Garden Nuisance to Clay Works of Art

We hated the clay soil underneath our garden beds.

It was dense, heavy, and unforgiving. Plants struggled to take root and thrive in it. But weeds? Weeds had no problem taking over. I hated that soil. So we got to work. A light till. Organic matter. Compost layered on top. We left the roots of old plants to decay, feed the microbes, and slowly shift the soil’s makeup. And over time—starting way back in 2015—something amazing happened: our original three beds transformed. What once was sticky clay became dark, rich, workable soil.

The photos we have start in 2017, but the real work began two years earlier, filled with trial, error, and plenty of sweat equity.

Then, in the fall of 2024, I told my husband: We need to expand the garden. We have to grow more food. Just in case. It took back-breaking labor, but we built three more beds. And there it was again. The clay that made growing in Texas soil near difficult.

We knew what to do. Compost. Organic matter. Time.

We planted anyway. Flowers. Veggies. And after every hard rain, the clay would surface, hardened into chunks. I used to toss them out of the garden.

Until one day, I didn’t.

Maybe I could make something out of this.

That was the beginning of our pottery line.

Have I thrown clay before? Nope.

Had I ever processed wild clay? Didn’t even know it was a thing.

But then I fell down the rabbit hole. HOURS of videos—Andy Ward, original potters in Mexico, the Philippines, Ghana, and Burkina Faso—showing how clay could be hand-dug, tempered, shaped, and fired with love. I knew then this wasn’t just curiosity. It was a call.

So my beloved made me a kiln. A tamale pot from a second-hand shop became our first firing chamber. I processed my first batch of wild clay (it took forever), and fired a small puki and a dish. They both cracked. I added more temper, garden sand, and made a small vase. Elgin made a bowl. My vase was too thick. His bowl wasn’t smooth.

More cracks.

We’re learning.

And it’s beautiful.

I think of my grandmother often. I spent so much time with her growing up, watching her cook, bake, and mix up magic in that kitchen. Her 7-Up cake is still a legend. No one’s been able to replicate it. I remember her mixing bowls. The shape. The feel. The sound of the spoon scraping sugar against ceramic.

So when I saw a bowl like hers at the second-hand shop, I grabbed it. No hesitation.

And that’s the bowl I plan to remake. Coil by coil. Fired in a homemade kiln. Formed from the same soil that once frustrated me.

Nana’s Mixing Bowl; it’ll be in the AFAO shop one day.

Soon, I hope.

I’ll keep you posted.