mycorrhizal network.
This is not a success story of a love that failed - this is a story of love that sprang forth in its ruins. (Swipe up for the tea. And tea made from composted)