Don Nicholas (DN):

Good afternoon, readers! I’m Don Nicholas, your intrepid gardening reporter—and today I have the extraordinary pleasure of interviewing someone quite… unique. He’s a globe-trotting gardener, a grieving widower seeking healing in soil, and, well, a figment of my imagination. Meet Peter Jackson, the lead character—and in many ways, the soulful extension—of Soil & Soul: A Gardener’s Global Journey to Healing. Welcome, Peter.

Peter Jackson (PJ):

Thanks, Don. It’s not every day one gets to be interviewed by their own creator. Feels a bit like gardening in a mirror.

DN:

Let’s start with that mirror, Peter. You and I share more than a love for soil. You’re me—or perhaps I’m you. How did this come about?

PJ:

It’s a funny thing, really. You were looking for a voice—someone who could travel the world, dig into the earth, and into the human spirit. I emerged from your memories, your longings, your wisdom gained from loss and the rhythm of gardening. I’m what happens when you let grief guide your pen and let curiosity chart your compass.

DN:

I’ve often said that writing this book was like composting my own experiences—turning them over and letting them feed something new. You’re the result of that compost, Peter.

PJ:

Exactly. You gave me your love of gardening, your sense of loss, your desire to reconnect with the world through something living. I borrowed your memories—your time as a teacher, your late-night thoughts about purpose, your belief that every seed planted is a promise made.

DN:

Let’s talk about the emotional root system of this book. You begin your journey after losing Sarah. That part of the story is deeply personal. How much of that came from you, and how much from me?

PJ:

Grief is universal, Don. But Sarah—she’s an echo of the great loves you’ve known. The way she lingers in my memory, her voice in my garden—that’s your way of keeping the people you’ve loved alive through what you create. I just carry it forward with a trowel in hand and a suitcase full of seed packets.

DN:

In Seattle, you meet Sam. In England, the Thompsons. In Tuscany, the vineyard couple. Are these people invented too? Or are they—like you—rooted in something real?

PJ:

They’re imagined, yes, but they grow from real soil. They’re inspired by the gardeners, mentors, and kind strangers you’ve met. Each encounter in the book is a reflection of how healing often comes not through grand revelations, but through shared moments—a cup of tea, a bit of weeding, a meal under the stars.

DN:

Let’s talk about your gardening philosophy. You say, “In the soil beneath our feet lies not only the promise of growth but the whispers of our souls.” Is that just poetic flair, or something deeper?

PJ:

Both. Soil is literal and metaphorical. You and I both know that working in the dirt is therapy. It slows the mind, awakens the senses, and reminds us we’re part of something cyclical. When we lose someone or something, putting our hands in the earth reminds us that new life is always possible. It’s not just healing—it’s spiritual.

DN:

And it’s global. Each chapter in the book brings readers to a new destination. Was it always your intention—or mine—for this to be a journey across continents?

PJ:

Absolutely. What better way to understand the human experience than to see how others garden, grieve, and grow? From misty Seattle to sun-drenched Tuscany, each place offers a different kind of soil—and a different lesson. Your desire to learn from others gave me my itinerary.

DN:

Now be honest—do you ever get tired of being me?

PJ (laughs):

Only when you don’t water your basil. But truthfully, no. You gave me a purpose. I’m your way of saying what’s hard to say: that healing is messy, slow, and deeply personal. That it’s okay to cry into the compost pile and laugh with a stranger in a cabbage patch. Through me, you gave yourself permission to wander, and to wonder.

DN:

Well said. Before we wrap up, what do you hope readers will take away from Soil & Soul?

PJ:

That gardening is more than planting—it’s reconnecting. That grief and joy can coexist in the same garden bed. And that no matter where you are in the world, when you kneel in the soil, you’re never alone. If readers come away with a renewed sense of hope, then both of us have done our job.

DN:

Beautiful. Peter, thank you for taking the time to talk to me—and by extension, to all of us who are looking to make peace with our past and plant something beautiful for the future.

PJ:

Thank you, Don. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a fig tree that needs my attention.

Ready to journey alongside Peter and explore the healing power of gardening?

Click here to see the full Table of Contents and begin your journey with Soil & Soul.